Wait, what day is this?

A college friend has been diagnosed with inoperable cancer and asked me to be the executor of his estate.  I'm at the age when people are dying a lot more, and I am going back into that metaphorical cold dirty room left to me when Mom died.  I have been much out of touch with the here and now.

Going into that metaphorical room is giving me symbols to use to deal with the feelings and processes.  The room was festooned with dust and cobwebs.  I keep going out and coming back with more tools.  And helpers.  In my visuallizing, I had to ask DH to help me get the window open.  Without his strength and hands-on skills, I would have had to smash the wonderful old wavey glass with the tiny bubbles in it.  The window had been caulked shut and I had to get it open.

Then I brought in a leaf-blower to chase out the cobwebs.  I was telling my friend LG about the process (knowing that she also speaks metaphor and imagery) and she gave me an extra extension cord for the leaf blower and made herself available to help whenever I needed her.  What a gift!

The room is crowded with hulking piles under dust-sheets.  I have to squeeze between them.  I knocked into one stack, and it fell down.  It was all empty boxes with packing tissue or newspaper stuffed into them.  As if something had been taken out, and the box just shoved back into this empty room because you never know when you might need it.  Mom was very much a child of the great depression, and she hated to get rid of anything.  So I mentally went through all the boxes, shook out the paper, then flattened the boxes and paper and took them to the re-cycling.  The only full box was stuffed tight with soft old rag-dolls.  They were grubby from being played with.  Ther clothes needed mending and their yarn hair needed tending.  I don't know why they got shoved in here.  Were they not good enough?  Mom used to buy me big, beautiful, elaborate, expensive dolls that I wasn't allowed to play with.  All show, no cuddle. I feel sorry for these soft lovey dollies and decide to take care of them. With the pile of empty boxes gone, it's nice to have a bit of clear floor space to work in.

Today, I'll need to bring in some more lights, another extension cord for the leaf-blower, and the shop vacuum.  Once I get all the cobwebs chased out, I'm going to start with the big pile right in front of the door and start discovering what's under the rest of the dust sheets. 

So I am posting this for a couple of reasons.  One, to give you an idea of what goes on inside this bone box on top of my spine, and two, to open the process up to my friends.  Any ideas, interpretations, inspirations?  Sometimes other people can look at a symbol that is obscure to me, and it is perfectly obvious to them.  My subconscious is very good at hiding things from me.  And three, if you have any rooms in your head that need cleaning, to offer my leaf-blower and shop-vac skills.

Yeah, I know, all metaphysical touchy-feely new-agey hoohoo.  I'll use any tools that will work and I don't care what they look like.  But if you don't want to know about the process, let me know, ok?  I'm going to be at this for a while.