Last summer I became engrossed in the TV show Hoarders. I'd watch it with a mixture of horrified fascination and immense pity. What an unbelievable condition! How sad and bizarre!
This morning it occurred to me to think that hoarders have a gift to offer. They give outward display of an inward condition of the soul afflicting maybe most of us.
Hoarders' lives are gradually overwhelmed by their things. When a room becomes uninhabitable because it's filled with trash, they stop using it. Eventually their living space is reduced to narrow pathways between piles of junk.
Isn't this just the state so many of our souls are in? Don't we let junk pile up? — sins, bad memories, wounds, lies, illusions, uglinesses — and instead of clearing it out, we just close the door on that part of ourselves and retreat to another, less cluttered part? We don't let friends into the rest of our house. Eventually, if it gets really bad, we don't invite friends over at all. We only encounter others outside our home. And those relationships remain superficial and unreal.
I think it's happening in epidemic proportions in our society.