Scott told me a story tonight about a friend visiting a monastery, who was reprimanded three times for not “washing the dish”, when indeed, he thought he was doing just that. Apparently, he got the dishes clean, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere.
I am not particularly good at finding my Zen place. Normal morning with kids I attempt to: empty dishwasher, make breakfast, email, edit photos, dress little bodies, fold laundry, craft/puzzle/play - at approximately the same time. It always ends the same, someone’s crying, everyone’s fighting, and we leave most of the above-mentioned activities unchecked.
This weekend, I had two photo shoots booked. By 6:30 am on Saturday, one was cancelled. I was disappointed, and unsure of my call, but the gray turned to a downpour, and I had no choice but to drive home. Sunday, more rain, another cancellation. So the weekend came crashing to a crawl, no plans, wet skies.
As a result, we spent a quiet two days creeping around the house and soggy gardens. I spent a lot of time getting lost in the hours, and letting the rain slow me down. It’s pretty lovely the way rain makes everything glossy and full. The light thick and spongy. Sometimes there isn’t much you can do but let it get in your way. Perhaps this is just what I needed.
Wash the dish. Wash the dish.