Mental Hoarding

 

In Decision Permission, the state of Ponder prioritizes "Getting Quiet" as the beginning to our journeys. I walk step by step through strategies that can help you develop this practice, since it's often something very counterintuitive to our daily habits.

This morning, I took my own advice, and I made the effort to Get Quiet. I set my timer, sat in a comfortable position, and let go of expectations.

This is the magic that resulted from that 4 minutes of peace...

As my mental ninja begins to kick all of the thoughts from my head, I visualize a bold beam of light connecting the crown of my head to the heavens above.

For me, this is my intentional way of telling God to send in and take out whatever He knows is best.

This time, I followed that beam of light deep into my mind to see what He may have wanted to remove. The view was scary.

Junk. An ocean of junk like a scrap heap that had accumulated over time. The junk is heavy and bulky and full of sharp edges. It resists movement, as it has taken over my mind like an unwelcome guest. This pile has rusted over and parts have nearly become one with my brain.

Eventually, though, the surface layer slowly concedes to God's vacuum of light, no matter how much it resists, and I find myself watching a war between God's wisdom and my mind's self-righteousness.

In moments like this, the junk becomes disrupted and confused. It has set up a comfortable home here, leaching off of its host. But now, the decomposing scrap is forcibly reminded that it serves no purpose here. Its time is up, and it must move along.

And as the junk slowly gives way to this beam's suction, the first layer begins to break apart. This top layer of to-do lists and current stressors begins to crumble, and in its place, the light settles in. This light is warm and comforting, and it continues to help loosen the next layer.

This next layer is rusted over and beginning to decompose. It does not budge as easily. This second layer is filled with past guilt and consistent anxiety over situations, people, and challenges I've had to face. While this layer, too, eventually gives way to the power of the vacuuming beam, it has weighed so heavily for so long that while the bigger pieces rise to the heavens, the smaller pieces of debris still fall back to my mind and linger there. Like the dust bunny that eludes the vacuum, I assume that this junk will take a deeper cleaning to fully eradicate.

And during this mental cleanse, more and more of that gorgeous light continues to pour in. As it replaces the junk, it instantly cleans and purifies its new home--setting no expectations and replacing putridity with peace.

The light and its vacuuming powers working in tandem are so wise. They know that those lowest layers of scrap--deep-rooted insecurities, fears, and triggers, will take a lot more time and a lot more work. And so the vacuum removes a hefty load to help me move on with my day, but it honors the journey that lies ahead for me--patiently whispering, "I'm happy to return anytime you're ready."

And as the vacuum suctions its final load, the light fully settles into its new home. It doesn't mind that it has to share space with my deepest layers of scrap, because it's not here to judge nor fix me. It's here to bring a presence that inspires and calms at the same time.

It knows that I will tackle that junk little by little, and in the meantime, the light will be here as long as I allow it to occupy my mind.

Because our universal caveat is that the light will fade without our attention. And as that light diminishes, we create space for old trash to seep deeper and new to trash to accumulate--through our ears, our eyes, and our mouths...

The light is always available. Trash will inevitably collect. Our goal is to choose how to balance them both before the junk wins out and there is no more room to let this light in.

Here's to surrender,

Kristy Jean