Once I moved here to our current digs back in April, I left a few boxes unpacked. (Who does that? NO ONE does that!) This was our move to our new life, sans House bought with Turd Van Blossom, my ex husband. This was our path to new energy and new dreams.
Once you get into a place, and get the dishes and necessities where you want them, sometimes that extra box in the room isn't
that important to open. If you can't guess what's in it, you probably don't need to open it right away. Or within 6 months. Or by the time you retire.
In excavating the house yesterday in order to get our beautiful tree up (we have used the same tree for the last seven years. It's merely a stick now! Joke - obviously its a fake, and I told Humanling that we have spared seven trees by using this one.) Sorry to offend any who love the real tree smell. I love the real tree smell too and had only real trees as a child. I used to hide some of the needles under the carpet so that when the tree was taken down, I'd have a memory of it. And sure enough, the next year, my clean freak mom actually missed what was under the carpet - for there were my tree needles. I just have had issues with killing things (Turd hated this about me and threw it out as one of a million reasons why he was leaving. Ok ok...so maybe the time I begged him to find a natural method to get rid of the bees at his job instead of killing them might have crossed out of my reign of duty.)
As a child I always believed everythingwas alive. If I were coloring a page in a coloring book, I had to do the face first. I believed the picture could then hurry up and breathe, see, hear, taste and talk if I could just color their face right away. I believed I could spin a web, even if I couldn't see it. And I would pull the string out of my butt and fasten it to a nail on the wall where my parents hung our astrological posters. Then jump off the couch, looking behind me to see nothing, but to KNOW that there was a human web there. Who knows how much psychic *stuff* got caught up in my webs.
I cried when stuffed animals were taken out of my room and I'd find them on the top of a garbage heap ready to go to the dump. Those poor things....they needed love and I gave them love but my parents ruled the land and those in power don't see the sacred rituals of the peons.
The worst for me though, was the year of two Christmas trees when I was about seven. My mom worked hard to keep the house together. My father worked, no doubt, he brought home a check. But he enjoyed an alternate reality that came from a bottle or can or many women who weren't my loyal mom. Heading near Christmas, there was still no tree. It was probably near December 23rd. My tiny mother had had enough. She walked up the road in the dark to a nursery and stole a Christmas tree and dragged it all the way home (Mom is about 4 foot 7 inches). I was so happy to have a tree. We decorated it and I was happy.
The next morning, it appeared that in a drunken outdoor shopping spree, my father located a tree and tossed it on the front lawn. This was sheer horror for me. There was already a tree. Now there was a dying tree, dying for no reason. No one would decorate it. It wouldn't be like the tree merely 50 feet away indoors, with gifts, sugar water and anticipation of Santa. It would just sit there and rot until someone dragged it to the woods.
This was a lot of pain for my soul. I sound so dramatic but its true. It was unnecessary and brutal in my eyes. And just one more thing that I found to not like about my father during those years.
So I went outside with a strand or two of tinsel and put them on the heartbroken tree. It was really all that I could do and it made me feel a little better.
That's not the point of the post though. Do I ever really have a point?
Upon unearthing our bedroom to get ready for the tree, one of those ignored boxes had a ton of my socks, undergarments and pantyhose in them. I apparently adpated to the fact that my sock collection had scaled down. I threw a bunch of things in the laundry pile. And got a strange pang of amusement and weird nostalgia when I pulled the laundry out of the washer.
There was a pair of black pantyhose tied in a knot.
There is only one reason I have ever done this. This was the work of an intimate encounter with my ex hubby. By unknotting it, I was touching the energy of a union that seems so surreal to me, that has generated so much negative energy and that I am still trying to wholly encompass as a union of unknown beauty. By unknotting it, I was time travelling and touching an Us that no long exists. I tried to go back in my mind and think about any other people I may have been with in the last year and a half and know that this had nothing to do with them. This was an act of trust. (He trusting me in this case. That was MY knot.)
It was like walking down the sidewalk enjoying your new beau and running smack into your old life, knocking him down by accident and landing on top of him.
It was an interesting unveiling. I can't say that it bothered me. I rather enjoyed remembering for a second identifying what had been there, knowing that I did have some nice times. Even if many of them were more on a primal level with him.
I used to think that working through past events had a timeline. It happens, you mull around for a couple of weeks, it gets better, you move on and have no right to go back and dribble about it anymore. Not the case. And not that I sit around thinking about things or wishing it were different, but I do need to examine it to reconstruct an even higher spiritual me. Even with the pantyhose.
