Letting go the watch

Washed the breakfast dishes and the compost pot, then watched for a moment the cheerful turning of the second-hand washing machine, and re-examined its broken latch. I find ever again the challenge to find joy in what is placed before me, not what I have dreamt up and reach for unsuccessfully. I’m sitting down with the concept of identity to find it so easily linked with joy, so closely paired with one another, as the latter is generally recognized as the sure road to the first. I doubt the veracity of this notion, and yet can’t deny it totally. The house will have to be cleaned, and all my towels are spinning away in the mechanized suds downstairs. A little feeble, and unresponsive, yet the prayer forms ever softly: please, let me not be blind to the joy of this moment, simply because it is not as I thought it should be, because it is not as I planned, because it is not as I imagined happiness and fulfillment to look.

And then sometimes it’s all set aside, for brief moments which last an eternity, and all that can be thought and experienced is “Oh Lord, thank Thee”. Then I want to be as a sleeping battle maiden, awoken by the call in times of great need, already dressed in perfectly crafted armor, rescued from slumber by a daring knight with a gifted sword. I’m lost in images of castles, of struggles, of heroism and purity, and the tininess of present life is forgiven, along with all clinging sadness. I form the wishes for myself later, in reflection: may fierceness be forgotten for valor, may disinterest and withdrawal for the enthusiasm I recognize as uniquely mine to give, and may loyalty rule over all. A little Valkyrie I’m harboring in my heart. Plunging these particular fingers into another sink of dishwater, I hope I do not hid her way, giving into despondency when I cannot hang her battle shield across my drying rack or dust pan for all to see. To see myself in all I do, I think, is to forget myself; to find true my identity, I’ll most likely have to let it go, so that it can come back to me, in the most unexpected and the most honest and trustworthy way.

Painting: The Valkyrie's Vigil - Edward Robert Hughes