Clean

This is the fourth of seven poems in a series.

Clean

I had a moment while vacuuming, noise and all.
And another moment while washing the dishes,
warm soapy water on my hands.
I do not know what to call these moments.

Trite to say that I did not know for a second or two
where I ended and vacuum began.
Trite to call it "oneness"?  Seems a silly thought
to be one with a vacuum cleaner.

But it was the same
As climbing a mountain.
A moment on a slope when
effort became effortless,
and there was no more desire for destination.
To reach the summit.
There was rhythm to my gait
but I was not aware of my speed as I climbed.

Equilibrium.
In one's whole being.

No longer thinking ahead.
Each footstep, each movement of arm and vacuum,
or each dish...each an event in itself.

A thought:
I do not wish to live only for some future goal.
A great thought, but thinking it
killed the moment....

And later I sat in my clean house
and felt good about
the uncluttered, freed...sacred...space.