There is something sitting in my psyche, something that shouldn’t be there, at least not anymore. I’ve become aware of it because of the way my mind skitters away and seeks distraction at odd times. When I trace the places it skitters like connect-the-dots, I can see the space where this thing lives. But I still don’t know what it is.
It must have been something that helped me survive in the past, or my mind wouldn’t be working so hard to protect what my spirit knows isn’t needed anymore. It has, in fact, become dead weight.
Yesterday morning, in that odd place between sleeping and not when your mind isn’t quite awake enough to check your soul, I offered up a prayer. I will clean house out here, I said, if you will clean house in there.
Now the front rooms of the house are eerily clean. Not a speck of dust on the bookshelves or a magnet out of place on the fridge. Every drawer, every cabinet has been emptied out and scrubbed. The place smells faintly herbal from lavender castille soap and tea tree oil and vinegar. I even dragged the damn overstuffed love seat I’ve been meaning to get rid of for two months out of the apartment and into the dumpster myself.
But the thing, the block in my psyche, is still there, and I still don’t have a name for it. In the shower last night, when the work for the day was done, I prayed, Give me clarity to see what this is and courage to face it when I do. A dangerous prayer.
Today I am tackling the back rooms. The laundry room, the bathroom, the bedroom where all the clutter seems to crawl eventually, under the bed and into the closet. If this doesn’t flush whatever this is out of my psyche, I’m calling in outside help.