Writing in the Shower

Saturday and Sunday evening found me in great irritation.  Despite my goal of making 2011 a more restful year, all the life happening lately was putting me off.  Instead of my reading and writing, I’ve wanted to nap, watch TV, and eat popcorn for the last two days.

I said to my sister, “What’s wrong with me?!” She said, “Nothing.” And it was simply that–nothing was wrong, but that I needed a break.  I needed to quiet my mind and really listen to a part of me that needed attention.  It was that part that sometimes gets misinterpreted when it speaks, turning me to TV and popcorn and avoidance behaviors.

“Where is my quiet place today?” I asked myself.  I heard, “Take a shower.  Let’s start there.”

I breathed in, and in, and in, then finally out into the steamy tile.  Here is what my tiny voice said:

 

I held what words I could in my mind until I could get upstairs, put water on to boil, and a get a pen in my hand.  While the pot wheezed and the kitchen remained a mess, I sang the lines above to absolutely no one but myself.  The pen slipped across the page; my irritation slipped out of my heart.

Well, that’s done and I feel better.  Does this poem-song of sorts mean something significant?  Is it life-changing?  Is it mind-blowing or on its way to a Pulitzer?  Is it even true?  If nothing, it is peace-bringing.  If everything, it is taking care of myself.  I took a shower, I made a cup of tea, and I wrote down a few words on a piece of paper.

How did you take care of yourself today?  How will you take care of yourself tomorrow?

Here’s the poem if you can’t read my hurried handwriting:

There is a color, color,
a color in my mind.
It is a mist-
misty, morning white.

There is a sound, sound
awakening my ear.
It is a vacant, lot that’s
lost its grandeur.

There is a touch, touch,
at my fingertips, a touch.
It is a sharp blade of grass
I love too much.

There is a smell, smell,
drifting up my nose.
It is a wild, white,
Canterbury rose.

There is a taste, a taste,
sweet and bitter on my tongue.
It is a man who has
already come and gone.