A man lived in a small house, and over the years, a lot of stuff accumulated in his rooms. Guests would bring their things with them, and when they left, they would leave quite a few bags behind. It was as if they were still there, although they had long since moved on forever.
Also, wherever the owner himself collected remained in the house. Nothing was to be left in the past or lost. Even broken things still held memories, and therefore stayed, and continued to take up space.
Only when the owner was almost choking did he begin to clear things out. He started with his books. Did he still want to contemplate the old images or understand the strange teachings and stories? Whatever was completed he removed from his house: and in the rooms it became light and bright.
Then he opened the bags of guests to see if there was anything he could use. During this process, he discovered a few treasures, and laid them aside. The rest he took outside.
He threw all the old stuff into a dip pit, covered it neatly with earth, and then sowed grass over it.
"On life and Other Paradoxes. Aphorisms and Little Stories" from Bert Hellinger. 2002. Pag. 15
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