Thursday, April 21, 2011

Shedding Light on Doing The Dishes

I walk in the door and let it slam shut behind me while my bag slides from my shoulder and hits the floor with a muffled thump. No point in taking off my boots, I muse, I doubt I will be here long enough to make it worth my while...
It’s been a long trip just to find my way back home; a week gone and six hours in the car to get back to the arms of my beloved but I do have plans to slip back out again and go see an old friend before my other half gets home from work.
I walk a little ways into the kitchen and sigh softly. I might be here longer than I thought, I realize as I glance over at the counter and notice the mountain of dishes piled up. Why on earth did he let them get so stacked up, I wonder as I meander over to the kitchen. Oh well, I laugh to myself while shaking my head, it is the one thing he really hates to do so no surprise really that there are so many; he could go weeks without ever cracking the tap if he had enough dishes to last that long. I chuckle out loud now at the mental picture of him wading through a kitchen overrun with dirty plates, stepping over bowls and tiptoeing through pots that need scrubbing just so he can get to the fridge for his traditional midnight snack. Funny, I think, that I find the humour in this now when not so many years ago it would have driven me up the wall. A new life, new lessons learned and a new man suddenly has made it acceptable. No point in nit picking at the little things after working so hard to build a strong relationship filled with trust and based on the simple principal of “I love you exactly as you are”. I can’t live and work with this kind of energy around me, I think as I start reorganizing them in preparation for a bit of dish doing. Then it occurs to me while I am shifting and shuffling dishes around so I have room to work, this is kinda of a metaphor for life really. We let things slide, let them build up. We have thoughts like ‘oh I can get to that later’ and ‘will do that the first chance I get’, then wonder why all of a sudden we have this overwhelming pile of dirtiness that we feel we have to deal with immediately or else...
As I turn the tap and watch the sink begin to fill up I wonder to myself what other kinds of metaphors can be found in a sink full of week old scum. I figure I will start with a few glasses, easy to clean and best done in fresh soapy water. I begin slipping them carefully into the sink being cautious not to allow them to bang together. They are after all fragile for the most part, many of them being wine glasses (he is French) and it occurs to me yet again as I lean against the sink to watch the suds build up there is a whole lots of nastiness being hidden by those soft looking bubbles of pure white soap. We are back to that life thing again and the illusion of cleanliness that is presented to us sometimes by others. We see their outward smiles and hear their smooth words and assume everything underneath is as calm and sweet smelling as what we see on the surface. Of course dig a little, dare to put your hand into the water and well you just might find there is a whole lot of buried work that needs to be done. Argh...; the water is too hot, I can feel myself getting irritated now, perfect now I will have to wait....
Of course typical of many of the other things in life that we do I am not really in the mood to wait for the water to cool so I reach in to pull the plug just a hair to let out a little bit of hot so I can add some cold. Forgetting that the sink is filled with fragile glassware I manage to knock a few together in my rush to not feel the heat for too long. I hear a very muffled clink and smash. Oh what fun, now we have sink full of too hot water and broken glass, impatience it seems will get you every time. Ok, I am thinking that means take a step back and assess or rest, and I acknowledge if I had not rushed it in the first place this would not be an issue. So off to the stereo I go to find myself some music and to kill some time and lose myself in the flipping of stations in search of that perfect song to calm my nerves. Relying on an outside source to make it better rather than just taking a deep breath and letting myself be still a moment. Of course there is nothing wrong with music, it does make work go a lot faster when you can lose yourself in a good tune but the search for the perfect song maybe might be a bit silly given that if you have a favourite station chances are if you tune into that you will hear your much needed, most loved ballad soon enough. Alright music is on and what next, oh yes might as well seek out a clean wine glass and pour myself a bit of red to drink in between loads. After all there are a tonne of dishes to do and I am guessing I might just be here for the rest of the night; that visit to my friend can wait it seems unitl tomorrow. (Yes you noticed we are back to putting things off). Oh yes back to the dishes, that is what I was doing ...
So I stick my hand back in the water which has now cooled nicely and grab at one of the hidden glasses cloth in hand with every intention of getting started with the scrubbing; and quickly pull my hand back out cursing under my breathe because now I have a nice deep cut in my tender flesh. I got distracted, yes I did, with looking for the sweet spot on the radio dial and pouring myself a touch of liquid courage to ease the burden of the work ahead. I forgot about the dangers of sharp shards lurking below the snow white froth. Alright, I scold myself as I allow the cold water to flush away the deep red oozing from my finger, you really ought to get it together here, doing the dishes should not be so bloody (insert bad pun) hard...
In the bathroom now and I notice after a quick glance in the mirror that I look a tad tired today. No matter I will rest soon enough just a quick bandaging up, slip on a glove, bang off some washing and off to the couch to relax long before he walks in the door. How hard can it be...
