We have all experienced the joys of moving, right?

Be it by necessity, or by expansion, or simply by autonomous selection, most have gone through the relocation process to a new living environment.

Whether the choice of living space is an apartment, flat, loft, efficiency, penthouse, townhouse, ranch house, guest house, tree house, mansion, palace, condominium, or barndominium, the typical activity that precedes the move in, is an inspection of the empty, potential, lodgings.

Unless my feelings are drastically off, when one engages in a tour of a future housing, there is usually, an accompanying sense of awe.

Look at all the space!

We view an environment that is not occupied by appliances, electronics, nor furnishing.  There are no paintings, nor shelving on the walls.  The carpet is clean, and the kitchen, and bathroom, sparkle.

So many thoughts go through our heads.  There are so many opportunities available within the new space.  There is a tremendous feeling of freedom associated with its openness. This unadulterated area, with its broad rooms, and empty walls,  is practically begging for our hands to apply our unique touch to its surfaces.

At that moment, we have mentally committed, and the potentially, new living space, ceases to be a future possibility. Instead, it is our new reality.

Then, we begin to fill it with all of our stuff.

We move in a couch or two.  Then, we move in a TV stand, followed by the TV.  Afterwards, we haul in a bookshelf, then several boxes of books, most of which we never read at our prior place.  We move in a recliner, a hutch, a lamp or three, several appliances, a coffee table, some dressers, a cabinet that your uncle didn’t want, but thought would be of use at your new home.  We move in an air conditioner, and an air purifier.  We move in an aquarium, and an ottoman.

And all of a sudden, that open space on the carpet, in front of where we were planning on putting the TV, and doing body-weight exercises, or yoga, or just spreading out and watching a movie,  isn’t quite big enough to accommodate those activities.   Internally, we acquiesce, because everything fit into the new space. There’s always the potential that the next place will fit our individuality, just a little bit better.

We live in our space, adding, adjusting, and customizing according to our whims.  We discover, randomly, that we feel our home is too cluttered, so we eradicate the items that seem to be the source of the clutter.  Then we find, that it was the shape of other items, that was causing the congested feelings, so, we replace those items.  Afterwards, we think, that it was the arrangement of our things, that was incongruous with our space, so we shift, or pay someone to tell us how to arrange our things.  Years down the line, we think that the coloration, feel, cushioning, functionality, or some other aesthetic of the furnishings in our living space doesn’t fit our mood, or disagrees with some other element of our constitution, causing us to jettison the offensive piece, then replacing it with a similar, but more appealing item.   Eventually, we find that its the space itself, that is the issue, so as we had done previously, we find a new place to live.

Now, consider your own heart.    It is the empty, optimistic, hope-filled, plush-carpeted, blank slate, into which we, over a long period of time, cram all of our furniture.  In the beginning, our heart accommodate only sparse accents. They swell, and pulse, according to our initial needs.  Then, we add more intricate, and bulky, pieces to our heartspace.  And still it stretches, and yields.  Then, when too much strain is applied to a particular loveseat, and it cracks in the middle, rending the fabric in two, we seek to discard it, and replace it with another.   But there are none to remove this furniture.  No disposal service exists.  We may only push it towards the outer walls of the heart, and replace it with a newer, more emotionally functional piece.

This will happen, time, and time again.  We will try to replace many of the furnishings within our heart, be it from perceived wear, functionality, or aesthetics, though, we are only able to push them into the recesses.  We attempt to maintain an open, free-feeling space, to house our emotional furnishing. We do not have the ability to place our internal clutter elsewhere.  We can’t shift our old emotional furniture to a new flat.  Unlike finding a new place to house our physical being, our hearts are a permanent home from which we cannot relocate.

How do we find comfort and peace in our own heart?

Humbly yours,

J