Empty vessels

Before part II

Getting ready to get ready is not my forte. Cleaning out a work space to make it my own sometimes requires help. Or maybe, when it comes to cleaning anything that might break, I need lots of help. So we emptied the room and then it has been my Monday morning chore to put back only those things which are necessary.

While cleaning out the library of it’s stores of stuff, we found a whole stash of vases. Each one of these vessels actually held some treasure. Some were candles, some little what-nots, some flower petals, some dried rose buds, and ribbons. What treasures! Except for the inconvenience of actually remembering where all of those things came from. After time goes by, we amazed ourselves at the lack of actual treasure the items had become.

Empty vessels are meant to be filled, right?

Empty. That’s how my days have felt for so long now, that having a purpose of sorts makes me wonder many things. For instance, why do we keep these things past their time of remembrance? Why do we keep flowers past life? The empty pursuit of holding on to the things of the memory appals me when I have to throw away the dusty sneezy dead stuff inside. I have decided not to keep dead flowers around anymore. Or even plastic ones that collect dust. Too much to clean.

Vessels and books filled the shelves. It was amazing how many boxes, containers, plastic totes, and jars that I found. Most of them we threw away. I even found some small jars. My mother-in-me told me not to throw them away. Myself-in-me finally won. Keeping things “just because” had overwhelmed the library shelves. I could not even clean the room because of them. Let alone find the book that I had been looking for these last few months. (Found it.)

Imagining that book covers were once empty vessels until someone organized all those words was fun. I tried to imagine which vessel in the room would best exemplify the book “Little Women.” There was a little music box filled with hair clips, favorite rocks, and other goodies. All the years my children were home seemed summed up in that little box and the book. Though we are in a different era, my girls are so much of who I am. The book titles all tell a story of who we are and who we have become.

There is a saying that comes to mind frequently: Who we are depends partly on the people we spend time with, the books we read, and the beliefs that we hold. I am who I am because of my children and all these books in this library.

I do not know what the book After will look like. I do not know if it will one day be on someone’s bookshelf, telling the story of who they are. It is yet an empty vessel waiting for the words to be organized.

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