The Shelf

I am unpacking my belongings and arranging them in my new apartment here in California.

Moving is an interesting process; it reveals many things about one's relationship with one's things.

I have two bookshelves in my apartment one is tall the other short. The tall bookshelves have doors on the bottom half; the doors conceal the content of the two bottom shelves.

Tonight I unpacked two boxes of music books and they all fit onto the bottom shelf of the tall bookshelf; when I closed the doors I felt strange. These boxes were the last two boxes of books I chose to unpack. I dreaded unpacking them. These books symbolize my attempts to arm myself with knowledge. I feel as though I've failed them and in turn failed any and every one who's obliged me along my path.

I suppose that in truth I haven't failed; the game isn't over and the fat lady certainly hasn't sung. I just STOPPED working because I didn't want to battle anymore.

Maybe as corny as it sounds surrender really is worth something.

I keep listening - the sounds keep coming.

I keep waiting to know what to do next .....

I catch glimpses of what may come - I feel changes in myself. I'm more open to my imagination and at the same time I really notice when I clam up and shut down - my defenses taking hold.

For now, the books are tucked away, behind a set of doors, sitting on a shelf.