Lather, wipe, scrub, rinse, repeat. The dishes in my hands move rapidly, automatically, in my hands. Dirty pile, water, clean pile. I scrub at dried spaghetti sauce and days-old mustard, but my mind is elsewhere – in the clouds as it is said. Plates, lids, bowls, and pans pass me by as I fall further into my mind.
I have tried. God knows I have. I have tried settling, abandoning my gypsy past without looking back for creature comforts and safety. I have an apartment and a roommate; we split costs and cleaning down to the carefully constructed system of dish washing in which I scrub pans and he the pots. I have friends and frequent a multitude of shows with them, often staying out until the police send us scattering. I am a member of the community and the local book club; I hold a job and smile at the neighbors as they walk by. I am a model citizen: no traffic tickets, no misdemeanors, no public intoxication whatsoever.
The winds of change are upon me.
The energies have come to me once more. They cannot be refused; the overzealous urge to move and expend thought through motion is impossible to escape. To hunker down and fight it is miserable – like clinging to a rock in the midst of an overflowing river. The energies beg only to be followed. They say, “Let go of the rock; the rock is a foolish thing that will slip away in time. Give in and obey the river.”
Where this river will take me I cannot fathom. That seems to be the allure of such thinking, the total abandon and lack of foresight. The energies carry you at their whims, moving you in a way that mimics true destiny because self guidance is impossible. It remains to be seen in which direction I will travel, but I can feel already that this episode is stronger than others. I will be going and going soon.
I pat my hands with a stained green dishtowel and swipe my fingers briskly through hair that has not been washed for too long. My fingers snag in the tangles, but there is no problem here. Dirty hair. Does it matter? I think not.
