Spilled Milk & Shattered Glass
A lot of letting go is happening, both physically, psychologically, and spiritually. Even in my sleep, my subconscious seems to be filtering out old situations and familiar faces of the past through my dreams.
All tangible objects are temporary, so a wise woman attaches herself to no matter. However, while currently under her care the compassionate woman also sees the importance of every object as it holds a reflection of god.
I’ve been gifting, donating, and putting out for free many of my personal belongings. Most of the times it’s liberating to feel that much lighter in my load and very satisfying to see it repurposed. This morning I didn’t walk my free box quite down to the same corner by the church that I did yesterday. As I carefully wrapped the glasses, mugs, bowls, and plates in paper to prevent cracking, it passed my mind that someone might find this to be very enticing material for volatile fits that occasionally happen. I hemmed and hawed about the forecast for rain and the fragility of my fares, hoping they’d be in the best light to be discovered while still intact. I told myself all things will work out as they should and not to worry until it warranted it.
I tried not to notice that they hadn’t been picked up when I went out a few hours later, vowing that if it started pouring rain or if they were still there this evening I could recollect them and put them out at the original corner with additional goods to lure the lookers closer. Only a little later, a light rain began and I reasoned the box could handle a bit of moisture given the sturdiness of the basket beneath it. The rain continued only a few more minutes before I panicked. I felt so responsible for these items that I literally wanted to rid myself of so quickly I didn’t even walk one additional block. With anticipation of their replacement tomorrow, I determined today wasn’t the day for them to find a new home and I would set them out with better mindfulness then. As I was one street length away from the entire package in my sight, an agitated person in a bright red jacket came walking along muttering and yelling at random intervals. In the briefest of moments my heart sank as I knew what was about to happen.
He almost went right by them until he noticed he had an audience of one who was intensely engaged in the objects he’d ignored. He immediately turned around, opened the box and began haphazardly tossing things into the sidewalk and rocks. From the top box to the bottom basket, all I could hear was shattering glass, one after another after another after another. This must have some significant impact on me as I stood entranced with my jaw ajar. Then he met my gaze with vehemence to emphasize his dramatic tantrum. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I walked away letting out a heavy sigh of sorrow.
It wasn’t that I was sentimentally attached to them and couldn’t see them never being utilized again. It was mostly that it felt utterly pointless to invest the mental and emotional energy I attached to making sure that DIDN’T happen. A part of me felt guilty, as though my earlier concern of such a situation clearly caused and manifested exactly the fear I carry about most tangible objects. That I am forever tied to and directly responsible for what happens to them. “Even though I didn’t need or love them anymore, they really could’ve benefited someone else,” I heard myself reasoning in my head. “Why do i care so much about those dang dishes? Who made me eternally responsible for them despite another’s independent actions. Why is the situation worth fretting over? Should i worry about what i could’ve done differently if it was meant to happen exactly that way?”
Exactly! This could’ve happened if someone else walked by, but also it didn’t. Why did I need to see this incident? To remind me of my attachments and undue loyalties to temporary stuff? To shake up the illusion of control over anything happening outside of me? To solidify that i have more influence than i know over everything that happens around me based on what i believe?
Was it to remind me that I am sensitive to small things and it’s okay to be sad when you see destruction happen? Or to cultivate a deeper trust that even when I can’t see the reason, there is a reason. Even when i think no one else was watching, the divine sees all. Spirit, why did you call this experience into my life? Why did I call this experience into my life?
I really can’t say I’ll ever know with complete certainty, but I have a hunch it has something to do with getting me here right now. Writing. Journaling. Wondering and working it out. Wordpooling. Letting loose.
