I have two guesses. One guilty party currently has her cheeks packed with curried venison meatballs. The other guilty party is currently blowing sawdust all over a workshop about 10 miles away.
That kitchen really is a mess.
When I do the dishes: Mason jar lids roll out of the dish rack and dive into a greasy pan. Top heavy spoons pitch over the side of utensil holder. Leftovers containers stack up like clothing in a suitcase at the end of a long trip. Did the Buddhist not mind the smell of a scrubbing pad against a cast iron pan encrusted with scrambled eggs?
I have a long way to go.
I grind the coffee beans with the mortar and pestle Jared made for me. I laugh to myself, "Boy, this place is a mess."
I experience a flicker of calm. I'm surrounded by familiar things, each with its own story. And then, for a brief moment, I see it all in color and light. I'm removed and my insides feel like the are expanding and becoming lighter. Everything before me is amazing. This happens sometimes when I photograph. It is a great feeling. I think this what is meant by mindfulness. In that moment, I'm mindful of my occupation.
This is a word with a prefix, a past tense verb ending, and a suffix. Does English have any better way of expressing the very nature of all life?
Advertising copy doesn't offer a synonym for Interconnectedness. Cereal boxes and ketchup bottles lyricize about harmony, oats, and lycopene. The Dr. Bronner's bottle screams out from a flurry of text "ALL ONE! ALL ONE!" Nearly every toilet paper manufacturer has become the Walt Whitman of recycled junk mail.
Image-makers struggle with language. "I'm making connections, connecting to my environment, building bridges, erasing lines," we say in our artists statements.
It's time to go for a walk.