Splish Splash

After years of taking pride in being the queen of the three minute shower, lately, I've been taking baths. The last time I indulged in what I have considered to be an almost decadent activity, was before I had children. I lived alone in an art deco apartment that had high rounded ceilings, wood floors throughout, free standing radiators in each room--the one in the bathroom was perfect for heating towels--and an old fashioned claw foot bathtub. At the time I worked for myself and was either completely frazzled as I worked to meet some nearly impossible deadline or in between jobs and frantically looking for work. As an adoptee, my worst fear--well, one of them anyway--was being a bag lady, wandering the streets pushing a shopping cart filled with all of my worldly possessions. It was during times of intense fear and stress that I would unplug the phone, turn up the heat, throw a towel over the radiator, and fill the tub. Sometimes I'd add bubbles. Other times I tossed in bath salts or scented oils before I'd ease in, magazine in one hand, glass of wine in the other, and distract myself with the latest fashion trends, making a mental list of items I must have or improvements I should make.

My recent bathing experience has been less of a distraction and more of a meditation, which depending on what is happening in and around the house can be a challenge. My intention now is simply to be submerged for about twenty minutes--no bubbles, no wine, no magazines, just me submerged in warm water. The first time I did this, I kept my head above water, but when voices and footsteps became a distraction, I scooted down, legs crossed, so that the water covered my ears. Eyes close, I was seven, a mermaid surrounded in a foamy sea of bubbles and suds. Moments later I was an infant floating in my mother's womb, listening to her heart beat, her voice, the muffled sounds coming from her environment; feeling the sway of her body, sensing what I believed to be her sadness and grief. When I got out of the tub, there were tears in my eyes as I imaged what it must have been like for my infant self to be handed over to complete strangers days after my birth. I imagined what it must have been like for my birth mother to give me away...

Today's bath had a different flavor. The jarring sound of a skill saw had me underwater within the first minute. As hard as I tried to clear my mind and simply focus on the feeling of the warm water, it chattered like a busy monkey. As thoughts raced through my head, I watched them go by like midget race cars on a circular track...last night's dinner was really good...I want to finish the ghost-writing project by the end of this month...I need to go buy an expansion rod for the closet...The water is so hot...I should make an appointment to take Obi to the vet...I wonder how long I've been in the bath...I think I'll blog about the bath...My nose itches, but I'm not going to move my hand to scratch it...With endless thoughts zooming by, I'm on a road trip to distraction, and I think that maybe this type of meditation is too difficult for me. Impossible, maybe even a waste of my time. And then, I have this amazing realization that this type of meditative bath is really about taking time to be--without judgment, no matter what comes up. That like meditation, bathing is really an act of self-love, a stepping-stone to understanding and forgiveness and not decadent or self-indulgent at all.

This doesn't mean that I'm giving up on showers. Being able to wash in under three minutes has its advantages--especially if you're backpacking and a solar shower is all you've got, but I do see a long, hot bath becoming a regular part of my life--a little present I'm giving to myself.