I love the shower. It’ s part of my repetitive daily activity where the ritual of cleaning is almost second nature, so requires no conscious thought.  So my morning shower is where my subconscious whacks me on the head and yells LISTEN HERE!  It’s the place where I  have out-loud, role-play conversations with friends and adversaries.  It’s where I kick ass, speak most eloquently, win arguments. react with most passion and generally gain clarity.  It’s the place where my second voice, my inner voice, is the loudest and most true.    My showers are the best places for my day dreams.

So soggy notepaper with indecipherable scrawl is often found around the bedroom.  On occasions,  I look at these scraps with amusement and wonder if the smell of the soap suds has acted as a natural high.  Other times, it’s as if I’ve single-handedly written the synopsis of the next great opus.  Many times, I’m in such a rush I promise myself that I’ll commit my thoughts or intentions to memory, yet by the time I’m in the car they are like fragments tossed in the wind of nothingness. Oh for a 20 year old memory again…

I can have such daydreams while out walking, but my nearest approximation to a full on shower experience are the days I spend in the mountains.  There is something about the clarity of the air that strips my mind of all nonsense and noise and sets it free to just be.

It’s the best form of mindful meditation that I know.  The steady monotony of one step, the swing of one arm, one walking stick or ice axe, then the next foot.  And on and on we go.  The voice of “polepole polepole” Swahili for “slowly slowly” is the mantra which reverberates around my head as burning muscle, fatigue and pain are all swept aside for the sheer pleasure and promise of the next great vista.

And waking up at the first light of dawn, crawling from a small tent and peering into the grey morning mist is a delicious sensation (often before the reality of blistered feet and wet boots creep back into consciousness).

With Roscoe too young, and not very willing for full on mountain trips,  our annual ski trips have become so important to me.  Being in the mountains with Craig and Roscoe, standing at the top of a perfect piste, planning our route is one of the best feelings.  I don’t think or worry about anything else apart from we three enjoying the wind in our faces, the sun on our back and the opportunity to whoop and laugh and feel pure joy as we head downwards, snow crisp, light, powdery under ski.

So the goal is set; four weeks from now to be well enough, fit enough, pain-free enough to persuade Craig that we can do a last minute Easter ski holiday.

Until then, I’m going to spend a lot of time in the shower…