Bricks

I live in a big house.  It’s not a mansion of sorts but for wee old me, it’s big enough.  3 stories of which are not used except a kitchen, a bedroom and a bathroom.  I tell you this for a reason of which you’ll come to understand.  Read on.

Houses are symbolic of the self.  In the instance that you know me or actually read this rubbish that I write you’ve come to understand there are some pieces of the puzzle that haven’t exactly sorted themselves into the whole quite yet.  My house has been like this.  Rooms painted colors that I didn’t really vibe with, empty spaces and walls, things from my past that no longer suited who I’ve become etc. etc. – you get the gist.  A half ass ensembled structure housing me.  Get it yet?

This Fall I decided that it was proper time to work on the house.  On every level.  Existentially, physically, structurally….etc….etc…So, I embarked in a redecoration effort of the soul.  Material objects, as well as my conscious.  I enlisted the help of my BFF who has a flair for design and I enlisted the help of a therapist.  Two crucial elements in this process. 

I had come leaps bounds in a short amount of time – feeling as if I just might do this, and do this right.  Fix my house and all that lay within and then some.  I went sort of into a phase of riding on a euphoric high of rediscovery, hope, and excitement.  The world was my oyster.  I was changing the colors of my life.  I was getting there.  And…then…the fucking chair never came in.  This one chair that was supposed to complete the room.  The one chair that I needed to complete my ‘space’ – my now ‘being’, was lost in transit somewhere, lost in a state of coloring fabric and velvet undertones.  And then things came to a screeching halt.  The redesign faded quickly into a repetitive pattern of distain for existsence….

Stupid traffic jams of life. 

And then it hit me.  I had escaped all of the realistic undertones by riding on a high of things to come, not what was, so in essence, I was still…still.  My house wasn’t ready to be to finished because I was distracted from the real work.  Is this vibing?  My house wasn’t ready to be finished because I wasn’t even close to being a ¼ of the way there yet.  It wasn’t about the structure of walls; it was the structure of my humanity that was still in process.  Until that was done, the chair would never come.

I didn’t like this.  I rebelled like a motherfucker.  I did stupid things.  I am an impatient soul.  I can’t help it.  However, I then grew tired and stopped.  I got back to the foundational work.  The most important bit to build this ‘house’.  I slowly covered gaps with cement to make it stronger.  I allowed myself to be in it.  One step forward, 5 steps back. 10 steps forward, 3 steps back.  Life.

I got the call on Friday.  The chair has been shipped.  I think I’m ready for that room to be complete now.  There are 3 more rooms to go that are in process.  By the spring, I think it will be a beautiful place to be. 

Make sense?

Thanks for listening.