We don't have a dishwasher. Sometimes, I wish we did, but most of the time I am glad we don't. Dishes are my therapy. It's my quiet time. It's the time when I get to stand and move and work with my hands and feel this huge sense of accomplishment every single time after being done. Most of my days are spent at my desk at work, looking at a computer, in meetings, in conversations. Most of the work I do is sitting down. The dishes are relief for my spine and my hips, an opportunity to open my heart.
When I turn on the hot water and make the soapy solution in one of the sides of the sink, I smile and breathe deeply. My shoulders soften, my forehead relaxes. my mind gets quiet. I run my hands over dish after dish and the scrub brush between the spaces in the forks. The water running and rinsing the bubbles of the glass.
There is peace here, at the sink. This is what life is really about, yes? I engage in this acts every day, a prayer of sorts that has a beginning, a middle, an end. I am left with a blank slate at the end of every session. The countertop is clear. Awaiting more dishes, evidence that the bellies are full and the souls are happy.
Peace is here in this kitchen, at this sink. Good things happen. Wishes, ideas, creativity. It all gathers here, in the stainless basin, slippery with soap.
I am grateful for this opportunity, to stand, to clean, to wipe away the mess and start fresh yet again.