Sir took a shower today. It was... as always is, an experience. But with many many doubts, and much confusion on the way... a shower became the hot water of temperament.
Hot hot water... good for cleansing the soul? No?
One would surmise that the shower is the best form of cleansing, at this time, this place, that is our place... 20...something century. What if there were times that the shower, i.e. the act of cleansing, is a farce? Where would we be now?
Perhaps enough cleansing of words, enough prettyi-fying of our experience.
When a friend is dying, one would say the the act of cleansing is a ritual. Next question: what is the act of cleansing? What is the act of pretty-fying? How and where do we start to see that the end is near, that the sanctifying of the human existence can step in to our word of grief?