On Ambiguity and Organization

This week has been dragging.  In all aspects, "things" have been quiet, which is simultaneously wonderful and disconcerting.  I am a project oriented person who is running out of well-defined projects to do.  There is much to be done--but I am not sure what it is that really needs my attention and energy.  I am having some dreams about autumn, but the road between "here" and "there" is hazy. 

I am hypothesizing that my subconscious has been prompting me to reorganize my life in order to deal with the polysemous nature of the tasks ahead.  I am not sure if it has helped.  Yet my possessions have been alphabetized and sorted by colour, style, and purpose.  There is something about cleanliness and order that inspires me, but I need to make a mess to feel inspired, too (often to the chagrin of my family).  When I am working on a piece or a paper, or when I am in one of my studying frenzies my things start migrating. 

I think it is good to make a mess of things.  Strangely enough my mind has been taken back to a poem (Spring) by Shelley Leedahl that I studied in highschool:

"I will let them play
chance pneumonia, long hours of laundry
to see their mud-splashed faces.
They dump pailfuls of water,
and watch the new puddles,
squeeze the dark soil
through their fingers

Who am I to tell them
Come out of the garden,
and risk destroying everything
glowing and glorious."

Leedahl is speaking of children playing in a muddy garden in the springtime, but I think these thoughts are equally pertinent to adults.  We should let our souls explore the bespattered and boggy gardens of life.  We should allow ourselves to make a mess of ourselves because glorious things do come out of messes. 

It is good to be clean, but it is also good to be messy.