THE SCHOOL
On completion of the regular Saturday morning cleaning sessions we were each, on our way out, handed a newspaper-wrapped parcel of cloths. The Principal of The School led the cleaning team and he stood at the door to distribute the parcels, which were referred to as 'bundles of joy'. Each contained six cloths that had been used for cleaning the building that morning. They were not rags. They were made from unwanted material that had been donated by students, cut to size and hemmed. Some were used to cover broom heads which were then lovingly and attentively stroked along the ceiling and walls removing the dust that had accumulated through the week. Some were used to polish the floor. Each student had one narrow strip of floor to cover. We stood in a line, face to the wall and then, after quieting our minds, we crouched down, proceeding backwards rubbing floor wax over the linoleum, removing every mark as we went. Woollen cloths were then used to remove the wax and buff to a shine. Afterwards the floor appeared as a glossy pool. Windows required three cloths. One for washing, one for drying, and a linen cloth to finish.
It was the spring school holidays and so the cloths would not be returned till the next session two weeks away. But the instructions given were to attend to the cloths promptly. We were expected to launder them by hand, removing every trace of dirt, then dry them, iron and fold them neatly. When they were handed back to the Principal he would examine them and momentarily hold them to his face.
Back home I went downstairs to the outside laundry with its old cement wash troughs. As I was giving the cloths their last rinse something happened. It was as if the clear water from the tap began to gush through my chest. It felt like my whole body was filling with water, which then rolled in waves all around me. It was extraordinary, as if the world had been transformed and I was now floating in an ocean of bliss. I felt saturated with love. I went for a walk and everyone I met I greeted with a smile and they returned my smile as if they could feel it too. I felt that I had entered a world that had been there always, but had been closed to me. I kept walking for hours through parklands, circling the city, as if I was floating.
Then a thought came, 'I must be Jesus'. Oh yes — my second thought — and that is considered a form of madness. People who believe they are Jesus get locked up in institutions.
I was returned to my usual state of being, which I did not regret. I felt like I had experienced for a time a higher reality. It existed, and I knew that now. I never told anyone. There are things that people are not able to hear.
I returned the cloths. But I didn't go back to The School. I could find my own way now. We cannot become more of what we are — only less of what we are not.
Cheryl Howard © 2022
