Today I am sitting in my new office with a new desk and light streaming in from the southern exposure french doors next to me. There are no papers piled up, no post-its everywhere. just clean space. I have strategically placed things of certain significance from my life to remind me of their importance and to give me fresh perspective daily.
It is arranged in a private corner of my piano studio; my sanctuary that I have now christened my office. I honestly don’t know why it took me so long to do this.
The table is the first piece of furniture I bought from a flea market in Paris, not just any flea market but the famous Marché aux Puces de St. Ouen in Clignancourt. It is a 1920’s deco style table with curved legs, a rare find these days. St Ouen served in the court of King Clotaire whose son Dagobert I convinced Ouen (Owen) not to become a monk. He, however, went about France founding monasteries and promoting spirituality. Wow that was a tangent, but I love french history and it seems pertinent to my mission.
The picture of my children at our old beach house reminds me to keep family and leisure time a priority. There is also a small clock from Toledo resting against the picture to say taking time for travel and discovery is a non negotiable.
My Grandmother’s large shell ashtray from said beach house, now filled with shells I have collected from all over the planet, keeps the wisdom of the ancestors, especially the wisdom of the Grandmothers, alive. My renewed focus on the power of women coming together and supporting one another is represented here.
Pens float in a tiny Irish pitcher to spur me on to write. Just like practicing the piano, writing requires a little bit everyday and requires the subtle discipline of doing, not waiting for perfect conditions or lots of time. The Irish part represents wit, humor and loving kindness and the fantastic influence Irish people have had in my life, especially my husband and my piano mentor.
On the other side of the desk are a piece of pottery from Mexico from the first trip I took with my husband, some fabric fortune cookies made by one of my best piano students and an alabaster cup and saucer, albeit chipped, from my first spiritual teacher to remember that life can be like a cup of tea, filled to the brim and to be shared with the company of others.
The marble lamp with a flower cut shade is from my mother’s bedside table and stands out as a memory of something both precious and painful from my childhood.
The Moroccan dish is a gift from my middle son from a trip he took where he “heard the call”. I put my earbuds there to remember to heed the call and always always listen.
The artsy postcard of a bee represents personal transformation and the preservation of our planet. It is the mascot of my spiritual school. The bee collects the pollen, inherent Sacred Truth, and miraculously converts it into honey, our alchemical personal spiritual experience. As well, I love nothing more than honey and beeswax, the smell, the taste, the feel and the cleansing satisfaction it brings.
Finally, a check from the Gratitude Bank of the Universe to remind me that money is an energetic flow that I can give and receive with ease.
I know these are all “just things” but they came together like a tapestry of items from all over the house. Nothing is new, just rearranged, and that creates the antidote for lack.
My old IKEA desk was an ancient stacking grounds shoved into the corner of a multi-purpose room. It was so crammed with books, bank statements, and things I wanted to save as absolute must do’s from 4 years ago that I went seeking light and view in the kitchen. I chose the most public place in the house with no regard for my own space. It was also a dumping ground for everyone else’s shit.
Something came over me last weekend and in order to clean the desk, I had to clean out the closet and shelves to put some of the books away. That opened another can of worms, loads of memories and reminders of failed business attempts, newly found lost items and a lot of emotional baggage. At one point during the process, there was a 4X4 pile of CD’s, books and papers on the floor to go out of the house.
I have cried more than once about my life decisions, the old self doubt, all the extreme fruitless effort, and my relentless clinging to crippled hopes and dreams. I heard echoes of my delusional wish for something better, something more and all the evidence of my belief that I am not enough. I found old parts of me that once believed success came from the outside; that things would be better if…, that sacrificing who I am would bring about a way to support my vision.
I recycled it. I threw it away. I gave it to charity.
As I write, I feel the poignancy and sacred maneuver of what I just accomplished. I have dusted away the self pity and nourished the undeserving waif who so needs my forgiveness.
I stand in gratitude for what I have and where I am. I forgive myself for such imperfection. I marvel at this new environment both inside and out.