And how many times in life have we all said that...
Back in the kitchen and lesson learned for today, I am carefully placing my other hand (yes that’s right, glove or not I am still a wee bit protective of my damaged hand) back into the water to drain it. Even though it has gone cold it is still murky and I am not willing to feel around for the rest of the shattered glass. Which reminds me, if I had followed my first instinct which was to keep one breakable thing from coming into contact with the other breakable things I would not be so far behind right now. Another glimpse into the human heart and mind; because when you really mull that one over you just know you have been down that road before either with regards to work, friends, lovers and just life in general. There are times when our brain is screaming at us “no no no – those two things just do not mix” yet we do it anyways because we figure we are smart enough to be careful and cautious in our approach. Have you ever dated somebody you worked with, or tried to date a long time friend? How about going into business with a family member? Only a few examples but poignant ones if you have ever traveled down that road...
Oh yes; doing the dishes...
Right well the glass has been scooped out and unceremoniously dumped into the recycle bin (too long a metaphor to explain but it will give you something to think on later) and the sink is once again almost full. This time I have opted to wash one glass at a time; much smarter move and it seems for the moment to be working. My finger does not hurt nearly as much as I thought it would but the sips of wine in between glasses might be helping that. The music has been turned up to drown my occasional mumbles of angst and I am well on my way to getting some plates done. Thankfully we are prepared for large loads and have several dish trays so space is something I have to spare and I can keep dipping, sloshing, wiping and rinsing. Plates and bowls slip in and out of the water and the silver ware is in the sink to soak, except of course the knives which I have placed carefully on the side of the sink. Now the rhythm of the dish dance takes hold and my mind wanders all over the place as my body goes through the motions of doing its duty. I reach for another plate and accidently knock a knife into the water; something I do not notice until yes that’s right, you guessed it, I am back in the bathroom digging around for another bandage in the medicine cabinet and wondering, is it really worth it?
And now we get down the crux of the matter....
Is it worth it? On a night when I am worn out, distracted and not all together aware of my surroundings who exactly am I doing the dishes for...
Am I really doing them for me; when nothing seems to be going that well and knowing that tonight of all nights I will have no desire whatsoever to write or to paint, does it much matter if the space in which I live is all spit shined and polished. We have dishes to eat with if we need them, there are still clean pots with which to cook...
Am I doing this for him? Barring the fact that he has been living like this for some time now without any type of internal issues about comfort do I know so little about him as to assume that it will actually make a difference in his mood when he walks in the door whether or not ‘surprise baby the dishes are done’...
Who am I kidding, he simply doesn’t care and even though it would be nice to have it done for him he will still be happy to see me regardless of the dishes being done or not.
Ok; decision made. I wander back into the kitchen to assess exactly how much more time I ought to invest in this endeavour; if there is too much left to do then quite frankly it is just going to have to wait for morning. Interestingly enough it occurs to me that all my drain boards are now full and the only way I will be doing any more dishes tonight would be to dry a few of the ones that are on the drain tray. Now given my recent experience with breakable and sharp objects and having come to the acceptance that I am on the more clumsy side of graceful at the moment, it may not be in my best interest to push forward. As I lean over the counter to pick up my wine glass with one bandaged hand, while filling it from the bottle in my other bandaged hand, the final metaphor of the evening hits home. It is simply best for me if I just opt out of the action, sit back relax and let the dishes air dry... Mom did always say after all that God does a much better job of drying the dishes than man ever could.
Moments later with the radio off, the TV on and my feet up, the door opens and my darling enters with a take-out dinner in one hand, a wine bottle in the other and lots of room in his arms left for me.
Jean Victoria Norloch
www.feenxrising.com
This blog was inspired by a good friend of mine by the name of Lucien who offered me once some overwhelming encouragement by way of the statement ‘I do believe you are the only person I know who could make doing the dishes sound interesting’ during a time when self doubt and self loathing were a huge part of my everyday existence. I didn’t believe him, and I took it as a challenge to push myself and see if I actually could pull of making doing the dishes even remotely interesting. Little bit of what if mixed with some memories of my old scrubbing days and out came ‘Shedding Light on Doing The dishes’ The name ‘Lucien’ stands for Light and therefore by way of gratitude I have named this odd little piece after him. My way of saying thanks for not giving up on me when I can be so good at giving up on myself.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Twisted Tales of a Truthful kind...

What would it be like if I was not aware? How would I live if my eyes had never been opened and if I did not see beyond the veil? What would life be if I could take all things at face value?
It is questions like these that haunt my days of late, questions of how and why things turn out the way they do... The sad part is that it is in the knowing that all happens for a reason and all is as it should be that I suffer most when it is supposed to be in the knowing that we find comfort and inner peace...
