Doing better when letting go... a little

right now on the patio table i am writing from the following items are hanging out:

• dog shock collar
• flashlight
• bug spray
• porpoise figurine
• more bug spray
• post-its
• three empty beer bottles
• ratchet set
• Bronson book
• bell hooks book
• pencil
• empty french fries bag
• staple gun staples
• liquid nicotine drops
• junk mail
• bottle opener
• my phone
• another pencil
• ashtray
• pirate figurine
• three tiny felt-tip pens
• dried bar of Trader Joe's soap

quite an inventory. but what in life is not a crazy inventory? no matter what you may do to organize it, life is an inventory of random goodies, thoughts, things, ideas, people, and other amalgams lesser or better known to you, your psyche, your heart, your brain... and whatever other parts of yourself you opt to acknowledge.

generally i do not do well when working within a cluttered space. that's not to say there is not clutter in my life -- quite to the contrary, i prefer a house with a little too much in it -- to many books, too many gadgets and doodads, too many people and too many pets, and certainly, too much stuff that cannot fit under one single heading. but i cannot have a desk or tabletop with piles of shit on it -- i just can't stop thinking about the shit surrounding my computer and my hands when i am trying to write.

so now you're saying, "but wait, you just listed a ton of shit around you... and you're writing right now... what gives?" well, i'll tell you what gives. i'm letting go. just a little, just for long enough to see if i can. and i am. and i think i'm doing better for it. why?

because sometimes letting what exists around you just be there can lend a level of consciousness ya just don't have otherwise. some call it junk, clutter, a mess, dirtiness, all other labels that make it bad, negative.

an intuitive moment can be brought on by a porpoise figurine or a flashlight. a shock collar or a can of bug spray. so let go a little, all yee lovers of perfect space. perfect space does not a perfect life make, and it does not stop the messiness of time or the disorganized manner in which life will work... the disarray can be the beauty you seek. not always, but just when you can let go... a little.