I hate moving.

[wolven7]

Stability is crucial to me.

When I was three, my house caught fire. I wasn't there, and it didn't mean much to me at the time, but that combined with the amount of moving from houses I've done, since then (once every year and a half, on average), and I can say, without pause, that I hate moving. I hate the uncertainty of looking for a new place to live.

I am, to access a current lesson, attached to the idea of permanence and certainty. Of knowing that the things I've come to enjoy will continue to be there and in the formulation that I enjoy them.

This is false, and I know it's false. Everything in my life has shown me it's false.

Everything Changes. Everything.

Somewhere deep down I know this, and I wrap my life around the concept: Nothing is permanent. Even if only in aspect and formulation and interpretation, everything damn it changes.

I want nothing but motion and change and dynamism, from this day forward. An unyielding process of alteration in access. I want this forever.

And I want it from the unwobbling, eternal, changeless centre of all things.

The dynamic ever-moving infinite still of the Whole.

Always to have a place to return. To know that all change is impermanent change and that there's something solid underneath it.

But that's wrong, isn't it? It's sand on sand.

Recently, my favourite glass broke. It sounds melodramatic to say that I knew it would, but I knew it would. I liked that glass, and I'm sorry to see it go (one of the first pieces of glassware I ever owned), but it's... like another punctuation mark on what's going on, right now.

I could list the changes, again, and I could show you how they all work and intersect, but there's a hole at the centre of it all and that hole is moving house.

It's finding the place (a smaller place) and packing my things (too many things) and renting a truck and moving the furniture and moving the cats and getting them acclimated and the money and the time and the stress and all of it all of it all of it.

I hate moving.

I love movement. Actual change. Alteration, which I can label with a sense of self-defined progression. "Contextual to my goals, I am changing in a beneficial way."

The only moving house which ever felt that way was... Well. Not even moving into the Douglas House felt good.

Which, I guess, should tell me something, because that was one of the most important periods of my life, thus farrrrhuh.

Huh.

I need to spend today thinking about the times in my life in which I've moved and the contexts of important events surrounding and immediately following therefrom.

Time to get ready to go to the retail job.

Comments

[karishi.livejournal.com]

Or if not sand on sand, it's turtles all the way down.

A new house is a new perspective. I know this from my work; When I visited Japan I invented three new games visiting with four host families. In the three times I have visited my friend Eric's cabin I have invented two games. Five short stories from yearly visits to the cabin at Lassen National Park. One novel from the first overnight stay at Robert's house. One short story AND one game from the overnight at Greyhaven. One game from the visit to Magdalena & Paul's place in Florida. Another from the visit to their current place. A novel from the house the Rev. Moms had in the Berkeley hills.
At least for me, staying in a new space opens something. It gives me room to imagine in ways I haven't been doing week in and week out.
Perhaps I'd be a famous author, by now, if I were only more of a vagrant.

[wolven.livejournal.com]

It worked for Hemingway and Kerouac.

[opalblack.livejournal.com]

May the Goddess keep us from single vision.

[wolven.livejournal.com]

The sleeper must awaken.

[not-hothead-yet.livejournal.com]

have you considered buying a house? now's a good time to get a good deal...

[wolven.livejournal.com]

Yeah, but for a number of reasons, purchasing is not in the cards, just now.

I don't know that i'll be living in this state, in another two years, for one thing. But yeah, I've thought about it.