My Master

I am resting in front of the kitchen sink like a Zen Buddhist monk sitting serenely on his meditation cushion. The water is flowing, filling the left side of the kitchen sink, dishes slowly begin to submerge under the water. Scrubbing the filth away, imagining it to be the cleansing of all the impurities of my mind. I allow myself to be absorbed by the moment. Not to escape it by imagining there is someplace more fulfilling. There is nothing more worthy of my attention than what is. The future I conjure in my mind creates only anxiety or hope. But not peace. Peace is subtle and hardly noticeable. It accepts things with such grace and lets them go in the same way, like a mother bird who watches her young fly away, leaving the nest for the first time to fly into the unknown.

Restlessly searching is what my wandering mind is accustom to—grabbing and holding on to moments instead of letting them go so another can come. This letting go is what I practice in front of the dishes—releasing any outcomes or ideals and learning to exist—washing one dish at a time and doing so with grace. Making love with each one as if my lover, Caressing the skin of a plate or pot or spoon. I am doing nothing and accomplishing everything.

My mind once scorned by things apparent, looking with contempt at the mundane, thinking internally, there is no sense of peace in washing the dishes. Never feeling entirely grounded, rushing from one moment to the next running around and around on a hamster wheel. Boxed in by the cage that I have created myself, I hear a small voice in my head reminding me of the significance of washing the dishes. It is a practice of living life in the moment. So long as I live, there will be a list of to-dos and things that must be done. In my search to escape mundanity, I miss out on the entirety of what it means to live. My mind is always looking for some defining moment, a pinnacle. I have been slow to realize that the heights of one mountain leave me only to rest at the bottom of another. Is this not life?

The ancient Greeks conjured a story from their collective minds about this realization. The story of Sisyphus, the man, destined to push a boulder up a mountain for eternity. Developing patience as I ascend to an unreachable summit, pushing an invisible boulder and, with each step cultivating the virtue of resilience.

What I once thought to be my suffering is now the very antidote to my pain. It is a resting place. A place of meditation, practicing to accept what is. It is in this experience of reality that I learn to cultivate the very essence of peace.

Ascending the mountain with patience, I realize there is nothing unreachable; The moment unclothes itself before me and kisses me softly on the lips. In paying attention, I am reaching the climax of life, drinking every drop of juice from her cup. When my time of passing comes, nothing will be in vain, for I will have tasted all the flavors life has to offer.

What does today bring before me? More mundane responsibilities, not glorified because the fruit they bear are unseen and intangible? They carry the fruit of the spirit; patience, endurance, and tolerance—in boredom, there is peace. And to live life to the fullest, one must embrace the whole

There will always be mountains to conquer, unknowns to discover, dreams to realize. Life is infused with joy and sorrow, disguised in one another— I will come face to face with giants that seem too mighty to be defeated.

The Giants and the challenges of life are my teachers. The kitchen sink is my master.

One dish after another, I uncover the purity of life. Conquering mountains one step at a time, and surfing the wave of life one moment at a time. When life becomes overwhelming, I breathe and smile softly. There will always be dishes in the sink.