Fabric Feelings

 

I had a busy day today.

I began the de cluttering of my wardrobe. Of course, it was meant to be a swift and merciless cull! Out with the sizes/styles/colours that have hung forlornly on bent wire hangers, misshapen and twisted due to multiple garments all vying for a place to wait for their fate to be decided.

I was determined to remove nostalgia from the equation. What was the Equation?     Simple:

Fit + functionality + fashion freedom = KEEP

I figured 30 minutes was enough time to decide on what was KEEP and what was GO.



TWO hours later..........


I am sitting on the floor of my modestly proportioned walk in robe, cocooned in cotton, linen, chiffon, sequence, polyester, leather, silk and materials of dubious descriptions! My clothing Tower of Babel is leaning and lurching towards the door, but I don’t seem to have relegated one item to the GO pile that currently resides nonexistent outside the door.

Who knew that clothes and shoes could speak so eloquently? They are the fashion whisperers, drawing me into nostalgia and memory of people and places, events and celebrations.

The dress I wore when I held my eldest grandson for the first time, a little black number that I wore to a dear friends 60th birthday dinner, the holiday easy fold and pack shirts and pants, and "throws" for cooler tropical nights, the “sisterhood of writing" trousers, the corporate attire, the lazy Sunday lunching outfits, the “I have to have it, it’s a bargain skirt, (a size too small, but one day”!)

There were dresses, blouses, shirts, jackets and pants of every length and design. They paid homage to the eclectic, each a statement about some aspect of me. The boho, the casual, the traveller, the glamour, the varying sizes of my life. Colour features heavily, but I now see a sea of black invading the nooks and crannies of my wardrobe. I am stunned at some of my choices! What was I thinking, (or NOT thinking).

I am shocked how the sight, touch and smell of some of them evoke such massive emotions.  The gorgeous silk and crystal dress I wore to my first born's wedding, the after five gown I wore to my middle sons  Air Force "wings " ceremony, the colourful caftan I wore to my youngest sons funeral.  Fabric feelings. Full and fertile.

 

As the clothes share their stories and memories and jostle in that small space to get my attention, pleading, "not me, not me, I am still worthwhile, valuable", I ponder on this phenomenon.

Why have I clung to some of these items? What did they bring into my life, albeit fleetingly, that now weighs so heavily in my decision-making? KEEP or GO?

The answer  comes to me eventually and it  seems so obvious.

 

They are my emotional diary, in a closet.

They are the physical manifestations of my emotional rollercoaster and I am OK with that......

 

I managed to allocate two Ikea blue bags to go to the OP Shop tomorrow. These were mainly shoes. Seems shoes and I are less nostalgic!

As for the rest, I have called an armistice.

I will re assess in the New Year, give myself time to see what’s at the post Xmas sales!

 

 

 

 

SURRENDER....TO PRAYER

                                              

I met a woman recently who said that after many years of being alone and many unsuccessful relationships; she just didn’t have the energy to keep doing what she had been doing. She realised that her fatigue came from a place deep within her being. It was beyond physical exhaustion, it was beyond emotional lethargy, it was deeper, much deeper.  Her sense was that she was spiritually bankrupt, her soul was depleted, and that no amount of rest would soothe that weariness.

The solution, she suggested, was to recognise that everything she had been doing to that point was not a waste of time, but had failed to provide her with her expected outcome. In that realisation came relief, she said. It was soothing yet strangely freeing to recognise that it was OK to admit that sometimes even with the best of intentions, the subsequent outcomes are, not be as we planned!

 So with that awakening, she knew in her heart that true to that saying “:

 “If you always do what you always did you will always get what you always got”

 That she needed a new approach, so she PRAYED.

 Not such a new concept I thought, somewhat cynically. Then I thought, when was the last time I prayed from a place of gratitude and not just:  “Hullo my Higher Power, Cherrie here (remember me??!!) Well I have a massive favour to ask...blah blah blah... Yes, I have been very guilty of the LAST RESORT PRAYER!

This woman said she decided to not to just pray for help, but that her words would be filled with gratitude and love. Words that celebrated her and the people in her life.  She said that there was no need to only pray when life was tough or intolerable, but rather to see prayer as a conversation and a dialogue between her and her higher power. Together they would move in a dance towards peace and a life where struggle was only the measure of the lack of surrender...

Hmmm  interesting concept! I thought about this long after our chat.

Could my own experience of spiritual bankruptcy be a direct result of my unwillingness to surrender the tasks that I try valiantly to control, to my higher power? As this idea grew in clarity, I began to imagine my life unencumbered by the exertion of always overthinking, over analysing, over doing, over stepping in so many facets of my own, and others lives.

It became very attractive to me to think of living in a place emotionally and spiritually, where I felt safe to accept that I would always be looked after. A place where I was free to accept that for which I had responsibility and to take ownership for that. To release everything else to my higher power to hold, to cradle in the palm of its hand, while I rested.

