Been thinking lately. About the concept of ‘clean.’ At least sporadically, whenever I’ve finished tidying up either my workshop or my person.
It’s really rather fascinating if explored on its molecular level. No, perhaps not quite that in depth. But, at the very least, on its surface level. At face value.
‘Clean’ takes something .. anything .. from imparting a feeling of disarray & discombobulation and elevates it into the realm of The Emerald City. Same exact thing or workshop or person, but ‘clean’ not just removes the dirty, scary flying monkeys – it imbues a shiny new consciousness, heart & soul … To the point where whatever it was that was lovingly de-dirted sings in its appreciation … with the thoughts I’d be thinkin’ I could be another Lincoln.
Windows, screaming gleaming clean – invisible to the naked eye. Visible only in the same dimension as is a dog whistle. Thanking you by singing a squeaky little love song all their own.
And how about your car, your highway star – after having spent a summer’s afternoon massaging it with varied polishes, potions & lotions? Now dressed to the nines, you’re on your best first-date behavior in your first ride. Nothing but the utmost respect: napkins fit tightly in the bottom of the coffee cup holder – both to hold the cup more firmly and whisk away any rouge drips before they can leave a scar; windows cracked if you dare light a cigarette .. no matter how cold the outside temp. And eating? For the next couple of days anyway .. uh-uh .. nope.
For she’s again a clean machine. The machine of a dream. Screaming fast. Screaming clean. Riding better and floating more free than should be. Feigning Ferrari. Posing Porsche. Simulating the grandest of the grand: a ’63 split window Corvette Coupe. Reality be damned.
For the effect ‘clean’ has on an object isn’t linear, it’s exponential. A quick sweeping or wipe down: … ahhh … nice, making it easier to navigate your way around. Tearing up just a tad peeling away the outermost layer of the glass onion. A bit more extensive: round edges begin straightening out; nuances begin to not only talk the talk but walk the walk. Old familiar faces reveal places and traces of home. But a full on cleaning assault adding time + tools + waxes & polishes & conditioners oh my … we’re off to see the Wizard.
For ‘Clean’ is like a 7th sense; a 5th appendage; a dimension not only of sight & sound but of mind as Rod Serling would say about The Twilight Zone.
Everything is still itself. But renewed. Rejuvenated. Itself squared. A treasure trove of who & how it was meant to be … Waiting to be rediscovered.
For: “God gives the nuts, but he does not crack them” Franz Kafka