Intrinsic, Imbued

A few conversations I've had recently about moving and stuff have got me thinking, yet again, about what to keep and what to toss. A woman moving into the apartment below mine with her two children tells me that she has so much furniture and books that she needs two trucks. I told her that I am trying to pare down as much as I can, including giving away books that I haven't opened in years and will probably never read again. They are just taking up space. Her eyes widened.

"But," she protested, "My books are a record of my life. I see them on the shelf and I'm reminded of all the things I've done."

I used to have that philosophy about things, especially books, that they provide reference points for my life's trajectory, that I needed them around in order to remember who I was and therefore who I am. They are souvenirs of moments in time, the past made visible. Books are also friends and companions, something to turn to when needing wisdom, solace or entertainment. And it used to be that I'd feel more comfortable visiting a home lined or littered with books rather than being in a space devoid of such decorations - yes, a well-stocked bookshelf can be aesthetically pleasing.

And yet, as another friend pointed out, every object gives off a certain energy, a vibration with which we or someone else has imbued it. Most of the time this energy is not intrinsic to the object but has to do with the circumstances through which it entered our lives. How did it arrive? Was the book (or thing) a loving and thoughtful gift from a kind person or did it come with some strings attached, an implied criticism or aggressive suggestion for how to improve? As I look at my stuff, books included, I am trying to recall how they came into my possession. If I am no longer friends with the person who gave it to me, do I hang onto it? Do I want to be reminded of people that either drifted away from me or I from them? Lately the answer is no, even if at the time I received the item the friendship was a happy one. Do I want to hang onto a piece of clothing that I purchased in a gloomy moment and/or only because it was a bargain? Again, the answer is no. At some point, the accumulation of reminders of what was can stifle what is or what is becoming.

The issue gets more complicated when I'm dealing with other people's things, such as items from my father's house or that were acquired while my parents were still married. Some of these objects are beautiful to behold yet their vibration is not completely positive, a sadness clings to them. Do I keep them long enough to see if I can attach a happier story to them? Can I see them simply as objects and enjoy them on a purely aesthetic and functional level, forgetting their provenance? Or do I let them go and lighten my load, choosing to honor the past without schlepping its physical manifestations along with me?

I will ponder these questions some more as I take another stab at sorting my books and my stuff.