Stuffology and the Extreme Whatever (Blog #528)

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For the third day in a row, today I spent eight hours cleaning for some friends who recently moved. And whereas I’m grateful for the work, I don’t mind saying this scrubbing walls and baseboards shit is getting old. Or maybe that’s me that’s getting old. Either way, my body is not impressed with this manual labor nonsense and is damn close to going on strike. My neck has already started twitching and spasming. I keep telling it to hang in there, we’re almost done.

I don’t think it believes me.

I wish I could tell you something interesting happened today, but–again–I was scrubbing toilets and washing out dead bugs from the inside of lightbulb covers. I guess that is something I’ve been acutely aware of–all the bugs (both dead and alive) that I’ve seen while cleaning. Spiders, centipedes, mosquitoes, flies–the little critters are ALL OVER the place. And sure, sometimes I squash ’em, but other times I say, “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see you there” and then keep on dusting.

Cinderelly, Cinderelly.

My friends’ house is about 2,600 square feet, a few hundred square feet south of what The Big House was. (The Big House is where I lived before I had my estate sale and moved back in with my parents.) Anyway, as I’ve been cleaning every square inch of this house the last few days, I’ve been thinking how much of one’s life can be taken up just by home ownership. First there’s the yard, the appliances, and all the other things to maintain. Then there’s putting paint on the walls and decorating the place. Finally there’s cleaning–if you’re into that sort of thing–which can take days if you do it “right,” even WITHOUT anything IN the house.

I don’t think there’s a right or a wrong way to go when it comes to home ownership and possessions. Everyone’s needs and desires are different. (Some people, like my friends, have families and need more stuff.) Personally, at least lately, I’m a minimalist. I could pack up or deep clean everything I own in a matter of hours. I own TWO pieces of furniture (a bookshelf and an ottoman). I wouldn’t recommend this lifestyle to anyone else, but it is simple, easy, and convenient. And truly–I don’t intend to live this way forever. I’m sure ONE DAY I’ll once again own a bedroom suite and live in a space that’s bigger than 10×10.

When I was in my early twenties, I redecorated my bathroom. I was so proud–the walls had been painted, and I hung up shelves and put knickknacks on them just so. Well, I showed my grandpa (who’s dead now), and he said, “That’s a lot of shit to dust.” At the time, I was devastated. No affirmation whatsoever. But that was Grandpa. I mean, he was a dude. He wasn’t going to say, “That’s just fabulous, grandson of mine, the way you arranged and color-coordinated everything. Why, just look at how you alphabetized your hair products!” Anyway, looking back, I can see his point about the dusting. Having spent the last three days cleaning, I can FEEL his point.

There’s a quote by William Blake that says, “The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. You never know what is enough until you know what is more than enough.” This idea delights me, since I often beat myself up for black-or-white (that is, excessive) thinking or behavior, but Blake points out the benefit of the extreme whatever–by providing contrast, it can bring you back to center. I know this has been my experience with eating poorly or smoking cigarettes in the past. I had to do these things WAY TOO MUCH in order to realize, Houston, we have a problem. Likewise, I’ve gone to extremes in ownership and “stuffology.” I’ve had a lot of stuff (to dust), I’ve had a little stuff (to dust). And now I know–not because someone told me, but because I’ve experienced it for myself–what’s more than enough, what’s not enough.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"Miracles happen."

The Wisdom of Aeolus (Blog #527)

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Today was a repeat of yesterday, meaning I spent eight hours–from four to midnight–cleaning house for my friends who recently moved out-of-state. It’s a slow, repetitive process. One room at a time, I clean the windows, scrub the walls (and cabinets), wash the baseboards, sweep the floor, then mop the floor. But I’m making progress; the house has four levels, and I’ve got two of them knocked out. I even started on the third level before I left tonight. And whereas my inner completionist (I just made that word up) wanted to keep going, I forced myself to stop cleaning and go home (stopping on my way at the above-pictured dumpster to throw some stuff away). After all, I don’t have a deadline, and it wouldn’t hurt for me to get some sleep.

It wouldn’t hurt at all.

When not running the vacuum, I spent most of my time this evening listening to lectures by my man Joseph Campbell. In one of his talks, he told the story of Odysseus, Homer’s famous hero from The Odyssey. One section of the tale particularly stood out to me. Perhaps you remember it. Odysseus and his men are stuck on an island and need to get home. So Aeolus, the keeper of the winds, bags up the four winds in an ox-skin bag and tells Odysseus to use them to sail his ship. But Aeolus cautions–don’t open the bag all at once. Well, Odysseus does as he’s told, but while he’s sleeping, his men (who are under the impression that it contains gold) tear open the bag like a bunch of toddlers ripping into a piñata.

