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The Opposite of Writing is a Clean House



The opposite of writing is ironing.


It’s vacuuming under the couch cushions.


It’s scrubbing grout with an old toothbrush.


Or wiping down the inside of the cheese drawer in the fridge.


It’s all the deep, detailed aspects of housekeeping which tend to go to hell when I’m on fire with a good idea.


If the house is sparkling, my well is dry.


A Course In Miracles teaches that every problem contains, within it, the miracle which will solve it. They are never separate from each other. We just can’t see the solution because we’ve forgotten how to turn on the light. We’re walking in darkness most of the time, bumping into sharp corners, believing life is hard.


The collision of rain and sunlight isn’t what makes a rainbow. It’s the specific mixture which reveals it. Rainbows are always in our atmosphere. We just can’t see them without the right circumstances.


When we were kids we bought a magic pen with two sides from the toy store in town. One side had invisible ink and the other had a tiny light which would show what we’d written when flashed upon it.


People ask me: “What should I do?” They want a prescribed plan. They want action. But stuckness is about misperception. There’s nothing to “do” except change the way we’re looking at the situation, which means: changing our thinking.


The desire to “do” often surfaces as resistance to its opposite, which is letting go.


We want to “do” because "doing" feels productive. When I can’t locate the clarity within my mind and heart which allows my thoughts to line up into coherent sentences and file out onto the page like good soldiers, I love submitting myself to the physical work of cleaning the house. A task like laundry can be deeply satisfying. Something is dirty, it goes through a series of cycles and comes out clean. I fold it and put it in a drawer. Ta-da!


When compared with something as nebulous and cryptic as writing, laundry can feel like a luxurious stroke of genius.


But the satisfaction of housework is only ever a surrogate for what I’m truly after. What I’m truly after is feeling right with my own Soul. Feeling like I participated in the work I’m actually here to do. My purpose work. My real love.


When I’m stuck, I like to think about rainbows. I like to think about my old magic pen. I like to think that there’s nothing I’m missing. Nothing heavy I have to go fetch and carry back to the picnic. It’s just an adjustment in the way I’m looking at what's in front of me.


We can bring a little sunshine to our rainy days. Bring a little light to the secret message. Bring a little faith to our darknesses. And then we can watch. Listen. The miracle will open. Like a door that was only ever gently closed or a bud that rises up in the Spring and expands, sensing the sun.


Rooting for you and sending a week full of miracles your way!