The art of letting go.

What am I without my story?

What am I with the things that connects me to my story?

What does this little monkey represent to me?

What will happen no when I have let go of him?

 It's feels like I am giving away parts of my life.

When clearing out our house, I found this monkey in the cellar, deep down in a box where he had been stored for almost a decade. Until then he had a space in my living quarters. He represented "my first toy" to me, even if that probably was not the case.

And now I look at him. A more than 50 year old toy. He has since long begun to disintegrate. Look at he eyes... if I would have kept him he would go blind in just a few years.

The place that will turn from our home to another's property in just a few days is filled with big black plastic bags, where we throw things without a value. In moving boxes we put things to give away to second hand stores. It's amazing to see a home, a common life, disintegrate. So much memories surfacing, some which are connected to this separation, and some connected to earlier periods in our lives. As childhood memories.
Both of us choose to do a thorough cleansing, a letting go, and of opening for possibilities to live life unburdened, or less burdened, by the past.

Some of the tings, or the clothes or the books, are more troublesome to letting go of. In my case I need to go in to a mood of surrendering to what is. I have no space for things in my life at this moment. I have little space to store things, not necessary in my daily life. It helps me to give away thousands of books. It's feels like to give away parts of my life, there is so many memories connected to reading. I can remember when I bought a book, sometimes when I read it, and in a few cases I even remember what music I played when listening.

I let go of most of them without looking at them, not to drown myself in tears. I notice my records, I notice the cd:s, and then I part from them.

Some of this gives a vibration of sadness in my body, and I let the feelings be there, continuing to fill boxes and the black bags.

Let go, let go, letting go.

 I hear encouraging whispers from people who already has stripped themselves from most of their belongings. They speak of sensations of freedom. I am not there yet. I am still lingering around the pictures of this toy. I re-member me as a child. In this moment with just small taints of nostalgia. Of course some nostalgia is there, otherwise I wouldn't have taken this photographs.

Now my little monkey, my dear toy, has returned to eternity. I hope it has a good time in Toy Heaven. I still love you... in your new form.