Surprise, suckas!

Of course, all hell breaks loose, and Odysseus and the boys end up not having any wind left to sail their ship. Later, they go back to Aeolus and ask for another bag, but he says, “Screw you. You had your chance.” So our hero is left with no other choice–he must find another way home.

Campbell says the lesson here is that you can’t use up all your spiritual energy at once–you’ve got to pace yourself. This is why the soul’s journey is so often depicted AS a journey and not–I don’t know–as a teleportation. Personal and spiritual growth are INTENDED to happen slowly, in pieces and increments. My therapist echoes this sentiment. “If all-of-a-sudden you became conscious of your unconscious or your shadow, you’d have a nervous breakdown,” she’s fond of saying.

Personally, this is a good lesson for me to keep in mind. I get in such a hurry about almost everything, whether that’s cleaning a house, reading a book (gotta get to the last page NOW!), healing a problem, or reaching my highest potential. Go-go-go. Let’s get this over with. But I’m learning (slowly) that this strategy doesn’t make sense, and is–in fact–impossible. Cleaning a house and reading a book take time, just like cleaning up your past or letting go of your fears take time. It’s just the way of it. And surely this is the gift OF TIME, that we can pace ourselves as we sail across the ocean of life, that we can GENTLY and STEADILY make our way home.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Boundaries aren’t something you knock out of the park every time.

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The Emptying (Blog #526)

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It’s two in the morning, and I’ve spent the entire day–well, my entire day–cleaning. Some of my friends recently moved out-of-state, so I’m getting their house ready for their realtor to put on the market. And whereas it’s not hard work, it is long work, since I’m scrubbing the walls, washing the baseboards, and making sure every little nook and cranny is spic-and-span. This afternoon and evening I worked for eight hours and got three rooms–including the kitchen–finished. So that’s something.

Having spent a few weeks helping these same friends pack for their move, it really is something, walking around in their empty house. I mean, there was SO MUCH stuff before. You know how it is–possessions are magnetic–and since my friends were in the same place for nearly three decades, it all just accumulated. But now there’s not a lick of furniture, not a picture on the walls. There’s just a dust bunny here and there, a bottle of ketchup in the refrigerator, and box of lightbulbs for whoever ends up buying the house.

Whoever ends up buying the house–I thought about this person or persons while cleaning today. My friends’ realtor came over, and she talked about what buyers like, what they don’t like. “Families with young children might have a problem with the steep stairs,” she said. Anyway, I’m still wondering–who will end up there? Who will move into that empty (and soon-to-be-clean) house, fill it with their furniture and knickknacks, and make it their new home?

Whom am I helping to get it ready for?

For a few weeks I’ve had it in my mind to pack up a bunch of paperback books that have been on the shelves that run around the top of my room and store them in my sister’s old closet, since the books belong to Mom and Dad and everything else on display in the room belongs to me. Anyway, my friends left some empty boxes at their house, so I used those when I got home from cleaning tonight to pack up the books and tote them down the hallway out of my sight and out of my mind. Then I came back in my room and cleaned the shelves, an activity that ended up being a trip down memory lane, since I found two small nails and a glob of sticky-tack placed just above one of the shelves, remnants I’m sure of pictures or action figures I had displayed when I was much younger.

Once I got the shelves clean, my first instinct was to fill them. After all, nature abhors a vacuum, and so do I. However, when I started looking for things to put on the shelves, I realized first that I don’t really own anything and second that the three books I do have that need a place to go would look stupid up there surrounded by twenty feet of emptiness. So for now the shelves remain barren. And just like I wonder who will move into the house I’m cleaning, I wonder WHAT will move onto my shelves.

There’s a phrase in the Bible I’ve been thinking about for the last week–poor in spirit. You know, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” As I understand it, this phrase isn’t about money or a person’s external life but rather about a person’s internal one, the idea being that before you can be filled with new ideas, perceptions, or values, you first have to make yourself empty (or poor) by getting rid of whatever ideas, perceptions, or values currently fill you up. Jesus communicated this same idea when he said that in order to obtain salvation, you must first become like a child (who has no preconceived notions).

Anyway, this is what my life has felt like the last two years–the emptying–both with respect to my material possessions and to my immaterial ones. Nothing looks like what I thought it would on the outside. Nothing feels like it used to on the inside. Honestly, the results-oriented part of me is often embarrassed by everything that’s taken place during this period; so many days I feel like an empty shelf–nothing to show. And yet just like the house I’m cleaning or the shelves that run atop my room, I know it’s just a matter of time before I too am filled with whatever will come next. And until then, what a beautiful thing to have some extra room, a space that’s not full yet, a space that’s ripe with possibility.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"The heart sings for its own reasons."