The 10 cent designer
sink
This is where Zen collapses. The kitchen sink. In Buddhism we’re taught the concept of mindfulness—of being conscious and cognizant of our actions, of being fully present in the moment. When we chop wood, we are to be aware of everything that goes into chopping wood. The heft and balance of the axe, the texture of the axe handle, the rhythm of chopping, the way we shift our balance throughout the swing, the solid bone-thrilling chunk when the axe head strikes the wood. No extraneous thoughts to distract us, no free-floating anxieties or exterior concerns. When you chop wood, you chop wood.
And when washing dishes, you wash dishes. In theory. But in the entire history of dish-washing, I doubt anybody has ever succeeded in bringing Zen mindfulness to bear. There’s something about hands in hot sudsy water that draws the consciousness away. The hands wash the dishes, the mind drifts off—
— to that annoying tune you’ve been humming all day (Born to be wi-i-ild)
— to the novel you’re thinking about writing (Pride and Prejudice…with Tourette’s!)
— to that amusing thing that happened at work (How is he going to explain that stain to his wife?)
— to the question you’ve been wondering about (How do turtles pull in their heads…does the neck bend, or do the bones just compress?).
Perhaps the Buddha himself could be properly mindful while doing dishes. But like as not, he’d be at the kitchen sink, up to his wrists in hot water and lemon-scented detergent, thinking about the last episode of Project Runway (What on earth made that man think tulle was a good idea?).
Oh, the kitchen sink, where Buddhism goes to take a break.
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