We got cracking on a big house purge this weekend. As I have stated several times before, our clutter is always threatening to take us down and muffle our screams. One of my biggest struggles has been with having a space at home where I can, when I am not bone tired, pull out the paints and suggest a craft project or where I can sort out the mounting photos we have in our midst, without feeling slightly sick afterwards, and worse still, determined never to do it again. Most of all, all this stuff was really starting to create barriers between us. Together we finally took a big bite out of all this, and slowly but surely over the weekend, some treasures were unearthed, tons of useless (to us) things were either given away or discarded and places to work and play and eat and sleep and put clothes away in and read books and wrestle became distinct entities again.
We talk to ourselves everyday, all day (and night) for the whole of our lives. We started talking to ourselves before we knew we were a self, we forget what we said because we forget everything from before...when we were too young and busy developing our brain to remember those early years. There is still lingering residue of long forgotten conversations I have had with myself as a toddler sitting around in the crevices...sloughing off occasionally into words I tell myself still. We talk non-stop, and not just with dialogue. Our goosebumps communicate to us, our tingly feelings, our neurons, our peripheal vision. They are all submitting data into our self and expecting us to react, respond or all to often, expecting what they are sending us will be ignored. After all that talking, you'd think we'd know what we think about most things, but occasionally we are stumped. Unless we stop what we are doing and really concentrate sometimes that voice(s) ...
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