Cháos: the nothingness from which all else sprang, emptiness, vast void, chasm, before creation.
Oh how I relate. This space feels like a new apartment, blank, barren, empty. I want a sense of belonging, everything settled. I want the familiarity of home, the calm confidence of attachment. There is so much that could be done I don’t know where to begin; each decision seeming to rest on every other.
This new home is spare, clean and boring (unless you look out the windows) but then in comes the couch, up come the boxes filled with volumes loved and worn. I place a print on the mantle and things start falling into place. A chair here, pile of pillows there, fresh flowers on the table. Creative energy begins to flow.
It will still be months before I can find my way in the dark, before days of baking leave their layered scents and I feel the restful quality I love. And it will be worth the effort. Soon candles will drip in waxy layers, memories of comfortable evenings. A neighbor will comment on the quiet if I am gone for a few days.
So I take a deep breath.
Inhaling patience, exhaling that itchy desire to skip past the hard work and expect this place to feel like my own all at once. It is time to open the first box, make the first meal, watch the first movie, read the first book. To find my truest voice.
Nesting has begun...
