Twas the night ‘fore Thanksgiving, when all through the house,
I savored the thought of a tub soak, minus Mickey Mouse.
My boyfriend and I, having prepped a great feast,
retired to our respective abodes for a little peace.
We were hosting the great T-day for three other friends;
homemade rolls and steaming turkey danced in our heads.
After hot tea and an evening snack,
I donned my robe and prepared my bath.
My toes touched water when there rang with a clatter,
My Spirit Guides called: “You’re in trouble, there’s something the matter!”
“Impeccable timing,” I sighed, and knew in a flash,
my Spirit Guides were warning me,
so I re-robed my robe and tied my sash.
Was it a full moon, or what? I did not know,
but I climbed my stairs, leaving my bath below.
When I reached my second level, what should appear,
but recent stones gifted me, working tools so dear.
I’d graciously accepted them, question-less and quick,
now my Spirit Guides were prompting me to make an energy check.
More rapid than eagles, the energies, they came,
I commanded each stone to reveal its true nature and name;
One slashed, another danced, a third pranced, the little vixens;
another shot like a cupid and donderred my blitzen.
They camouflaged in sport, shot in anger off the walls,
‘zinged’ me up side the head till they dashed away all.
In the silence of the room, energies split to the sky,
I dropped the last stone and sighed a great sigh.
My Spirit Guides were wise, showing me what they knew,
the items gifted me, in my possession, were not clear, not true.
Then in a twinkling, I looked ‘round the room
and saw for the first time, all I owned, spoke too.
Everything of mine, from every glass to every ring,
resonated with energy and entities to sing.
The mask dissolved off the charade in my home.
I glimpsed all through new eyes, a dog with a new bone.
My precious antique sugar bowl of my thrice great grandmother,
screamed a Harry Potter ‘howler’ that I wanted to smother.
Indian ladies over candles, with their backs towards me,
hummed a an Earth Mother rhythm, into the morning wee.
My brass Buddha cloaked a nether world darkness in his hollow form
and my characterless Walmart vases were startlingly vacant and void.
That night, I stood stunned, turning this way and that.
“Where are the men in white jackets?” I asked my cat.
But the men did not come, to carry me away,
instead my possessions put on quite a display.
So in the days between Thanksgiving and the great Yuletide
I checked item by item, letting go ego, vanity, nostalgia and pride.
I saw deeply into my things, for the reasons I kept and carried,
letting bit by bit go, the weight, the luggage, the extra carriage.
Box after box went to thrift stores, my home reduced in girth,
gradually granting me greater and greater peace, sight and mirth.
When the feather’s finally settled, after my holiday purging spree
I looked round my rooms, and they clearly looked back at me.
The artwork, the pieces, I had chosen to stay
filled my rooms uninhibited with peace, wholeness and grace.