Beginning To Let Go

The Stag, which I painted a few weeks ago
based on a dream-vision I entered in order
to work with some new totem energy.

I’ve been, as I am periodically prone to do, wallowing again. If you've read the previous entry, and noticed the lack of other meaningful entries, you've probably already figured that much out. The knowledge that I’m leaving my childhood home behind—and likely for good, this time—in addition to the various other things that have been going on has been weighing on my thoughts a lot lately. You know, like, failing out of air assault. That’s still bothering me quite a bit. Not to mention all of the other thousand things I've meant to get done this summer that have somehow slipped away. However, as I was reading the various blogs I follow today, I came across Thorn Coyle’s recent entry, which made me feel a little better:

“Most of us, I would hazard to guess, waffle somewhere in between: we take steps toward desire, and then retreat again to what feels like safety. We get to good enough, but not really satisfaction. We fly for a little while, maybe feel shot down, and have trouble moving forward again. We forget that failure means a chance to learn. People who don’t step toward desire never fail big, but they often end up failing by default. When we fail by default, there isn’t as much of a chance to start over, because there doesn’t seem to be any clear demarcation point where one phase ends and another one begins… unless we decide that today is the day we get up off the couch and try.”

Therefore, I can rest easier, if not easily, knowing that at least I tried. Many more people never even make the attempt, and perhaps in a few months or years or so, I’ll get the opportunity to try again. Next time, I’ll be ready. No obstacle course will stand in my way.

I still need to pack. I have a pile of things sitting in the basement that I never fully unpacked when I came home because I never really needed them (ex: winter clothes, books I’ve already read, etc). Time to sort through them and grab some boxes and bags and suitcases and figure out what I’m taking to Missouri and then Texas, and what I’m leaving here for an indefinite number of years. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to return to Virginia, and I’m going to miss this little state. One of these days I may tattoo a dogwood on my wrist to take a piece of it with me. I’m hugely going to miss this state. I love the mountains, the forests, the little mischievous squirrels who somehow end up inside the supposedly squirrel-proof birdfeeders.

The hardest part of packing is going to be choosing which books to bring with me, because I simply do not have room in my little car for the entirety of my collection. I’m something of a bibliophile, so picking and choosing what I will read again, what I haven’t read enough, what I need as a reference for my personal/professional/spiritual development, and what I’m really not going to read will be quite the ordeal. At least I already know some of the things I HAVE to take with me:

1. The statue of Diana hunting that my grandfather carved back before I was born, and that I inherited after he died.
2. Gregory the Gargoyle, inherited from a good friend. Thanks again, Werewolf06!
3. My two guitars (one sage-green Fender Stratocaster and one Gibson Cascade), the various guitar paraphernalia that goes with them, my flute, and my electric keyboard.
4. My new laptop, which I’m still completely in love with.
5. And, last but not least, my newly-painted (by me) box of Pagan goodies I like to periodically use in my practice, such as it is. Expect pictures soon :)