Humanity has been mostly tenderized well enough to understand how little we really know about this planet and our existence here. Those who require further perforation shall undoubtedly get what they need, but I don’t envy them. Willful ignorance comes at a price.
We of the previously marinated variety have learned to be more fluid in our understanding of all things. It’s been said that attachment is the cause of all human suffering, so it makes sense to be in “let it go” mode as often as we can manage it. That means not harboring resentment that something didn’t go the way we might have wanted, but to really and truly put gathered fingers to lips, and literally blow the attachment we carry to whatever it is away.
It feels like self care to do that. My daughter and I have been consciously choosing to jump the track if we find ourselves heading into any kind of unease about going back to our home after the fire.* We only just now got our building permits, so next week is when the project starts moving forward again.
A big part of our inner turbulence about going back home is that last May, people moved in next door who immediately cut down all the remaining trees between our houses. One of them was an 80 foot tall, straight, beautiful, healthy Yellow Poplar that I couldn’t even wrap my arms all the way around. The tragedy of that in our eyes is just really unspeakable.
It’s hard to not have that weigh on our hearts, honestly. I have attachment to living next to nice people who honor trees and nature…so it’s a practice to do as the Buddha says, and Let That Sh*t Go. In our hearts, if the Solar Flash hasn’t come, and we have the resources to do so…we just want to buy that property and plant it up all over again. Definitely Do Make It So.
So that’s the happy replacement thought that we choose when something triggers the fresh opening of our tree wounding. That was the drama of last Tuesday, when the builder called to say he’d be picking up the permits (finally), and could we meet at the house on Monday?
“And by the way, a big tree fell across your driveway, and only two cars can get in.”
Sigh…
I’ve been told that people often sell their burnt homes and just buy a place somewhere else, mostly to avoid every emotional moment that goes with continually having to return to the awful scene and make choices about what to replace things that were lost with. That’s understandable, but it’s a special property that our home is on, and we’ve been there for nearly 30 years. Not selling. Sticking it out.
We do wonder if we’ll even get through the whole process and back home before the Solar Flash happens. Gotta go with the flow on that…on everything, really.
Update, Monday (meeting at the house day)
I have to say that I had anxiety about revisiting our burnt and partially demolished home. It’s not my favorite place to go, but my presence there on this very nippy eighteen degree morning was required in order to move forward. Any delays in this process will not be on my head.
I got the necessary stuff done, and loaded some more sooty boxes into my car…Christmas decorations ~ a lifetime’s accumulation of delicate and shiny things of beauty that survived because I’ve been so particular about packing them safely away in the attic. Happily, the inventory people just recognized a box full of ornaments, and saw no need to remove every single lovingly and efficiently boxed one.
So here’s a little conundrum for me (I’m reminded as I write)…
Part of the story of the fire includes a rather extreme (for me) conflict: shall I gripe about how the inventory guys ripped through every little thing, with no thought to where it had been, or having offered much concern for its welfare? Or shall I ignore that, get over it and just focus on my gratitude for the rapid completion of the (no doubt) exceedingly tedious task of documenting every last item in our home of 3 decades, all towards getting us fair value for lost items?
I think I shall feel both ways all at once.
(not our home)
Anyway, the very good and fine news is that we get to design the interior of our home now. Siding and roof and windows have already been selected. On Friday, we’ll lunch with the builder to go over the things we’ve picked for flooring and cabinetry etc. It still feels like a game, actually. I’m playing house, and purchasing necessary things, going through the motions of a project that I’m not even sure is going to matter, aside from giving us things to do while we wait for the Solar Flash.
* Last March, a house fire catalyzed a whirlwind of changes for my daughter and me. Updates have been posted from time to time that you can read here.