28 October, 2014

You'd think I'd have let go by now...

Tonight was home practice.

I'm not going to say much about the yoga, because it was just yoga. Started at 11:30pm, which was not optimal, but it was a fine practice of 30-40 minutes. I'm still focused on the "letting go of the house" thing. I've been going in waves, back and forth, between "over it" and "angry still." Thought I was over it, and then I got angry again, and realized that I could just write a big long blog entry about it, naming names, and soiling those who "harmed" me. Last night, into the wee hours, I wrote, until 2am, composing a full history of the episode that couldn't be interesting to anyone other than myself. I named the seller. I named the agent. I included the address of the house, the address of the construction project. The name of the neighbor. Basically, I included a bunch of things to increase the chances that someday, someone would Google something and find this blog. It was to be my alternative to taking fruitless legal action. I wrote it. I posted it. And then I thought about it. I realized that if I really pissed someone off, they could exact consequences on me. It could get messy. I thought about it some more. I decided to "unpost" the blog and leave it in draft mode and decide in the morning.

I woke up this morning, not completely over the angry, but also not completely over the "maybe this isn't a great idea" thing. I decided to remove the names of the seller and the neighbor, but leave everything else. And I posted it. I didn't write anything dishonest or libelous. I didn't even make any assumptions or accusations. I (think I) just called it like it is.

But I am also aware that this is all about me.

It's self-centered. It's reactive. It's not letting go. I am not practicing being with what is. I am not accepting that "This is what's happening" (as Lola would put it). I'm clinging (and releasing... and clinging... and releasing). In waves. I know I need to let go. I don't even want the house anymore, given the reality dose that I have ingested, both with respect to the construction and the issues with the house itself. But I still feel the sting of having had hopes.

Hope. Therein lies the rub. The high hopes got me into this clinging state of being.

And it's so damn hard to stop hoping, because hoping is kind of fun.

While it lasts.

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