Interview with a House Cleaner

11-23-2002, 12:14 PM

Suffice it to say that at one time there seemed justification enough
to employ the services of a bi-weekly house cleaner. The process of
choosing the "right one" proved to be more challenging than initially
anticipated, however, and after a number of potential candidates were
considered and rejected, a friend told me about Veronica.

Veronica had immigrated to this country from Argentina the previous
year, and so I began the interview by mentioning that the Tango
happened to be a personal passion of mine.

She nodded and said:

"Tango as Western Tantra:
embodiment of
Life flow, expressed
in moving form of
yin/yang lovers'
embrace. Her Face!
Sistine Chapel's
touched fingers
slinking down
off the ceiling and
calling
seduction's bluff.
The touched toes.
The plaintive tango nuevo
bandoleon of Astor Piazzola
perfuming the stops and
small quick steps, slides,
glides, where love plays hide
and seek, the sleek
combed hair, the sneer
and faux leer of passionate
indifference in the closed
flair. The promenade,
the sudden clutch and wheel
into the open whirl-away,
the spot
lunge, the counting,
flame mounting,
opposites dissolving in
one heart-piercing
glance, the trance
of movement sans
movers,
just this
impossible melody,
no dancers, only
dance dance dance
under this moon,
tonight -

and all of us, just

dancing

dancing

dancing

for Dear Life!"

Well, this was certainly a promising start to our labor negotiation,
and so I proceeded:

"Indeed, indeed! And yet, what of the seductive inclination towards
an exclusionary cult of pairs subtly implied in the cheek-to-cheek
promenade?"

To which she replied:

"Like anything that must expire
incarnating as desire
the closer to the source it hums
the more transparent it becomes."

With this reply, I sensed that my search for a qualified house
cleaner might be drawing to a satisfying conclusion. Yes, and
although it was probably not really fair of me to ask, I suddenly
couldn't resist the question:

"Veronica Dear –
are you at all familiar with the Blue Head Peanut Man?"

She grinned and chirped right in:

"Even a man who is pure of heart and says his prayers at night,
may become a blue head when the peanuts roast and
the moon is full and bright!
As a matter of fact,
the Blue Head Peanut Man
is one with his vegetable oil.
It is not blue.
He is blue, but curiously
happy in his blueness, having come
to peace and acceptance of his
brilliant transitory blue nature, and
the endlessness of blue
it is arising and dissolving in..
Krishna at times appeared to be blue.
Did the Blue Peanut Head Man
emerge from the Blue Pearl?
If you stop to ponder this question,
already you are miles away.
In the same way, if you were to claim:
`Tastes good!'
it is already a memory.

I once shared a bag of salt peanuts with Love, strolling
the lovely Botanical Gardens in the magical Emerald Park.
Clouds and sun intermingled, and the wind carried a
thin layer of fog above our heads as
we sat with a quail in the
company of Succulents.

We said little, because everything said it for us.
Soon the peanuts were gone, and what was left was
more magnificent than anything I could ever say.

The Blue Head Peanut Man was with us,
as he always is.
He was neither laughing nor grieving –
just a friend when you would like one.

Few hear the secrets hidden within his shell -
who has ears for such music?

Anyone who feels the slightest separation from
the one they love may find themselves straining
to hear his silent song, forgetting it is
their own silence,
singing.

If peeled from his shell, does he wish to return?

There are hundreds of ways to enjoy his good taste –
why stop at the obvious?

The hunger of the heart will not
by assuaged by imitations.

Later we wander down to the beach.
He skips behind, playing
hide & seek among the trees.

Sometimes, just when we say
'Aha!'
he is off and on his way again.

Funny Blue Head Peanut Man!

When we wade out in the ocean, all our salt dissolves. "

There was little doubt now that she was the destined one, and I was
prepared to happily offer her the job.

"I sense that you would be an excellent choice!"

Of course, she obligingly replied:

"Assume any random imaginary position, and choice and choicelessness
may appear as possible alternating interpretations of the experience
of cause and effect.
The truly curious inquire,
`Is this true?'"

"Just so, Senorita!" I enthused, and then asked whether there was
anything else she wished to add that would aid me in my final
determination.

"Only this," she answered slyly:

"Prior to life before land, and even now, and infinitely after, there
is I Am. What is prior, and after, is only appearing within Now,
which is I Am. All of the comings and goings, ascension and
descension, paths and end of paths, appear within I Am as the dreamy
substance of perception. I Am What Is. The pretense of a you & me,
self & other, is the Play of I Am. I Am is Itself a fiction, the
ultimate humor of Mystery, of Unknown. Wise lies are still lies.
Nothing can be pointed to, or described, or objectified. Nothing can
touch This, for there is nothing that is at any distance from This --
This Being What Is.
If there appears to be a seeking for This, it is Only This. If there
appears to be an end of a seeking for This, It Is only This. This may
seem to reveal Itself to Itself, but there is only This. Anything
said about This, including this, is nothing but This. Therefore,
everything said is true. If there is anything that is said to be
true, it is a lie, because there is nothing to be said. Therefore,
truth and lies are meaningless, except what may be attributed to them
as an interpretation. All interpretations are transient and
arbitrary -- the causal origin of separation. There is no possibility
of separation. Thus, what is confounded is the motive to
differentiate. When that motive is undermined, What Is Only is re-
cognized to be This. What re-cognizes This is This Itself. Thus,
there is only the perpetual re-cognition of This by This. Even though
there appears to be no re-cognition, That Itself is only This. There
is no wisdom in This, for that would imply that there is something
that is different than wisdom, but there is only This. There is
nothing to be un-done, nor is there any liberation from What Is,
since there is only What Is. The dream of sleeping and awakening,
freedom and bondage, are merely interpretations upon perception. When
interpretation ceases, What Is, Is. Prior to the cessation of
interpretations upon perception, What Is, Is. What Is, Is. This
cannot be understood, for that would imply that there is something
different or separate from What Is, which is either understanding or
not understanding, but What Is, Is. Only. Always!"

"Delightful and insightful!" I exclaimed, "And yet, isn't all this
wordiness a hindrance to a good day's work?"

With a genuinely radiant smile, she sweetly replied:
"Wherever I work, I clean and go with a smile! "

And with that we entered into a mutually gratifying relationship,
although she never did windows.

"If there are no walls,
there is no need for a window."

~Rumi~

~b

LoveAlways,

Mazie & b