ZEN OF SWEEPING
this was a dream: the lady sweeping and sweeping and sweeping. that
lady wasn't her. it was purgatory. purgatory was a real place. there
was dust everywhere...go away now, Ginny, go in and close the door,
what if the dust gets in the house, it doesn't matter anymore...the
meditators do walking meditations now. they glance at her sweeping and
go back to their deep breathing.the meditation disturbed, of course,
but what could be said? someone must sweep. someone must breathe in
the dust. Looking behind her body, she could see the dust settle again
slowly and certainly, right back where she had just swept. she giggled
softly, and a meditator with clicking wooden prayer beads frowned a
bit, and then composed his face again. sweeping was so...silly...a
quarter past silly! still, it was, somehow, very calming...the scene
shifted - a cloud of soft dust across her vision...there were three
young women...a video on the wall...the women were upset...they were
asking her questions about their dad, or about his health...she told
them it hadn't been a stroke, the docs thought, just a TIA. she didn't
seem to need to explain what that was...the video showed him at a
younger age...his back was bare and sweetly young and his arms too. he
was at a costume party with his wife, who was younger too, with dark
hair. she was sort of like a princess of something, and he was an
indian or a savage of some kind. they were laughing and drinking. he
gave her a kiss and she responded. it was a wild scene from long, long
ago. that wife was the one before her...she was his final wife. the
three women seemed to know her well. they seemed to trust her. they
were just very worried about their dad. she felt sad again though,
seeing the video on the wall. they had lost so many years...but, they
had found so much here...where was here? she couldn't see. the women's
concerned faces seemed softer. then they floated away like dust. what
she could still see was the curve of his back, the swooping motion of
the kiss, the twine of his arms, the young skin, the devil-may-care
fun, the look in his eyes, that were not tame...they had never
tamed...the song went through her dream mind "but, if you were
perfect, it wouldn't be the same...to a tiger, a tiger's not a tiger
if he's tame...." she had never seen that look in his eyes in anything
that wasn't wild...the dust was rising softly...she was sweeping. she
could here the whoosh, whoosh of the broom on the stone and wood...the
swish, swish of the dust into the air, soft as a whisper...the whisper
called her out of her sleep slowly...he was saying "this will pass.
i'm back now. see daughters, see wife of my heart, i'm back now. can't
get rid of me that easy, sweethearts!" she rested the broom in the
corner. the dream faded. it settled as lightly as dust. only his arms
around her softly in the morning light, light and final as dust , the
dust sifting tiny crystals in the sun's rays....i need to sweep the
house today, she thought quietly, and slipped out of bed.
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