This past week, I noticed that my body has its own memory. I knew this from the years that I was healing from abuse, when surprising hair-triggers were a regular part of my life, but it hasn’t come up in a way that surprised or challenged me in a long time. And then twice this week, something I did reminded me vividly, viscerally of an event years in the past, both times because of physical cues.
This coming week, I invite in emptying. I made a list of things that I wanted in June, one of which was “all that is mine returns to me.” In order to do this, it’s becoming increasingly clear that I need to let go of things that are no longer mine. There is plenty of room.
How this could work: I’m going to be moving in a few months, so I could take this opportunity to go through some of the places that clutter has accumulated (even in my miniscule apartment!) and empty them. I could clean my altar. I could pour out offerings outside. I could clear space in my schedule.
What went well: I was part of the planning this year for the Pride Interfaith service in Boston, and our service was on Saturday. We put countless hours into restructuring the service to feel more welcoming to people coming from outside of Christian traditions, both in thinking about how to accomplish that logistically and in working together to come up with something everyone could wholeheartedly support. What we ended up with came off so beautifully and smoothly that even as a veteran of well-run ritual, I was amazed. The cloutie tree above is one we asked people to contribute to before and after the service and I love it.