Clearing the Clutter

It's Spring and time to clear the clutter. Time to toss what isn't working for you. And I don't just mean stuff. One morning, in early March, I woke up hearing an order emanating from my heart:

"Make a clearing."

This happens to me every now and then. It's usually a sign that some significant changes are coming. Sometimes, I stop and try to figure it all out. But the voice only gets louder, reminding me that I need to stop being so afraid and just get to making that clearing. So I do what most people do.

I start pulling things out of the closet.

I know the voice in my heart isn't worried about closet space, but there is something that happens in the process of removing old items from our lives. The physical clutter leaves a space that gets the imagination going. What will hang in here now? What kind of clothes will I need for my new adventure? Will I need sandals or boots where I'm going? The piles grow until I feel an easiness in my heart; a certainty that I have released enough of the old from that space.

Then I wait.

Still I hear, "make a clearing" and I know I'm not done.

So I move onto the storage boxes. I peruse old photos, laughing and crying about life. Relics of past triumphs remind me of how tenacious I can be, when unimpeded. I finger the bindings of books that taught me so many lessons so long ago. I think about keeping them, like a child would keep a security blanket. But then I think about how selfish that is. The books still hold the power to lead others to change, but not if I hide them away in boxes or leave them to collect dust on shelves. Reluctantly, I release those books.

Then I wait.

And still I hear, "Make a clearing."

There is more that needs to be released. I know what the more is. My reluctance grows. But I know that the significant something will not show up until there is room.

And so I make a list. I release all the people that don't deserve to live in my head. Their littleness is made bigger by my mere attention. I release them. I detach from them in every way I can. I know they'll still pop up, just like annoying little gnats will sometimes attack on an innocent stroll through the park. I promise myself to just swat them away and keep on walking.

Then I wait.

And I hear nothing.

And I wait a bit longer.

And, as always happens, the significant somethings arrive. The spaces where the clutter used to be are filled with new adventures, new ideas, new people, new dreams.