When I need to get “my head around things”, put life into order and talk to my inner-self, I sweep.Yes, I grab the broom and start on the farthest room, slowly making my way through the house to the front door.
I move furniture so I can gather all the dust-bunnies who are hiding from sight and manoeuvre them into a neat little pile. All the time making big sweeping statements with the broom, swish, tension and bad thoughts are released from my body.
Getting into a rhythm, my thoughts turn passive and I am able to negate the broom deftly like an abstract artist brandishing my brush onto a large, blank canvas.Swish, the dust-bunnies are relegated to the dust-pan and I throw them into the bin. I am now calm.
In the routine of this domestic chore, I find I have re-connected with a fundamental simplicity.
Having done homage to people who have“passed-over” and smiled at the good things I remember about them, - my Father’s shy smile that reached his twinkling blue eyes.
Come to terms with the recent death of my favourite uncle who was one of the most eccentric and funny men I have ever had the privilege to know.
Smoothed over old conflicts and seen the reality of where things went wrong and how they were put right, or should be.
Thought of my three daughters with love and affection and turned them all into successful millionaires and bottled my grandson’s contagious laughter, giving it away to sad people to make them happy.
Remembered times when as a child, my brother, sister and I went on long, rambling walks with our Mother through the African bush, the smell of the tall yellow grass sweet after the first rain.
Our dogs rushing and sniffing out small animals and shadows in the late afternoon sunshine.It doesn’t have to be a new broom to sweep clean, just a broom that helps me face another day.
"Resting where no shadows fall
In peaceful sleep he awaits us all
God will link the broken chain
When one by one we meet again."
(Love you, Uncle Ian oxo)
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