Stale scent of yesterday’s fried dinner, mixed with the thick, stagnant air of a house with windows unopened and that sunshine has never warmed.
Sports clothes, waitress’ uniforms, sweaty shirts and spaghetti-splattered onesies; white business shirts with a sweat ring branding each collar,
Cycling shorts, track suits, spandex and polyester blends abound; smells testifying to the intensity of the ride, the run, the workday. Sweat, pepperoni pizza and perfume mix to form a non-unpleasant but very pungent symphony of scents.
How all this can be put into a large machine, quarters fed like a slot machine that never pays back and through some magic of technology and chemicals, emerges sweet-smelling, free of stains?
Born again laundry, soils and sins cleansed away, dirt and sweat all but forgotten; what was grey is now white, what was spaghetti sauce-colored is now clean and fresh.
What if our souls were like the dirty laundry and faith is the washing machine? What if in having faith and believing in our own worth, our own power and innate goodness we are cleansed, refreshed and reborn in a different way?
What if we choose to reject the negative, the hate, the finger-pointing and the blind faith in false prophets and devils in disguise?
What if we ingest thoughts of goodness and hope, rather than tearing others down and enacting the old adage of Misery Loves Company, what if we followed the Golden Rule and gave the love we wished to receive?
These are the thoughts that occupy my mind when it’s at rest; flights of fancy mixed with the mundane, the everyday and the commonalities that bind us together, our race, the human race.