I suppose that is the paradox of existing in our current reality, this contrast between what we know to be a truth and what we see as being laid before our eyes for us to accept as a truth. It is the paradox that confuses the mind and muddles the heart, gives rise to a growing sadness and at the end of the day brings a certain sense of wonder at the vastness of the deception. The challenge is to accept that the deception is not created by any other than ourselves, that the lie we fight so boldly and bravely against was in truth set up by us in expectation of the experience that would come with our growing awareness of it. Yet how does this play into our everyday lives? How do we connect the dots so to speak of what we know to be true and what we see and feel to be how things are in our current state of being?
Today is one of those days where I would like to write you all an uplifting tale of wondrous adventures filled with light and love and all things grand yet in as much as my spirit knows that to be the reality of it my physical self sees what it was designed to see and therein lies the dilemma – for which of these two conflicting and contradictory truths do I for the moment shift my attention to. I imagine as with all things this too has its reasons for being and perhaps it is simply so that I may tell the tale in the hopes that others out there may come to understand that life as we know it is not always what it seems to be.
So I offer up a story, a tale that defies time, space and all things reasonable and crosses the boundaries of sense into a world beyond what we know to be the space in which we live...
It came to me in a dream, a conversation between two halves of a collective whole, the male and the female representations of the energy that birthed all that is. In a place where there is nothing but a still quiet sense of self the truth of a life divided and love given came to light and the feelings that went along with it too powerful to put into words could only be felt and shared in a slow dawning of realization that they too have given much so that life as we know it may carry on. They were whole once, one being, glorifying in the sense of wonder that comes from sharing every thought and feeling, undivided, completely complete yet not completely content. For in the experience of being all that is they were aware that there could yet be so much more if only the thought and feeling that they were could be manifested into a semblance of life and thereby allow for action out of thought. Creation in its purist form, an idea that the perfection of all that is, is yet not enough in that there is ever a need for something more than perfection, that without expansion there can be no growth and so it was that this being came to choose to divide itself and become so much more than one.
Thus the creation of worlds, the creation of time, of space and all that fills it... And for more time than humans as we are have the capacity to understand, this being in all its glory continued to divide itself and through this act of division to be and create the universe and the world that we now call home. Through this act of division and expansion this being became all that is and remained in a state of continued expansion and growth until the day that the heart of this being knew itself to be divided and longed again to be whole. Two halves it had become, and somewhere buried in the vast deep recesses of the minds of those it had created there lingered a longing and a loneliness that could not – would not be explained until the day that it remembered exactly who it was and during a long dive into non-reality the conversation that would be the deciding factor in the continued existence of reality manifested as we know it to be was played out in the most unlikeliest of places. Now here it must be stated that this is not the first time the choice has been made, nor will it be the last; for every lifetime one must come to decide the fate of all those who have been birthed over the multitude of Eons that this romantic drama has continued to play out. On every level they tell me, in every reality, every dimension and every lifetime in every moment the question lingers in the place of not being – will today be the day we decide we no longer wish to be apart?
For that is the crux of the debate that is waged in one brief flash of insight for those who have been chosen to touch on for not more than the blink of an eye the truth of what was, what is and what will always be the sacrifice of those who came before.
That this conversation is played out through the mind’s eye of the living is merely a form of expression of that expansion, and when it comes to communication there is no doubt that there are much easier methods than the intrusion of one’s thoughts yet for the sake of explanation and in the interest of further exploration of the deepest of loves for all of mankind sometimes that love is exposed for what it is regardless of the pain it may cause to the one who has long before coming agreed to be the voice that The One has chosen to whisper through.
A presence that is felt and not seen, a sense of comfort and a rush of passion; the arrival of an old friend and a long lost love is where the story neither begins nor ends. A glow that envelopes the senses and allows for the function of the body to carry on as it was without the spirit within being directly responsible for the continued actions of the physical form; a dawning realization that contact is once again being made and that the reality of what is must temporality shift so that the truth may once again be revealed. An age old discussion continues where it had once left off...
“You said you would always be there, you told me would never leave...” a mild accusation, a rebuttal that is more spoken and thought than it is felt...
“And so I am, as I have always been; you know it to be true so why question what your hearts whispers to you in times of doubt...”, a gentle reminder perhaps but a string of words that ease neither the pain nor the sorrow of separation. “I am what I am, we are what we are, we can never be anything other than that, why does this still bother you after all this time? How is it you still do not feel me with you every minute of every day? How is it after all this time that you do not feel me near?”
“As you say, I am who I am, and in this form I do not know you as you are I only know what can be seen, what can be felt, I cannot always feel you, and in this lifetime I have never truly seen you; I only know from feeling that you are there and at times you feel so very far away...” The body in which she now lives continues with its actions yet her mind, her energy travels to a place where thought is pure and there is a separation between her sense of reality and sense of self; the conversation takes over and the real world as she knows it for the moment slips away....
