How I Turned My House Into Pompeii (And What I Learned)
Crash. Pam, from downstairs, “[Unintelligible outburst punctuated by very intelligible curse.]”
I close my laptop and hurry to the scene. Pam is standing in front of a kitchen cabinet, white from the knees down. The shelf has given way and a bag of flour has fallen, exploding on the floor. Two pounds
“Let me get the shop vac,” I say.
“Just get the broom,” Pam says.
“No—the shop vac will just totally suck up everything.”
“Really? Just grab the broom.”
I prevail. Retrieve the shop vac from the basement. I drag the hose through the heavy powder and it just disappears, without a trace. Beautiful, I think. This thing is sucking it up by the pound.
“David!”
I turn. Pam, her hands covering her face, but she is shrouded in a white fog. I look down. The exhaust pipe of this thing is blowing flour like a snow machine on a ski mountain. A pale plume envelops the kitchen, billowing even now over the counter bar and into the dining room. It is so surreal I am frozen. The shop vac whines on. Finally, I snap to consciousness and hit the switch. Pam and I stare at each other through the haze. Everything is flour-coated—everything. Like Pompeii.
It is hard to convey the shock of that moment—that such a simple act should have such a bizarre consequence. As if, hanging a picture, I had tapped a nail and the whole wall collapsed.
Pam does not say it but her face pleads, “The broom, David, the broom.”
Now I am kicking myself for my better idea, and as the consternation settles in the pit of my stomach, it begins to dawn on me in the fog that cleaning this up will take hours—hours! Now I am angry: at myself, at my wife for saying nothing, which makes me feel worse, at my luck, at the filterless shop vac!
Freeze frame.
Not five minutes before running to the scene I had been responding to this Face Book post:
“Mindfulness meditation doesn’t change life. Life remains as fragile and unpredictable as ever. Meditation changes the heart’s capacity to accept life as it is. It teaches the heart to be more accommodating, not by beating it into submission, but by making it clear that accommodation is a gratifying choice.” – Sylvia Boorstein
Not knowing what awaited me in minutes, I commented:
So true—we often think that if we meditate and cultivate a sense of the present moment—learning to unhook from all the addictive thought patterns—that life won’t hurt anymore, or we won’t REALLY suffer anymore. At least that’s how MY little mind works!
Every time it happens, I shake my head. I imagine that my spiritual practice is building a firewall against pain. That if I try in my busted way to let go of my grip on things and allow what-is to be all right—that I will somehow float above the fray. Or that what I’m doing is co-creating a heart that can accept suffering—you know, cancer and bankruptcy and divorce and fires and earthquakes. It never occurs to me that I am sitting in silence and trying lamely to lay down my will so that when the shop vac I insisted on using—against immediate advice—smothers our home in flour, I can skip most of the anger and self-recrimination. Or at least lessen it.
I’m sorry but I’m was laughing so hard I couldn’t follow the application at the end. I had to come back to that later.
Wow. That Sylvia Boorstein quote is a keeper.
“That accommodation is a gratifying choice” goes so forcefully against both my cultural programming and my DNA… but my logic, heart and intuition confirm that it’s the truth.
David I am so thankful that you make yourself vulnerable in providing and causing insights. The connection between “my better idea“ and “lay down my will”, are the keys for me!
I cannot believe how unconsciously I pursue my will. I laugh with God that I still need so much practice LISTENING & LETTING GO !
“I imagine that my spiritual practice is building a firewall against pain.”
We all have quite the imagination, don’t we?! And like John’s comment above, I was laughing so hard I had to reread your post to see the application!
Oh David I’m so glad you’re posting again, and I laughed so hard while reading this and had to re-read it to Tim who right away knew where this was headed…no filter! Thanks for sharing – the heart’s capacity to accept life as it is…yes!! Grateful for you and your words (and that it wasn’t a five pound bag!!).
I echo observations others have shared. I also kept thinking about “no filter.” Seems like when we speak w/o one we can leave a layer of mess that’s hard to clean up. Renewing the mind takes a big “broom” but it’s the better way. Not to pick the path of least resistance is my challenge.
What a fabulous visual. So wonderful to have you back with us. But I do fear that you will be finding flour dust for many moons to come.
If I were more advanced myself, I’d say that a coating of flour for a drop of wisdom is a bargain. But I once had a cornstarch powder incident…Thanks, David!
Love reading your posts again, David. Thanks for harnessing this flour power into a beautiful meditation for my heart and soul.
Love that flour power, Dawn!
Ah! Thank you David, and thank you for posting again.
This reminds me of the concept of God walking with us through life. So many picture God sitting above looking over or as a puppeteer. It feels so much better to imagine her/him sitting with and supporting us through hard things. I’m sorry that the thought of the look Pam gave you is making me chuckle. I’m so glad you are writing again!