I’ve seen a
warehouse when the consignment has shipped: swept bare, not a nail or speck of
dust remains. If the body is a temple, as the Apostle says, so also the body’s
mind. You don’t allow heaps of rubbish
lying around a temple, so less the body and even less the mind.
Piles of
procrastination. Hoards of hurts. Caches of comparisons. Operas of offence. Bales
of brawls and dramatic cavorting. Menageries of judgement. Cellars of
self-congratulation.
Illness and
mourning shock the body whether you’re consciously aware or not: energy leaks
away like water. Change the stowage. Find chapels of healing; encompassed griefs;
cloistered regrets swathed in prayers of humility.
What to bring to
this space once you’ve removed the lumber? Trousseaux of thankfulness, gardens
of good will, coffers of kindness. Pure intentions. Troves of tender regard. Gatherings
of flowers, scripture, literature, art. Music, language of angels. Vast stores
of memories. Many things are quicker to dismantle than build up. That accounts
for gallons of slowness and tonnes of patience. Treasuries of mercy and
lovingkindness.
‘We cannot know
what God is, but rather what God is not’. Remotion, not names. No nail nor
speck of dust remains.
