The doctor said, twice a day, in the bathtub, soak for 15 minutes. I did not
have a bathtub. I am a man of the shower? A loyal friend got me a tub.
It was long and black, just slightly higher than a kiddie pool, but not quite
as round. I filled it with hot water and stuck my toe in. It was too hot of
course. One can't have that, can one? I wondered as I held my scalded toe and
danced around.
Cold water in ample supply solved the problem. The next time my toe went in
the rest of me followed. I had set the timer for 15 minutes. When the time was
up the light would go out.
That was the theory.
I sat there for an hour. The light was still on; the timer had quit. I went
to look at the clock. It had quit working too. Talk about drotted luck; my
wristwatch on the bed had quit on the very same second. I dialed a certain
number so I could reset them as needed, and found out either the whole world was
frozen in space or I had indeed been hovering in the tub for only 6 minutes and
42 seconds.
I drummed my fingers on the shower curtain as I looked at the tub. Obviously
this kind of therapy was not as easy as it sounded. I put my toe into the water
and decided it was too cool. Hot water in ample supply solved that problem. I
followed my toe into the tub and looked at it, then the others beside it. I
drummed my fingers on the side of the tub. Then I looked at my toes.
Then I wondered if Buddha had ever needed his toes trimmed. Naturally
everyone does, and soaking your nails does make them easier to trim. Therefore,
Buddha must have sat in a bathtub at some point in time or space too. That
thought gave me comfort. Buddha had believed in contemplation. I would
contemplate. Have you ever sat in a bathtub and contemplated? It is far from
easy. What is there to contemplate about in the bath tub but the facts in front
of your face, namely your toes?
As I contemplated them I realized they did need trimming. "At least this
soak will soften them so I can trim the nails more easily."
I tried to think of something else, anything else. I never got past my toes.
What good are toes? I did not come up with a good answer. Houdini could use his
toes like a second set of hands. I can't even use my hands like a second set of
hands.
I contemplated my toes some more. The big toe was too big and the little toe
was too little. That made my feet lopsided. Maybe if I had begun contemplating
my toes in the first grade when I first learned about Buddha my feet would not
have been crooked. How can we know cause and effect when nothing is certain in
this world but death and taxes? I gave my navel a good scrubbing, then looked to
see if my toes were done yet. They weren't.
I rose from the tub and shook the timer so hard the window panes rattled.
There were still 4 more minutes to go. Just then the phone rang.
Saved by the bell. I snatched it up. It was no savior, it was my land lady.
"What's going on up there?" she asked.
"Buddha's in the bathtub," I replied. "And he’s having a
hard time contemplating."
From nothing nowhere to
4th place on the front page of a Google search in less than 12 hours
even done by an unknown author that had never written anything?
Yes, it can be done, with lesser known terms. Check it out.
