I have been fortunate in my life to indulge the luxury of a spiritual investigation which provided pointers on what is not ... as well as what is. From gross to subtle, it has some usefulness.
The accumulated 'stuff' around my house aroused this train of thought. So much stuff accumulated over time. Perhaps it was useful or beautiful or satisfying in some way ... a pair of baseball cleats; a plastic box in which to store whatever; a basket constructed out of some old tree trunk; the space between the stars. It all came to roost or satisfy, but now makes a somewhat different point: What I own likewise owns me and it's tiring.
Nor would I wish to shove it down anyone's throat. Everyone has the opportunity to assess the empty places that were then filled and proved reassuring. But what happened to the emptiness? What happened to what was fresh as the air swirling in proximity to a water fall?
The old saw is just an old saw: "Honor thy mother and thy father."
But still, honor is flavorful.
While cleaning a garage from the accumulated clutter of time, a poetic friend who'd come to visit and sat watching my efforts as we chatted, declared that the greatest art was the creation of space. I like it and it's stuck with me for many years now. Now that i've shared it, maybe i'll forget it. Though if forgetfulness creates space, i'm a master.
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