Moved

I am exhausted... absolutely done in...  and miserable too. Moved homes last week.  The house is a textbook case in mess. It is not the mess that is bothering me neither the effort and time taken in the process, but the fact that this is the fifth time in the past eight years we've pitched tent and I've had it...

Sifting through piles of belongings, rubbish and dust for three days and I finally threw up my arms in utter revolt.  Again my objection is just not to the physical move as it is to the impermanence of things ...  to owning and possessing .. 

( I am aware i might not be making sense here, simply rambling... that's the way it is.. I am too exhausted to  edit and  rewrite the post.)

A few days ago sitting from where, i took a break,  doodling on  the floor coated with paint dust from a freshly painted wall-  the  set of Burmese lacquer inherited from my grandmother did not feel as dear...The piles of textile collected over the year,s  an encumbrance more than treasure, Loved and prided scraps  of my child's art work, like accumulated junk-  it  occurred to me that something was very wrong with the whole project... carefully accumulated objects and `things'  that in the normal course of things ought to have been a source of joy, or a reflection  of `taste' and `expression' as a lot of  design and art literature peddles, is just that an idea... not an extension of self. 

The `self ' attaches  to a whole lot of things that are just as changeable and fickle as itself.  It comes nowhere close to what `I' the way as I know me and the way as I do not know me, stands for..

The moral of this convoluted rant isn't that it is somehow foolish to like things and accumulate, just  that  there isn't mush point in attaching too much value, deriving sense of identification from them.  A physical space can be adorned to reflect peace and stillness, but  there is not much to it if the mental sphere lacks quite...  

It maybe that in a day or two, when the dust settles down, the art work is no longer strewn on the floor, the books are back on the shelves and corrugated board is a thing of memory, I'll have time to ruminate over colour form shape and texture again,   trivia shall take over  time and senses, but right now I cannot seem to get beyond the dust, sweat and muck around me...

Untill I get to the stage where  i am thankful to the set of circumstances that has led me here, just like the deaths, heartbreaks and dust of the past.... Untill I can look back and be thankful for today's chaos that will set me forward  tomorow...signing off.