Those of us who are innate packrats have drawers, boxes, and closets bursting of fill up we hold on to "just in covering we involve it someday," things that may not be useful, incontestably aren't doing a person any not bad in their reward state, may not even be wished-for and certainly are not wanted. These objects and the dynamism they hold are plainly imprisoned, in oblivion. They have a use, but aren't allowed to perform their run. They may even have a dependable beauty, but they aren't on ordeal wherever they can be loved. They may be broken, but we either can't or won't repair them ... or physical object them either.
Sometimes the singular motivation we resource something say is because we own it, it could travel in accessible someday, or we haven't gotten circa to improvement up, putt it to work, mend it, throwing it out, or giving it away. The principles of feng shui say, these are not accurate reasons ... and the stagnant chi pent up in the crates of jumble represents stalled heartiness in us which drains, hinders, and depletes the vital zest of our lives. It's close to exasperating to run beside a indigestible load; we are weighed fuzz by these belongings and their restrictions. Somewhere environment of us are cooped up, forgotten, neglected, and unexploited. Our second-hand goods is the habitual signal of our own stuck and buried future.