The more I pondered this phenomenon of surrender, which is a massive exercise in trust, the more it began to gain weight with me as a valuable life tool. What if I prayed, not in that begging- for- help –last- resort- fashion, but to give myself permission to let go occasionally and accept that the load does not have to sit only on my shoulders? What would it look like, feel like, to accept that I don’t have to struggle?

So began a new seed of thinking. I spoke to my inner self, my higher power and listened to the messages. I came to know that my way was not wrong, there is no blame, but there are other paths to explore.

It is not easy to sit with new thought patterns or to implement new behaviours. There are times when the changes I am trying to achieve seem too remote, not attainable. Sometime I shout at my higher power and demand to know WHY I don’t always get the outcomes I yearn for. But my higher power is a patient and wise voice who knows me well! It sits quietly and listens to my impatience and petulance, and just loves me and unconditionally accepts my humanness.

The outcomes I get are always the ones I need. Not always the ones I want!

They may be challenging, uncomfortable, painful even, but when I allow myself to sit in their presence, open my mind and my heart to them, I sometimes find myself in the space of surrender or acceptance that there is indeed a lesson to be observed, and hopefully learnt.

Nothing that ever happens is random. Everything is a possibility for growth, and an opportunity to take my spiritually from bankruptcy to profit!

More and more I receive messages affirming that I will be OK. I don’t know how to interpret some of it and I still have my challenges. I am often tempted to dip my toe back into past patterns, just because they feel familiar, and they don’t challenge me. But I am soon reminded that if that way had served me, then I would have been more peaceful, more complete.

For now, I strive to implement new ways of being and allow the peace of surrender to wash over me. I choose to bathe in trust and know that through my surrender to prayer, I am affirming that I believe that I will be safe and that Life only wants the best for me......

.

The Tear

You were telling me a story. Even if I had not understood the words, I would have known your pain. It was embracing your face, like a lover saying goodbye with kisses, bittersweet.

Tears gathered in the corner of your eye, near your nose.

“Perhaps there is strength in numbers?” they murmured

A platoon of them assembled and marched slowly along the rim of your lower eyelid, taking your lashes hostage as they passed. Now, perched at the outer corner of your eye they waited.

Your voice has become low, mirroring your mood. Such a stoic woman you are! Wanting to unburden yourself,  but not wanting to burden others. I have a longing to reach out to you, to hold you and mouth into your thick hair, “Its OK, let it go, have a good cry”

But like your platoon of tears, I also wait. Fearful that if I move too soon, you will reel yourself in, withdraw behind your battlements, and send your watery troops into retreat.

Your words come tumbling from some abandoned pit within you. These are ancient words that have sat in the dark places, unseen, unheard. Today might be their day of freedom. Today, you can be their liberator, letting them up and out, into the sunlight.

As I listen, I feel your sadness and sense your fragility. Knowing that without feeling your pain you cannot heal your pain. The next step is yours.

Your brewing tears, testament that you are feeling something, need to continue their journey for the process to begin. I will them forward. Beg them to be fearless and press on, and still they hesitate. Memories of past failed attempts to release them, still them

One free spirit in the group however, breaks ranks and hurdles over the ledge of your lower eye and begins its long solo journey. It slips unnoticed by you over your cheekbone, then into the hollow of your cheek, cradled in its valley.

Still you have not reached for the tissue to extinguish its path. The cluster of tears left behind are emboldened by the lone tear, and now act as a decoy, keeping you focussed on their imminent escape, distracting you from the solo warrior abseiling down your face

The cheek valley conquered, now to the perils of the corner of the mouth, where a flickering tongue lays in wait to taste its salt

Suddenly I notice your speech waiver. Eyes register a disturbance. Simultaneously; your hand meanders towards the tissue box. This could be the end. If your solo tear is halted, I know you will withdraw back into yourself. Your pain will scuttle back into the vault, locked up, shut down.

It seems improbable that the solo tear warrior is to be your saviour.

Propelled by necessity, it gains momentum, and stands, outstretched on the tip of your chin. It eyes your fingers curling around the tissue, pulling it from its box. Now! It has to be now, or its valour will have been in vain.

A perfectly executed dive, off the precipice and then free falling, weightless, suspended between your chin and your breast, it hangs

Its mates watch from on high, and buoyed by the solo warrior, erupt from their perch at your eyes corner, and flood forward.

Floating, formless, fearless, the single tear lands gracefully on your left breast, then nestles against your heart. Home!

You look at me and gasp. Your hand clutching the tissue is stilled. A waterfall cascades down the valleys and hollows of your face, and flood your heart with healing. The cleansing ritual begins to perform its magic.

Fear, disappointment, sorrow and regret are diluted. Your heart becomes the desert flowers after the long Wet, reborn, and rejuvenated.

You look at me though water logged lashes. There is no need for conversation, just the silent language of sisterhood, the gift we give one to another.

Your tears touch us both, the circle is cast, and the healing begins