We’ve already established that I’m a cleaner – spring, fall, winter, summer – you name it, I’ll clean in it.   I’d say about every 3 months or so I get the urge to clear stuff out.  But possibly my favorite is the transition of winter to spring.  I’m not a big fan of the cold, and as a home body, I tend to hunker down a lot in the winter.  Doors and windows remain closed, body wrapped in as many layers as needed to combat the cold.  But as spring approaches I feel this sense of hibernation coming to an end.  There’s a desire to throw open the doors and windows, let the fresh air in, beat out the rugs, and wash down every surface.  You know: typical spring cleaning.  I go through my closet and purge, and I fold and re-sort my tank tops in rainbow colored order.  That sort of thing.

And then there’s the internal spring cleaning.  This is the time of year where my classes are always themed around this process of reawakening, of releasing the old, and of welcoming in the new.

This year, surrounded by the perfectionism of the Swiss, I am at every turn reminded of the extreme pruning that takes place here.  It seems so severe, and yet when it comes time to blossom, I have never been in a place where it feels like every bush and tree is so vibrantly alive and blooming.

So this week I have been focussing on the idea of pruning.  How cruel it seems, to cut branches of trees and bushes back so that they are barely recognizable and where you can’t even tell if there is a chance for life again.  The process is ruthless.  There’s no holding on.  With utmost trust and detachment the rose bush relinquishes its branches to the gardener.  And somehow out of it comes the most beautiful flowers.

This process is true for us too.  We struggle to let go of things – physical things (that pair of boots that you might just wear again), mental things (an idea of something you thought you wanted to do), and emotional things (a relationship that you’ve had for so long but is no longer fulfilling).  But what happens when we hold on to these old things?  There’s no space.  There’s no chance for something new to grow and flourish.

Alan Watts said:

Did you ever notice that when you give things away, you keep getting more? That, as you create a vacuum, more flows in?

This is how it works.  With our breath, and with our life in general.  If we wish to have space in our over-stuffed closest, we’ll need to grab a bag and start tossing old stuff out.  If we want new ideas and thoughts, to flow in, we must make the space by clearing out the old. If we want a new relationship to come our way, we may just have to let go of someone we’ve been holding on to for too long.  These are the laws of the vacuum.  You can’t deny it, you can’t avoid it.   Tyler Knott Greyson says:

Oh what we could be if we stopped carrying the remains of who we were.

And Marianne Williamson in The Law of Divine Compensation, says:

Spiritual growth involves giving up the stories of your past so the universe can write a new one.

It seems almost obvious then, that to blossom and bloom in any way, we must prune first.  Think about it.  You wouldn’t plant a seedling in the midst of a weed-ridden flowerbed.  It won’t stand a chance as the weeds suck the very life out of it.  So space must be cleared. Soil must be tilled.  Old plants removed, to create the optimal fertile landing spot for this tiny plant.

So my friends, shall we get out the gardening sheers and start the process?  What will you cut away?  And the bigger, more exciting question becomes: what new seed will grow in the space provided?