My upstairs large bedroom has been in turn, a massage treatment room, a bedroom, a reading room/den. The smaller back room has been all three as well. That front room served until my neighbor with a penchant for war movies mounted his TV on the party wall to play all day.
I was thinking I occupied my body in the same way: when younger, I lived in different regions from those I live in now. Now I recognize the only place I should dwell is my heart, that secret interior where Spirit resides. I think I have finally arrived.
Wow! This needs a good cleaning! I scrub with sponges dipped in Belief. I scrape at stains revealing cracks where Selfishness settled in, thinking itself safe. I pour Hope into Light to get bubbling Joy. I pile the muddy rags with all else going into the fire of renewal.
Putting on music, I dig out drop cloths, paint, rollers, brushes. I set to work plastering the cracks with Assurance & Grace, driving new nails of Plain Truth, mounting tapestries displaying fresh ideas to ripple on the fresh walls. I add a soft rug in a Tree of Life design. I place salt-glow lamps, sturdy chairs, comfy pillows & retreat to the doorway to look it over.
An acquaintance once described fiercely cleaning his just bought row house. He said at midnight he heard murmurs in the backyard & came downstairs to the door to find the gentle ghosts who’d resided there before. They stared at him, finally whispering, “We have no place else to go.” He let them back in.
I must be careful now. Do I let the old back in? Do I allow it to reclaim the space? Do I set kibble for the feral thoughts slinking by my ankles in a cold rush? Let these settle in the new cushions?
Oh, I will keep after my refurbished heart. I will set alarms & tripwires to foist attempted entries. I know for certain my strengths yet feel also there is elasticity there to firm up.
If I allow entry to my old ghosts I must insist they leave at dawn.