In the meantime, my life was on hold until the missing item showed up, because I remained certain that not knowing its location is proof that the elusive patina of my life had cracked. I might fall in, the earth could close over me, and there I'd find the missing car keys, the errant address book, the missing notes & poems & canceled receipts & credit slips which prove that no one has stolen my accounts or my psyche.
I'd clutch that favorite pen, pair of scissors, patterned purple shirt and suddenly they didn't matter anymore. The fact they were lost was what mattered; their absence was a sign that my inspired life was a sham; the uncertainty of their location the proof that I detoured my direction and am lost to the deeper purpose of my reason and being. I had made distraction one of my closest confidants, and worse, lost objects assumed an almost mythic importance. Yet when they showed up (and they always did, in the damnedest places), my life continued as before, with its multifold work and assignments requesting my attention, still asking for heartfelt completion.
In the meantime, I'm looking for some daily love and affection, to feed the soul who runs the man. I know that what's absent is what requires work on myself to find, that I will magnetize respect when I cease insisting that it appear. It isn't the objects that really matter, but the sense of self.
Allen says that he allows himself three minutes to search for what is missing. He's collected and cool, unforced and practices yoga. If the object is meant to appear, Allen reasons, it has its three minutes of fame to be rediscovered. Otherwise, it will show up in its time. Forcing yourself to locate your obsession takes away from what you actually need to be doing. In the meantime, you might inquire what's really missing. What's really bugging you, that this lost crystal, this missing charm, or that this hidden piece of the rainbow represents to you?
Do you have inner peace? Have you gone outside and marveled at the day, the rays of the sun streaming effortlessly through the stratosphere? What hidden and missing key could possibly unlock your failure to appreciate the translucent beauty of this moment?
In the meantime, I take a deep breath. And then another. What could possibly be so important that the world must come to an end if I can't locate the current instant fix? Baby, take a breath. Your body needs to breathe. Cut yourself some inner slack, free the monkey from your back. It will show up. It will reappear. When you make your mark and are gone, we'll remember you.
So I've turned it into an amazing game. I watch to see when and where what's so important reappears, and I let it go. What's lasting always returns to its source, and you have your entire life to find the being who is already right there.
Letter to the Author at CelloMorpheus@aol.com