Memory Day

How does memory interfere with change? Am I trying to accomplish a similar situation or evoke a same-satsifaction response when I ‘threaten’ to change? I want to think I’m into new thought & new ideas but all around me are memories – mine or someone else’s.

I kept my bureau full of bowls for two years. They are lovely to behold, handy to put odds into, it’s easy storage & access. Two days ago I rounded the Goodwill & Dollar Store to effect a different look & now my bureau is a different tableau – a meditation on familiy instead as I dug out the few photos I have of my people & put them up: the Dad I never knew, my dead sisters, my dead Mom, some former me’s & others purported to be on the planet (rare of contact & lacking in content.)

I attended Unity in Venice. Yes, I know I said I’d never go back, but Memorial Day & all that. It was a beautiful Memorial Day service & the head of the school for 19 years was treated to a slide show of many memories, the grown children she had cared for there with hugs & balloons.

All of this seems to have chugged my brain into contemplating change. One woman I met was trying to sell her house but the market is dead sluggish here. Her lament included concerns about how her dog would deal with it. This took me one more gear lever into how much some of us enjoy caring for others or feel so responsible to hold them in stasis where we also are held.

Routine is boring, but comfortable in its way. Yet still, we need change, different, new, other, movement! I am wanting to be about changing my behaviors. I am impatient with those who will not to change. I see people wearing down a groove they settle into & then bitch about for the longest time. Of course I do it too. Don’t you?

AIthough I engage in behaviors requiring sameness – I need to engage in being alive. Sameness only ensures existence.

This Unity did not offer any new thought or any sentences that evoked a jump-up-&-run-to-do-it response. It was “nice.” Tradition is “nice.” It’s no longer what I am after or what I want to be about & the bestirrings of change are restless in my gut. I feel them. I will obey them. I must, or I will rust in the fields of my comfortable life, content, not contending.

This is how beginnings manifest for me: that rumbling in the distance I take for thunder, the darkening of what is already here – a light piercing through of a quality as yet my eyes cannot perceive. Here it comes again.

Soon it will be ‘here it is’ instead.