That Blue Cleaner Ain't So Blue Anymore

I just got done kneeling. I'm not exactly sure what possessed me to kneel on my beautiful hardwood floor for ten minutes. It just occurred to me suddenly - as if I would learn something, just like when my best friend in high school blindfolded himself for a day to see what it was like. I wish he wasn't dead so I could call him up to ask what he learned from that exercise . . . because I shamefully don't remember the results.

I can't exactly say I learned anything from the kneeling. Maybe I'm supposed to do it for an hour. Maybe it was a dumb idea to begin with.

The moment preceding this act pulled a particular word out of thin air and shoved it indiscriminately into my head. This happens to me a lot. Some word or another jumps into my brain and I can't shake it unless I do something about it, hence the kneeling I guess. The word was "contrition."

Contrition. Sincere penitence or remorse.

It seems to me the ego gets in the way a lot. It is a roadblock on the path to beautiful truth. It is a childproof cap over a healthy dose of humility. It is a veil, hiding the appropriate eyes of contrition. It is sticky plaque on the neurons of valuable morals. It is an erratic emotion that keeps us in conflict. The ego simply gets in the way.

The ego is often frightened, at arms, weary of the possibility its identity will be ripped to shreds. We fuss and moan over those who confront us, threatening to remove our identities and replace them with their own.

And . . . really . . . the way I see it, there's no need for such fussing. I want the confrontation. I want my identity to be challenged, for, what is more noble than facing the challenges that make us better than what we were on the previous day? I want my mind to change. I want others to have a platform to tell me I'm screwing up. And I want the dialogue that should follow, which would knock the wind out of my weaknesses.

Yet, many of us continue to lie to ourselves so as to protect our egos, which, it seems to me, would be better left to fluid evolution rather than being stuck in stubborn, rote, destructive paradigms.

I spend a lot of time considering the many things I've done wrong. And there are many. I'm constantly asking myself the questions:  How could I have done this or that better? How can I better exhibit compassion? I actually probably spend too much time on these questions, which often gives rise to an awful feeling of murder when someone else doesn't ask these questions enough. People who do little or no self-reflecting completely baffle me. Those who use mirrors as a tool for more narcissistic ends instead of as a constant litmus test to measure their humility are indeed lost in a dreadful wilderness. They lack true emotional fortitude. Their heads are full of half-truths. Their friends are wafer-thin. Their lives are remiss.

From going to my knees for ten minutes I find myself writing these words, considering what contrition I may need to feel and what of this sincerity I may need to show in order to remain humble. My mirror is admittedly tarnished with some lies of my own, but probably less than some. This thought makes me consider those homeless people who wander the streets with a rag and an unmarked bottle of blue window cleaner, offering to clean the car windows of people who can afford cars. I suppose it's no wonder that a person lacking privilege is perhaps a symbol of humility in that they offer to clean the windows of those who have the means to do it themselves, but choose not to maximize their sight out of laziness. I imagine those who have dirty car windows are also the people who have equally tarnished mirrors.

We need more humble people to clean off the mirrors of those in need, those who can't see their true reflection. That bright blue liquid cleaner has turned red from thieving too much blood. I miss the clean, calming, careful blue.

And this humility comes from elsewhere too, not just from people willing to confront with the clean truth. It arrives also from the harshness of life. Suffering offers us a hand mirror each time is rears its ugly head. And whether or not we choose to look at ourselves in the proffered looking glass determines our character, and it shows us who we are to become . . . for better or for worse.

What will you choose when handed a looking glass? Will you cast it to the ground, breaking your chance for self-reflection into a thousand pieces? Will you hide it away to look at humility later? Or will you be brave and stare at the harsh truth of your own weaknesses?

I didn't realize it, but when I went to my knees earlier I was in front of the large, built-in mirror in my living room. At the time, I suppose I was self-reflecting, but didn't even know it . . . until this very second.

I'm so glad I finally went to the store to buy some new blue cleaner. With the red gone I can see myself so much better now.