It was a hot summer afternoon and I had just returned from a tiring day at the hospital. Although the temperatures must’ve crossed 40, my room in my house seemed to be the most comfortable place. You know how there’s no place like home.
I quickly got refreshed- had an ultra-quick lunch (a tall glass of orange-carrot juice to be precise), washed my face, brushed my teeth, and eagerly settled snugly into my bed to read a copy a novel i was following
We all know this comfortable feeling when suddenly all is right with the world, as also how irritating it can be when someone or something disturbs us from this beautiful reverie - in my case however there was no respite, no peace- I was destined to be disturbed and moved.
What would intrigue me however is that the cause of my disturbance was not some assshole messing things up,forcing me to get get up and about, but it was rather internal: I had this overwhelming desire to wash my feet. Now, I don’t usually wash my feet in this manner: so its not that there was a habitual ritual that I had not performed and therefore was causing me so much discomfort. Also, my feet didn’t feel really dirty or something, just that I had this overwhelming desire to go wash my feet.
Thus, despite being intensely irritated at the prospect that I will never , ever, in my whole life, find that one comfortable reading position again, I hop off and make it towards the bathrooms to ‘wash my feet or whatever’. And as I approached the bathrooms, I noticed that the tap in the wash basin had been left open and water gushed out at full flow there from- I had forgotten to close the tap after washing myself.
The queer thing to know was that although I am not so particular about washing my feet, I am, indeed, very particular about not wasting resources, especially water. Maybe it has to do something about my desert origins, but nevertheless, I am very particular about not wasting water and other resources. By now I have figured that my subconscious mind silently took note of this fact and later notified me about the folly when my mind was in a more peaceful and thus more receptive state. The question I have however, is that after having completely forgotten about the tap, why would my mind command me to wash my feet? It could just remind me that I had left a tap open and it would have been enough motivation to get up and close it or tell someone else to close the tap. But, strange are the ways of fate, it tells me to wash my feet.
I wash my feet and satisfy myself, then return to bed in peace, having learnt a simple, but profound lesson: the voice of your heart might sound totally absurd, but listen to it anyways, regardless of how much-or little- sense it makes. (I am sure, though, all this probably had nothing to do with the rock some scoundrels broke my window with, causing a lot of shattered glass exactly where I had left my place, which could have seriously injured me)
