This morning, I awoke with the image of the Tibetan monks destroying the intricate sand mandala they had created over several days during their visit to Durango.
Ever since the second eviction notice by the new owners who broke the contract they signed, I have worried that the 15′ U-Haul truck would not take the life I’ve collected to this strange new location out of state. Boxes of journals, memorabilia, and photo albums needed to be re-packed. Boxes had aged in the garage; my apartment was too small to live with them.
I spent days finding the right size box for each collection, and hours to repack them.
Last night, for the first time ever, I locked the deadbolt on the front door and the sliding glass door in my bedroom–the only egress. And I slept more than three hours for the first time since those new owners began harassing me. Their threats to take inventory of the garage disregarded the contract they signed; it clearly stated, “Seller is the sole user of that space until she relocates.”
Their continued threats and ugly words wore me down. Two weeks after the closing on the sale of the house, I saw them in the yard with the new tenant I had introduced to them, a fully-licensed contractor. I smiled, greeted them, and said, “I want you to know I’ve been working hard to find a place to live.” And Brian, one of the buyers, replied, “IF you’re doing what you SAY you are…”
Depleted of energy from looking online and going where no one else would go to see properties for rent during the COVD-19 Pandemic, I never got to experience the “Stay Home Order.” His words pierced my heart.
When my young friend came to help me pack, twice now, he took the boxes I just packed to the garage and brought up more of the boxes that needed repacking. They included hundreds of cassettes, bought and created, for teaching DansKinetics and Yoga and books and notebooks for being a psychotherapist. Memorabilia? Or do I seriously want to continue any of that?
I asked Clay to shut the garage door behind him each time he went inside and to lock it each time he left it to bring things upstairs, fearing that the crazy buyers would destroy or remove my things.
All the while I was going deeper and deeper into depression from fear, my precious friends and family, many of whom live in other states and countries, were sending me uplifting encouraging emails because I had no time to talk while working 10-12 hour days.
Last night, a woman phoned who had read my Letter to the Editor* which came out in this weekend edition of the Durango Herald. I didn’t tell her that I was that elderly woman. I didn’t mention that I had written my Letter to the Editor in my defense against my situation. If anything happened to me–if the buyers actually hurt me or my cats as my realtor, lawyer, and I feared they would–I wanted others to know who was responsible. I wanted the buyers to understand that I am somewhat internet savvy and could wreck their lives if they don’t leave me alone.
The caller asked if she could help that elderly woman. She told me how she helps others, including the handicapped. She described how she lives in an area that has several trailer parks. She talked about her minimalist lifestyle, reminding me how every time I’ve moved before, I got rid of almost everything I owned to start fresh. And the fact that someone read my letter gave me strength.
Even so, the fear was still strong; I used the deadbolt and locked the sliding glass door.
Regarding the fears about the U-Haul truck, I wondered, What is it about getting older that makes me grasp for what I know, what is familiar?
With my two cats snuggling next to me, I awoke, considering the images of the Buddhist monks erasing their beautifully, painstakingly created sand mandala. And I finally got the message intended for me:
Trust the process
In my work as a Holistic Health Practitioner, psychotherapist, and leader of self-empowering workshops, I learned to trust the process, especially when guiding a client in trance to resolve whatever issue they brought. I had to believe that I owned the skills and wasn’t alone–that I was part of All-That-Is.
On all my adventures, I believed that the world is a safe place to be and that everything would be all right. That included my journey to Canada, parking the van under a bridge when I couldn’t find anywhere else, sleeping with the sliding door open so my cats could go out, and trusting that they would come when I whistled for them.
The new owners’ behavior made me doubt my beliefs. But the support of friends and family, including the stranger who phoned me last night, was greater and gave me strength.
Now, I can say, “Whatever will be, will be.” I am a spiritual being having a physical experience, fully-present, witnessing my journey since listing my house. My hero from another state, a family man I have yet to meet, found me a house to rent. He’s flying in next weekend when my friends said they would load the truck. On Sunday, he’ll drive the U-Haul, and I’ll drive my 2004 Honda Civic with two cats who have never been in a car for more than fifteen minutes. I have no spare tire and it’s a seventeen-hour drive across three state lines.
And that stuff in the garage? Whatever I created here can be released. I am on a new path now, an adventure to experience more life.
[to be continued, down the road]
Till next time,
Please be kind to everyone you meet, for we all have our hidden sorrows. ~Tzaddi