“I am never far away...,” exasperation perhaps, a sense of irritation at the lack of appreciation for the magic that is their existence. “How many lives? How many shapes and forms. How many names? – All of them different yet all of them the same... I told you I would always be, and so it is... so it has always been, through every lifetime lived, through every love shared whose eyes are they that have been looking into yours?”
“And where are you now that you are here with me in this way? What form would you take in this life, in this time; does it even matter anymore? Who you were and who you are... Are they even still the same? You told me once that I was yours, could never be anybody else’s that we were two halves of the same whole, that there was nothing that could separate us. You come when you wish, and leave when you wish and all this body knows is what it is to have you here and the loss of knowing you are gone again. Had you never let her see who she is perhaps the sorrow would not be so consuming, had you let her sleep as she was perhaps her waking dream would not be so confusing. You chose to wake her, you chose to remind her and then you abandon her knowing who she is and expect her to still live as they live, walk among them aware and yet unable to act on her awareness. Why?” It is a child’s plea, and an argument she can’t possibly win yet insists on making, even though she knows the truth of it on a much deeper level she is coming now from a very human place, a place of the physical unable to grasp the vastness and true magnitude of the spiritual truth of it all.
“It was never my choice, it has always be yours; it has truth be told always been hers. So what would you have me do? I told you I would always be here, and so I have... it is she who chooses the body, she who chooses the life, she who chooses the eyes she wishes to see me through it is merely for me to choose to become the body of each new person she shares that chosen life with. How many times has she looked into the eyes of another and seen the same light? Is it for me to choose the experience she wishes to have or is it for me to merely be present and a part of that experience. You know the answer even though you hate the question; but I ask you now can it ever be any other way?” a question asked by a all encompassing male presence that does not merely seem to be around her but flows through her; a question she refuses for the moment to bring herself to answer...
“Yes, a life time of lovers all with the same eyes; that has been her existence; but even as you ask the question she would ask the same of you? Why can’t it be? Who are you to tell her now when she calls to you to come to her as you are and not as you perceive her to wish you to be...? How many times have I made this request that you come to me as you are, that you let me see you as my spirit knows you to be and not in the multitude of human forms you have chosen to occupy over the vastness of the ages. Why will you not let her eyes see you as I see you? What have either of you to fear? She can feel you. She knows you are there, she senses the power that surges forth from your being and yet you deny her the one thing she requests in order to accept what you have asked that she accept...” A dare, come as you are she thinks to herself, show her what this thing is that invades her heart and mind, robs her of her peaceful sleepy existence; show her what you really are....
“I cannot, you know this, if you wish to see me as I am you must sleep and come to me as you are... across the veil where the truth of us cannot hurt you or haunt you upon your return to life as she knows it to be... allow this body to sleep and we can talk, allow her to remain awake and things must stay for the moment as they are. This you also know to be truth and this too cannot be any other way...” With the soothing male voice comes the urge to close her eyes, and she knows that for a brief period of time they will be together as they once were even as she knows that upon waking she will not remember the images and feelings she is so desperately trying now to recall...
“Brief glimpses now of what was, that is all that is left for us; will it always be this way? How long must we wait, how long must this go on?”
“And so we come back to the question that you never wish to ask, so we come back to the topic that you avoid and the choice you must make each and every life time that you wake to the reality of who and what you are. You know the cost of our reunion, you know what will happen to them if we choose to be together as we once were, you know... So I ask you, is it worth it, knowing the cost and the price that must be paid, is it worth it just so that you and I can be together as we once were?”
She sighs, “Yes I know the cost and my answer in this life will be the same as it has in every other, the same as I imagine it will always be; it will never be worth it. So we stay this way, partially aware of what is and you will always come to me in this way, and there will be brief interludes of exquisite joy and unity, glimpses into the union that once was our being yet in the interest of their continued existence we will remain as we have done for so long, incomplete and separated by our expansion.”
“I will always come to you, to remind you of who you are so that your creation will be honoured through its never ending exploration of the physical manifestation of light; and you in your knowing of the price will continue to deny your power and allow those in this life and all who come after to play out their dreams as we agreed so very long ago that they should.”
“And will I always feel this alone?”
“You are never alone...”
“but we are not what we were...”
“no but we are also not yet what we will be...”
“don’t leave me...”
“I never do...”
A last fleeting thought and the sense of wonder disappears, life returns with all its normal sights and sounds and the memory of the moment begins to fade. Will the meaning behind the discussion linger? Does the truth revealed during this brief lapse of reality matter? It is after all just a story and in the waking remnants of what was for the one who lived it is it now merely the memory of a fleeting thought come alive inside a dream... the choice is made, life goes on and another life of loneliness begins anew.

www.feenxrising.com