Have I told you I'm a bit of a rebel? Tell me black, and I'll probably choose white. Ah, I'm not that bad, but I really hate convention. I have to understand why I feel a particular way, because I'm really reluctant to let emotion guide my life, probably because I'm an emotional person, and I'm rebelling against that too.

Having a Cancer moon means I really love my home, and my Libran sun sense of harmony makes sure it's a restful, beautiful and calm place to be, well, for me anyway, though visitors will gush they feel the same.

But on the same hand, I could light a match to all of it and start again anew. Perhaps it's because I've worked hard on attachment-as-the-root-of-suffering, or perhaps it's because I've made homes in many places before, and know I can again with very little. And maybe it's because I'm at the age where I know that what I'm attached to this year might be totally insignificant next decade.

In fact, being on Hive for the last seven years means that undoubtedly I've written a 'three possessions' post before, and I bet I've posted about entirely different things. I can only write about what I'm quite attached to now.

New Moroccan Rug

Twenty years ago we bought a beautiful Moroccon rug when we were in the country, and visiting last year, we bought another one. We don't really need the rug - it makes no different to our comfort, but it speaks to us of an adventure, and it's exotic pattern and colour appeals to us. Sometimes I slide in front of the windows that collect the winter sun, and lay out on it, doing stretches or just staring on the window. I love it. I don't need it, but I love it.

Minimalism really should be about what we essentially need to survive, rather than things we're emotionally attached to. But perhaps it's also about feeling a sense of harmony and beauty in our surroundings, whilst knowing the rug can be swept out from under us at any point.

I think about the antiques that were once loved by the people who are long since gone. The things fought over, slaved for, hard won, most used, infused with memory. One day this rug could belong to anyone. It's not really mine. It's just a possession passing through.

Longboard

All rules are off with this board. In a few years, it's deck will be pockmarked with pressure dents, the rails will be cracked, and it might be holding onto more water than it should. Perhaps I'll be too old or injured to ride it. But for now, it's my baby.

It's a custom shape, so the colour choice is mine. It matches the rug. I lay on it in the water and croon love you, love you, love you, because right now I actually have no greater possession than this board. It's a magic carpet that I ride over crystal waters to somewhere I'm more at peace. This board is outside any thoughts of minimalism. It's a 'yes but' possession - I don't need it to live, sure, but I need it to live.

It carries me into the deep ocean, where I will one day return as a droplet of water into the whole. Out there, everything matters, and matter is everything - my salt joins the waves, the sun rises over the horizon, the fish underneath the surface. What else is there but this is-ness?

Ganesha

This little brass statue of Ganesha is pocket sized and perfect, and comes with us on all our travels, particularly in the Land Rover.

He's not a god of my culture, but he's one I can get behind. This one in particular, sitting on the dashboard, I'm quite attached to. He's best known as the guy that removes obstances - both physical and metaphorical, the realm in which all Hindu gods operate. He's a powerful one to invoke for travellers to clear the way - blocked roads, travel delays, or maybe just fear and doubt.

For travellers, this makes him a powerful figure to invoke before a journey. Whether the obstacles are literal (like blocked roads or travel delays) or internal (fear, doubt, or emotional barriers), Ganesh is called upon to clear the way. He's also the Lord of new beginnings, which works for me whenever we start on a new adventure. Anything is possible, and Ganesha is there to bless it. He's also the god of wisdom and learning - perfect for explorers who are curious about the world. He symbolises awareness, listening, and focus, skills you need on the road, as well as being a threshold God, where he sits between the known and unknown, a liminal space the traveller often sits between.

I have more than one Hindu god around the home - there's a brass statue of Shiva, a Sarawati statue on the front deck, another Ganesha, a few buddhas, a Lakshmi. Maybe I shouldn't - they aren't my Gods. But they are lovely reminders of Big Important Things, like the dance between destruction and creation. They're not trophies or exotic trinkets, but quiet prompts to reflect and muse upon, to remind me that I'm part of something bigger and more mysterious than myself.

They also remind me, these Indian born Gods, to step into a different kind of awareness, perhaps one where I'm encouraged to think about what we carry is far less important than how we carry it.

Maybe that's what I'm trying to say.

These things I possess aren't really about what I own. They are about what resonates. They're symbols or echoes or reminders - of who I've been, where I'm going, how to exist.

Perhaps my real rebellion isn't against convention so much, or even attachment - maybe it's about forgetting what makes this life beautiful and strange and sacred and worth getting out of bed for.

Maybe some of the things we possess just help us remember.

With Love,

Are you on HIVE yet? Earn for writing! Referral link for FREE account here