And so where did our pilgrim finally find a moments release.
Not at the monastery for which they'd traveled all this way to visit. Not while on a plane; defying gravity and the natural order, while watching a movie over a rum and coke.
Not even while watching playlist after playlist of those motivational videos with the emotionally manipulative musical backing.
No.
Of all places, it was the motel bathroom.
An unremarkable room - plentiful in neither unpleasantness nor in charm, so as to allow one to let their guard down and draw a hot bath, because they're not paying for hydro after all. In a tiny room attached to a mid sized room, completely void of clutter.
No dishes to be done after the takeout meal - or delivery if submission to vacation gluttony is complete - is consumed.
No clothes to wash. No trash to be ignored.
No recycling to be forgotten.
Zero compost to regret leaving too long.
Naught to do, but occupy an unremarkable space, until checkout.
Maybe blow bubbles. Maybe not.
Naught to do, but to be.
Here, in a bathroom monastery, our pilgrim finds a moment of freedom . . .
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