It has become the Queen of Bohemia's personal ritual to weekly clean the house. For there is a certain satisfaction to getting the dirt, the loss, the shame, the fear and all that goes with it in life's little tragedies, out. It is erased, like sand washing over the hieroglyphs. It is worn away and something new is created.
More so, it's the body that gets in there. The constant motion of the hands, the squats to get down on the floor and scrub into the corners. The mind stops; the heart opens. And whatever needs to be cleaned internally speaks its last words of reckoning and then vanishes like vapor from a tea kettle.
I realize that my father was the biggest wounding. Yes, my mother was a doozy, but he who survived the concentration camp of Java was so disempowered. I think of the seeds I purchased and planted in trays at his house in March. They sprouted, but promptly died from lack of attention. We did plant a few seedlings I purchased at a greenhouse in the back. But there is always the lack of initiative. The hope and the excitement of getting ready. Only to be met with disappointment and futility.
I ask my father when visiting his house to have the children help him weed the garden. Have him read to Paloma. He does not. They watch TV all day. My father sleeps in his bed.
I helped him get a reverse mortgage for his house before Frank died. And he has taken as much equity as he can out. And now another $30 k in equity will just be eaten up. I cannot understand the reasoning in this. He says the world is going to leap into the fifth dimension and none of this will matter. I do keep myself withdrawn from things, like the Speer property and panic about financials and see this as a grand projection that the Gita epitomizes in this action of life detached. But what the?!?!?!? I get angry. Why would he do that? How selfish! But then he is in survival mode, they say. And I cannot judge. For I do not need anything. The Queen of Bohemia has her own powers to manifest whatever she wishes. I love and forgive my father. The scrubbing lets go. The body scrubs and the body let's go the energy held in it. I am grateful that Dad takes my kids. That they get an Opa. That we have Thai food every week and that he is there for me to cry on when I really freak out about things.
The Queen of Bohemia scrubs away all the self doubt, all the fear and all the poverty mentality. Where she was afraid and thought she needed to move back to 1388 Kilkenny Street and take care of her father, she does not. She does not create chaos in her life any more. For she is settled. She has a lovely court to help her achieve her dreams. She cleans her own house, however, and that makes all the difference. For there is where her power lies. It lies within.
More so, it's the body that gets in there. The constant motion of the hands, the squats to get down on the floor and scrub into the corners. The mind stops; the heart opens. And whatever needs to be cleaned internally speaks its last words of reckoning and then vanishes like vapor from a tea kettle.
I realize that my father was the biggest wounding. Yes, my mother was a doozy, but he who survived the concentration camp of Java was so disempowered. I think of the seeds I purchased and planted in trays at his house in March. They sprouted, but promptly died from lack of attention. We did plant a few seedlings I purchased at a greenhouse in the back. But there is always the lack of initiative. The hope and the excitement of getting ready. Only to be met with disappointment and futility.
I ask my father when visiting his house to have the children help him weed the garden. Have him read to Paloma. He does not. They watch TV all day. My father sleeps in his bed.
I helped him get a reverse mortgage for his house before Frank died. And he has taken as much equity as he can out. And now another $30 k in equity will just be eaten up. I cannot understand the reasoning in this. He says the world is going to leap into the fifth dimension and none of this will matter. I do keep myself withdrawn from things, like the Speer property and panic about financials and see this as a grand projection that the Gita epitomizes in this action of life detached. But what the?!?!?!? I get angry. Why would he do that? How selfish! But then he is in survival mode, they say. And I cannot judge. For I do not need anything. The Queen of Bohemia has her own powers to manifest whatever she wishes. I love and forgive my father. The scrubbing lets go. The body scrubs and the body let's go the energy held in it. I am grateful that Dad takes my kids. That they get an Opa. That we have Thai food every week and that he is there for me to cry on when I really freak out about things.
The Queen of Bohemia scrubs away all the self doubt, all the fear and all the poverty mentality. Where she was afraid and thought she needed to move back to 1388 Kilkenny Street and take care of her father, she does not. She does not create chaos in her life any more. For she is settled. She has a lovely court to help her achieve her dreams. She cleans her own house, however, and that makes all the difference. For there is where her power lies. It lies within.
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