Action as Symbol.

I spent time today washing the grime off sliding balcony doors of an apartment we've been fixing up.

It was one of the last things I have to do before turning over the keys to a new tenant, if we ever get one.

With every dirty stroke, the atmosphere of the apartment lifted. By the time I had the windows sparkling, the last strands of yucky feeling left the apartment.

While I was cleaning the windows the thought came to me that if eyes are the windows to the soul of a person, than windows are the eyes of a room's soul.

I've brought many apartments back from the brink now, and can say with conviction, the energies of the exiting tenant tends to linger on for a while.

I suspect it even affects prospective tenants without their ever realising it.

This apartment belonged to a man who lost pretty much everything. I think his mind was the first to go, and I suspect it was on the wane before I ever met him. It was a tragic scene to unfold.

We've had the hardest time to rent this suite. New carpets, new counter tops, new fixtures, new paint, gorgeous balcony.
No dice.

Well we came close twice, they both backed down at the last.

We've had less attractive places go faster. What's up?

Its the way the suite feels. The atmosphere.

Tomorrow I burn sweet sage.

And today, I finally got rid of the last lingering smells of him along with a few final greasy finger prints.

Later, while I was scraping the last bits of paint off bathroom tiles I connected the loosening and removal of the grime of this place, to the gradual uplifting of the "spirit" of the place.

I considered the concept of mindful living. How being mindful of every action from scrubbing floor mouldings, to trimming your nails can be healthful, helpful in living in the moment.

The moment is where creativity flares and catches flame to wind, if you're not mindful, you're more likely to get burned. Or stub your toe, or hit your funny bone, or trip over air. All things I am very familiar with.

As I was being all mindful and stuff, I wondered at the ritualistic nature of cleaning.

Immersing my gloved hands into hot sudsy water, lifting my hand to the surface, moving my hands in circular movements like the whole wax on wax off scene of Karate kid. Immersing my gloved hand into hot sudsy water, and so on.

I couldn't fathom how many times I've repeated that action in the last week alone.

I wondered at the power of ritual. And considered it may be the the repetition of them that gives them their power.

I had the oddest sense that my regular washing off of the grime from this building, is mirroring strange results in my own self.