For some reason — inexplicable to me — I have felt called to wash dishes. Perhaps, it is the routine. Perhaps, it is the simplicity. But, for some reason, after years of having disdain for washing dishes — I have insisted that almost every evening — the dishes are washed.
At first glance, washing dishes may seem insignificant, but it is not. In comparison to the previous year of my life, where my mind was active with the stresses of the day — I could not wash dishes with joy. This year, the simplicity of washing dishes — one at a time — is giving me peace-of-mind.
In washing the dishes, I recognize how much I like the warm water running on my fingers; I remembered washing dishes everyday at the ashram in the Catskill Mountains as a kid.
Last year, I remember being angry when I washed the dishes. I would feel frustrated until they were done — primarily, because I wanted to shutdown after a busy day. Today (at least for the past week), I am seeing the gift of mental space and time to do something routine with my hands.