Last weekend a psychic-in-training friend of mine, Megan, came over to my apartment to do a session with me. She’s a health coach and yes, she is literally in psychic school. And yes, she intuitively knows things that I have not told her. She doesn’t act like it’s a big deal, she basically just describes it as tuning in to a different frequency. “Anyone can do it” she says.
I ushered her through my cluttered entry hall. We sat down with some candles burning in my living room and did an opening meditation. A little chakra clearing… a little energy aligning… you know the drill.
When we opened our eyes after the meditation, she was immediately tuned in to the fact that I’ve got a whole owl spirit-animal thing going on. Starting back when my grandmother used to call the pine forest next to her little house “Owl Woods”, to the painting I’d recently fallen in love with that featured an owl landing on a tired queen’s shoulder.
As my friend tuned in to the owl vibe she turned around and indicated in the direction of the hallway and said “you have an owl up in the closet there?” I was like “yeah, there’s an owl statue in the cupboard above the sink (in the same direction she was indicating).
My friend said, “you’ve got to clean out that cupboard… you need to clean out that whole hall, but definitely that cupboard where the owl is.”
A whole lot of other things happened in the session that contained very helpful ideas and insights into situations in my life. But I was eager, once she left, to get to work on the cupboard.
I climbed up on the step-ladder and pulled down boxes and bags of old photos that were sitting on that top shelf. Then I dumped them onto my couch and, Marie Kondo style, started going through them one at a time. I looked at each photo and felt the energy it contained. Then chose whether to keep or trash it based on if it gave me a feeling of joy or not.
Back in my teens when I didn’t know how the hell I was going to get out of Vermont and into the big, beautiful life I hoped to live, I aspired to be a model. It seemed like a quick and easy way to get somewhere else fast. It never really worked out. I was not tall enough/thin enough/whatever enough to make it happen. But I had all these photos taken back then by amateur photographers or my mom.
As I went through these photos, many of them were from those days when I hoped to be a model. As I felt each one, even though it was just a slip of paper, they seemed to have a great weight to them. The weight of my teenage confusion and placelessness. The weight of my young idea that my greatest value was in being an attractive object in the world. And the weight of a lost dream.
Photo after photo, I flung them into a big pile in the middle of the living room, and then put them in a plastic bag to bring out to the garbage. I saved a few, like the above image from when I was 16, just for the sake of a memory. But most of them I dumped.
It is hard for me to properly express to you what a relief it was to get rid of these photos. Even though they were sitting seemingly innocently up in that cupboard, the past that they carry is not something I wish to bring with me into the future.
I do not need to deny what these photos represent, I love my journey, including the painful times. But I don’t need to carry it around anymore.
Perhaps you have some cupboards packed with memories or mementos that carry an old version of yourself you’d rather not lug around anymore? Maybe you should consider climbing up on a step-ladder, pulling that shit down, and letting it go once and for all…
(Ps. Megan’s website)
(Pps. This is the painting that I am in love with called “Turning Point” by Rene Lynch. It is for sale for $12,000. Please consider purchasing it for me if you have a few thousand bucks just sitting in the bank gathering dust…. xo)