As I’ve added the role of new mother to a beautiful baby boy to my already complex life, I find myself yearning even more to reflect, to slow down and just be.

In my past there was a designated time for stillness.

There was a place for meditation, a designated spot, a ritual that looked like I imagined meditation looked. There was a sunny patch of carpet, a quiet room, a vision board.

This place will probably return in my future, when my house is no longer strewn with primary colors and soft plush toys.

The season of life I’m currently living has not erased my desire to be meditative, but it has changed my ways of meditation.

When I cannot sit with stillness,

when I cannot turn off my skittery brain or pick a mantra

or bear the thought of not actively working through

the list of things that never seem to stop needing my attention,

I simply don’t.

Instead, I wash the dishes.

By hand.

Sud, rinse, stack.

Sud, rinse, stack.

Here is the evidence of our existence.

The garlic stuck to tines,

the clinking cups,

the crumbs,

here are the signs of life and love.

The honeyed spoon from the healing tea

I poured my husband.

The quarter cup of coffee

the baby’s mewing interrupted.

Sud, rinse, stack.

Sud, rinse, stack.

One by one the proof of this day’s living

is erased and rebooted.

The same hands that make the meal

unmake the mess.

I practice acceptance

with every newly clean dish,

acknowledging

it won’t stay pristine for long.

I will be here again tomorrow,

sponge in hand.

This is the grand order of things.

I find reverence in this repetition.

There is a whole universe

soaking in this sink.

There is a whole life cycle

resting in the dish rack.

And I am the tiny god

that turns on the sun.

~

Relephant Read:

Finding My Bliss in the Dish Pit.

~

Author: Shannon J. Curtin

Editor: Asheigh Hitchcock

Photo: courtesy of author

~

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