The tent comes down

The tent is in tatters. I'd been meaning to take it down for some long while now, but somehow could not bring myself to do it. By the way, everything it says in the tent user manual, about prolonged sunlight breaking down tent material, is true. The rain fly is completely shredded, and the tent itself is tearing:

I think part of my inability to take it down stemmed from not knowing what I would do with it once I did. I thought of burying it, like an old holy book. In Judaism, anything that contains G-d's name is not supposed to be destroyed. I just did not know what to do, so I ignored the tent day after day, week after week.

Finally today I went out on the roof with the intention of saying a brief prayer inside the tent and then taking it down. The moment I got into the tent, I felt that wonderful "inside the tent" vibe, and I was nostalgic for the time I spent up here in the first few weeks of my recovery. I didn't know what I wanted to daven, so I just opened my prayer book at random, and this is what I read: "Ivdu et adonai b'simcha, bo'u l'fanav b'rinanah" . . . serve G-d with joy, come into her presence with singing. Know that Adonai is G-d, it is he who made us and we are his. His people and the sheep of his pasture. Enter her gates with thanks, her courtyards with praise . . . . "
(psalm 100)

I disassembled the tent carefully, but the fabric was coming apart in my hands no matter how gently I handled it. Finally it was all taken down; I turned and sat down on the foam pad that had once been part of the tent's furnishings. I looked at the empty space where the tent had been for so long. It was a shocking sight and I began to cry. This had been hamakom, the place, the cleft in the rock. I said the kaddish for completion. Completing what? Commencing what?