We’re in the midst of a house clearout (which to me equals a long overdue head clearout), which means Top1 and I from time to time find ourselves in heated debate about “stuff”.
To him, a great deal of his belongings, great and small, valuable and invaluable, fill a vacancy. The moment he gets hold of an item in the outer world he has at a crucial point in his development stumbled upon in his inner world, he feels uplifted by a sparkling connection. I think it feels like a piece of the puzzle is put in place. Afterwards, he is more complete, perhaps even more sure of his place in relation to the outer world. It’s almost like certain items empower him.
Another issue that adds to his hoarding of stuff, is his innate sense of solutions. His particular type of giftedness makes his mind wander around in the outer world and solve problems all the time. These are mostly practical problems, and it does not matter whether or not the problem actually exists. He sees them all, and he figures out solutions for them all. Ideally, he’d like to accumulate as much stuff as possible to be able to act the moment the problem he has detected and solved arises.
So, if Top1 lets go of stuff, empty spots reappear in his inner world, and there will be more problems-without-solutions than he wants to. This unnerves him. I get that.
To me, it is completely the opposite. Most of my belongings only have a practical purpose. I do have the deep felt need for appealing colours, a certain smoothness to the touch, and silence. That way, I can absorb quickly, without the items, those meaningless utensils, ruffling my feathers and opening a can of triggers I do not particularly care for.
Of course, it is different with books, music, films. They represent people. I have difficulty with absorbing people. It can be done in a respectful way, I suppose, but I haven’t yet met anybody who is capable of doing that. I’m not even sure it’s a respectful thing to begin with. I’ve absorbed and been absorbed a couple of times, and it took me ages to get unabsorbed. It hurt.
Inside of me, there is this giant monster, a gaping hole. It sits there, quietly, waiting to be fed. When I read a book, listen to music of watch a book, it will chew furiously, gobbling chunks that really are too large to swallow. It never chokes though, because it ruminates. By the time my Inner Cow is done, the various qualities of the item have been absorbed by all of my senses. I’ll have made a copy of the item for future reference, and thus have no need for the original anymore.