Painting and the Tao

I finished painting my friend's parent's house today. It was just a job that fell into my lap, as do most things I guess. I was greatful to have the work, and Big Rod was greatful to have someone else do the job. Roofs and ladders aren't for everyone I guess. But they seem to suit me just fine. Many of my mental souveniers of Seattle are from rooftops--overlooking the Puget Sound or the Fremont brige or the strange folks of Capitol Hill. It's kind of a paradoxical experience being way up there for all the world to see, yet no one ever looks up. And there is deep peace, of fresh air and blue sky high above the goings-ons of the humanity below, when one little slip would lead to a broken mass of Mendoza on the asphalt.

And it is good to toil, to lose oneself in work. To most people it would seem that house painting is mindless blue-collar labor, but ta-da! with just small shift of perception it becomes Zen, very Zen. I'm not sure where the mind goes when it is just me, a paint brush, and a wall for hours and hours. It goes many places perhaps, but it always comes back to the brush, like the breath. And the body, how it moves and adjusts and coordinates to accomplish it's ever changing task! Perhaps it's a reminder of the Great Dance we are all part of but rarely are we aware. Perhaps.

Regardless it was nice to get a wad of cash.