Postcard from Asheville
The box was heavy. It ought to be.It contained more than thirty journals—some dating back to 1996—each packed with dreams, observations, and insights. And now, I was going to burn them.
“Burn your journals!” Friends were shocked.
I explained I was ready to let go of the past and the ritual of burning the journals would help me do so. Further, one of the reasons I held onto them was I was trying to hold on the knowledge they contained.Also, I held onto them hoping to cling to the knowledge they contained. Iknow better. Either that knowledge is a part of who I am or it is not. Finally, by clearing out the old, I am making room for the new. Nature abhors a vacuum.
My friend Laurie built a fire on her property. I opened each journal, read a passage, and tossed it into the flames. The pages turned brown, then black, and then curled and crumbled into ash. An hour later all that remained was the cardboard box I carried the journals in.
That night, Laurie returned to the fire pit to ensure the fire was out. All that remained of my journals was a tiny scrap of paper. It read: “I am ready.”