…my, what a small bag you have my dear…

I’m leaving. Again. I have done a lot of leaving and relocating in the past few years. When first I moved out of the home in which resided my life and its “stuff” of the last 20 years or so, I took very little with me, nothing except my clothes, my books, and furniture or family belongings I’d inherited.

It seemed I left a lot behind. And I was okay with that.

Then, I had to move again, last October, ten months ago, and again, in something of a hurry, and I peeled and gave away even more. I had already passed on my most treasured furniture from the house where I spent the happy hours of my youth in Libertytown, so what was left was mostly books, clothes, nothing major, and I gave or threw at least half of that away.

I thought I was getting by very nicely on very little.

But now, I have spent the last twelve weeks traveling from place to place with one suitcase, a toiletries bag, and three bags of books/magazines/writing material. And today, as I’m packing to leave here, I discovered that I have used the same six pieces of clothing over and over from the bag. I don’t need most of the clothes I have packed.

My bag of stuff keeps getting smaller. This, I believe, is a blessing. I become increasingly ascetic, Spartan in my needs. Now, if I can whittle down and uncomplicate my desires and depressions, until my soul is as clear as my physical mien, I might be on to something.

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