The music in the coffee shop where I’m currently writing is too loud, making it harder to let the words flow through my fingers. The coffee grinder adds to the chaos, the noise swirling around my head and through my being, jangling apart my thoughts. It’s time to move to a quieter spot to make space for the story that is floating just beyond my fingers. To Summon the Sacred.
There is an older man sitting at the table just in front of me, grey wiry hair sprouting sporadically from the top of his head and growing in a bushy ring like an elderly monk in need of a haircut. He has a beard to match and wire framed glasses perching on the end of his nose. He’s reading a well-marked book, with many curling pink, orange and yellow post-it notes marking the pages. Occasionally he reaches for his black leather journal and makes notations in pencil. I wonder what he’s working on, what story is being written.
Beyond him is a younger man scrolling through his phone, an open laptop on the table in front of him. He’s joined by what could be his mother, who is slowly and deliberately writing on a folded piece of paper. So many stories. We are each living inside the stories of lives that we are creating moment by moment by moment, intersecting and bumping into each other. Physically and energetically. Unspoken connections sharing the experience of this physical existence.
I’m writing the story of my life, or rather, one thread that weaves through my tapestry. As I write and explore and examine, something slowly rises to the surface of awareness, the realization that it’s time to move. This recognition both scares, thrills and saddens me all at the same time. Emotions can be messy and mixed up like that. I’ve lived in this house the longest I’ve lived anywhere and my roots grow deep, it’s going to be hard to leave.
As I clean and declutter I consciously bless and fill my house with loving energy, preparing and polishing it for the new family that is waiting in the wings.
As I wander through my garden, I stop for a while and talk to my favourite trees and plants, thanking them for their presence and telling them that a new family will soon be enjoying them. I notice them with new eyes and a sad/glad heart.
Caroline Myss says, “The inability to accept the natural cycle of change interferes with the growth and that interferes with health. It is impossible to stop the process of movement and growth. A negative response to change will produce negative growth. A seedling eventually requires transplanting to a larger pot. If this need for change is not acknowledged, though the plant may fight desperately for its life, it will die, never having reached its full maturity – we are no different.”
I’m getting ready to repot myself. May the new family that is destined to live here love the land and the plants and trees as much as me.