Spirit Matters: Peace of Mind

Dear Friends,

Let’s start with a poem.

 

As we lean toward Spring, our longing grows to throw open the windows and let in fresh air, plant seeds, make room for new possibilities. But like me, you may be burdened like the Ancient Mariner’s Albatross with detritus accumulated over decades, keeping stuff for someday, or simply not dealing with it because it’s too tedious.

As a younger women I moved often, which gave me good reason to ditch unneeded things. But I’ve been in the same house now for almost 27 years, and both my parents have died, leaving their treasures behind. I now have more than ever.

I’m calling 2026 my Peace of Mind year, devoting time to updating financial, legal, and health matters so no one is left unclear about my needs or wishes when I’m incapacitated or dying. This has nagged me a long time and I’m tired of the energy drain. Being the old composters we are, my husband Carl and I finally decided on terramation for our remains. We’re working through financial assessments to ensure coverage if, like our parents, we need to be cared for in our last years, so we don’t stress our kids. We’ll revisit the Will and directives, and all the other necessary business.

This is one foot in front of the other work, not particularly fun or easy, but when I realized my own peace of mind was at stake, along with the desire to free my creative spirit without background worry, I decided I’d buckle down, get through it, and hopefully have a good number of years left to joyfully pursue other adventures in life.

Peace of mind also includes sorting through physical stuff. I have piles of old papers – a complete mystery. And many boxes of ancient journals and poems, family photos, unused art supplies, sewing supplies, as well as mementoes from childhood. Yikes!

Before my mother died, she told me to clear everything out by the time I was 75, that it was too hard after that. It was too hard for her and after her death at 91 my sister and I spent an entire summer sorting through and distributing the many well-intended things my mother had saved, from craft supplies to sets of duplicate gifts to foam containers. She’d simply gotten too old and too ill to deal with them, and was trying to warn me, protect me from that fate.

Now 75, I’ve experienced her wish as a bit of a curse, feeling guilty I haven’t heeded her advice. But I also know the wisdom of it, and perhaps my mother, who was right about so many things, is right again. It’s time to deal with it.

I love how Oliver’s poem inspires us to let go of “stored” stuff and make room for trees and birds. I want to feel that free. I want to be present in the beauty of nature, in the flow of creativity and Spirit, open to adventure, rather than nagged by old stuff. I also want to be responsible about death, not leave a wake of clutter and confusion behind. There’s a marvelous inspiring little book I borrowed from the library called The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson, which I highly recommend if you feel stuck too.

And how about faith that all our needs will be met, when needed?  Not to be silly about it, but I could let go of old crayons, old construction paper going yellow around the edges, old cameras my parents had, and boxes of papers so obviously unimportant they’ve been ignored for 20 years. This requires I fully engage in the present, rather than worry about lack in the future or cling to the past. How much mental/emotional/physical real estate do I allow old things/ideas/stories/beliefs to occupy? Life is short. How do I want to use my energy for the years I have left?

All food for thought as Spring approaches with that homely task of Spring Cleaning. My project may take all year (at least) but I’m glad to be on track. And, of course, I’ll recycle and pass things along for reuse rather than burn as Oliver dramatically conveys. I know every single thing has been made from the Earth, and I want to respect that gift of life and precious elements, not just toss in the landfill (unless absolutely necessary).

I imagine my mom peering through the clouds, saying, “Finally, she’s listening to me!” and thanking the Lord. Of course I do, always did, more than she ever knew. Thanks, Mom!

A juicy creative Spring to you!

– Marcia Rutan

Prayer chaplain, elder, poet, Earth pilgrim

 

Music recommendation

Wash Your Spirit Clean – Walela

 

 

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