Wishing They Sold Actual Time on Craigslist...

I woke up this morning fully intent upon finishing and posting my next blog. I started hand-writing it while I was camping in Big Bear over the weekend, and got about half way through a story of the time I almost got in trouble in the first grade. It was kind of a big deal because I attended a private school that actually allowed corporal punishment back in the 1980s, and was affiliated with the church I grew up attending, the World Wide Church of God. 

As much as I wanted to finish this blog post today, I am confronted with the reality that I must move out of my apartment in less than a week and have more on my to-do list than seems humanly possible to accomplish. At this point, I have been awake for two full hours and have been searching for apartments, posting ads for my furniture on Craigslist, discovering random things in my closet that I completely forgot I had, and sorting multiple items into piles that are worthy of packing and worthy of discarding.

My final conclusion for this morning: I wish I could buy a little extra time to finish my writing. Why isn't anybody selling that on Craigslist? At this point in the economy, I'm betting there are unemployed people or students who have a little extra to spare, and I would gladly purchase it from them. Perhaps we could even barter with some of the things I am trying to get rid of? I could put up an ad that reads something like this: 

"I'll trade my Ikea bookshelf for your three hours of free time that you will spend lying on the beach this afternoon?"

If only this were possible. 

But, since it is not, I will simply leave you with a poem I keep thinking about as I anticipate my move to New York. It's an excerpt from a book that my mom gave me a few years ago when I was going through a rough break up with my boyfriend. She said that this book had helped her through the tough times in life, and she hoped that it would do the same for me.

It absolutely did.

This book of poetry is called The Prophet, by Kahlil Gibran, and is the same book that Reese Witherspoon's character was emphatically praising in the movie, Walk the Line. It's a beautiful book filled with philosophical musings on every aspect of life. It is narrated by a fictional character who has been sailing the world and is finally returning home to share all that he has discovered. His friends and family ask him to tell them what he has learned of love, of work, of joy, of pain, and of many other timeless topics. When they ask him what he has learned about houses and homes in distant lands, rather than launching into a description of them, he asks the village people about their own homes. He says:

"And tell me, people of Orphalese, what have you in these houses? And what is it you guard with fastened doors?
Have you peace, the quiet urge that reveals your power?
Have you remembrances, the glimmering arches that span the summits of the mind?
Have you beauty, that leads the heart from things fashioned of wood and stone to the holy mountain?
Tell me, have you these in your houses? 
Or have you only comfort, and the lust for comfort, that stealthy thing that enters the house a guest, and then becomes a host and then a master?

Ay, and it becomes a tamer, and with hook and scourge makes puppets of your larger desires.
Though its hands are silken, its heart is of iron.
It lulls you to sleep only to stand by your bed and jeer at the dignity of the flesh.
It makes mock of your sound senses, and lays them in thistledown like fragile vessels.
Verily the lust for comfort murders the passion of the soul, and then walks grinning in the funeral."

That is just a brief excerpt from a much longer poem, but it is keeping me focused when I feel overwhelmed with moving and the uncertainty of where I am going. I don't want to stay here simply because it is comfortable. I don't want to pass up this opportunity to move to New York because it might not be so comfortable at various moments in time, and I definitely don't want my lust for comfort to "murder the passion of my soul"! I will admit that I have allowed it to in the past.

Have you? Any thoughts on this subject are welcomed (especially because they will distract me from packing, which is quite boring in comparison).