I spent the majority of my weekend vacuuming. When I wasn’t vacuuming, I was washing blankets, asking everyone to keep their clothes off the floor, and spraying everything with this stuff that smells like cedar wood and herbal medicine.
Last night, I tore apart the couch - again. I made sure I got the skinniest vacuum attachment in all the cracks between the cushions.
Tonight, my husband will take on the bedrooms again. Tomorrow, I’ll vacuum the couch again and go along all the baseboards downstairs. We’ll be doing this for weeks. (Fortunately, I’m in a marriage that bucks the trends and does not lay the vast majority of domestic tasks at the female partner’s feet.)
My house has never been more clean. It’s never felt this vile either.
Our indoor cats have fleas. In the winter. In the middle of a pandemic.
This is not the kind of disruption our already disrupted lives needed.
As I vacuum every crevice and revisit every place an 11 pound cat or a minuscule beastie might crawl, I am getting to know this house in a more intimate way.
Everything they say about the house as a metaphor for self seems to be true. You have a lot of time to think when all you hear is the whine of the Kenmore and you’re using a headlamp to survey the territory under the bunk beds...
What emotion am I noticing most?
Shame.
I was surprised to realize how vulnerable and foolish I felt for having the kind of home that could be infiltrated by something as gross as blood sucking insects.
As a woman who makes her way in the world talking about sovereignty, magic, and wisdom, I felt I couldn’t tell anyone but my closest cat owning friends about our infestation. It was too icky and mundane.
There was a sense of failure, too. If I wasn’t so busy chasing myths and creativity, maybe I would have done a better job tending what matters most: ensuring that our home was a safe, comfortable place where we could play, work, create, and love.
Anyone who knows me knows that housekeeping is at the bottom of my list of skills and interests. The fact that this minor calamity has felt so unsettling is rather shocking.
There are bigger stories to explore here. A lot of them are about security and the way things are “supposed” to be. There are stories about living in the extremes, particularly how this has been the best and the worst of times for a family like mine. A lot of my stories are about releasing what’s worthy of my time and attention and simply being in the present, meeting the needs of reality. And, of course, I get to look at why I could feel such paralyzing, silencing shame for experiencing something that could happen in any home that’s inhabited by furry creatures.
Somewhere along the way, vacuum wand in hand, this ridiculous experience has taken me a little closer to wisdom and self-knowledge. It has also helped me find the reading glasses that fell behind the bed.
And it gave me a chance to remember that this is one reason I founded the Sovereign Wisdom Circle.
(You may have heard of the SWC. For the last three years we called it the Sovereign Writers Circle. I just renamed the group to reflect our understanding that writing is the vehicle that takes us to sovereignty and wisdom. The creative entrepreneurs and transformation professionals in this group are growing and changing. The community that supports them must grow and change, too.)
In our online community, we explore the biggest ideas around the nature of self and soul. We explore and craft stories about the most pivotal moments in life. We also have space to consider the significance of something as small and annoying (and potentially life changing) as a flea infestation.
Sovereignty, wisdom, creativity, and magic depend on the vastest truths and the tiniest revelations.
Perhaps you’re looking for a community and a guide who can help you make space and make meaning of the sacred and the mundane and everything in between?
We’re accepting new members into the Sovereign Wisdom Circle now.
