The shower is my sacred place. Steamy, hot water, muffled sound reception and wonderful unencumbered alone time; it’s the metaphoric equivalent of returning to the womb.
When the door is closed and the hot water is flowing, the answers to “life questions” pop into my brain. I can sense my misplaced passport, my new book title surfaces to my conscious mind and if it’s hot enough, I’m Icarus filled with wisdom, moments before I melt. The shower is a portal to higher consciousness. I wouldn’t be surprised if Deepak Chopra and the Dalai Lama connect to God or Bhudda in the shower – I bet Tony Robins Awakens his Giant in there too.
The moment I hear this, “Hey, can I come in there?” the portal slams shut. The shower becomes a small space where I have to share stuff; share water, share heat, and share my sacred alone time. No one over the age of twenty-eight likes sharing the shower because they are past the fantasy of awesome shower sex and sensual back scrubbing – those ideas are for when you were young, flexible and didn’t have kids or fat thighs.
I love everyone. See? I’m spiritually connected, now please stay out of my shower.
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