Spring Cleaning, Spring Blessing
          by Lunaea Weatherstone

          Martha Stewart I'm not. In a perfect world, I would love to have snowy stacks
          of pristine towels available at all times, sleep on new sheets every night, have
          every leaf on every plant polished to perfection, the bathtub spit-shined. My house
          is usually fairly neat, if you don't count the piles of books, magazines and mail on
          every flat surface. Tidying is one thing, but cleaning is another. It takes some real
          motivation to get me to vacuum or scrub a floor. And that motivation comes from
          the awareness that, when I do clean, I am making my prayer to Hestia, goddess
          of the hearth, and I am the domestic priestess maintaining her temple, the home.

          Today, for example, in a fit of premenstrual energy, I just couldn't stand for one more
          minute how grubby my favorite overstuffed chair looked. Even though it's hidden away
          in a corner of my office, it was hunkering there like a ratty old polar bear, and it was
          bothering me. How could I work when there was such a dirty chair in the room??!
          (You have days like this, I'm sure.) I got a bowl of soapy water and a sponge, and sat
          before the huge white (well, almost white) chair and, fuming, began to scrub.

          One angry swipe wouldn't do it. I had to rub and rub. And in the act of working, of
          cleaning, I found myself becoming calmer, agreeing to let the moment happen, to let
          this be my work. Instead of the harsh, impatient scrubbing, I began to gently caress
          the suds into the soft old upholstery, and tenderly catch the drips before they ran down
          between the cushions. I love this chair, I thought. I've spent so many hours here, reading,
          working, laughing, loving (it's a BIG chair), it's like family. I thought, I may have many
          chairs in my life, but this one will always hold a place of affection. I found myself
          actually talking to the chair. Even for someone who says "thank you" to the toast when
          it pops up, this is a bit odd. "I'll take better care of you," I murmured, "and when I can't
          make you almost-white anymore, I'll get you reupholstered, and try to make you last
          for a long, long time."

          We live in a throwaway society, and I am as susceptible as anyone to the lures of shopping
          and of having something new. But in taking the time to appreciate and care for my friend
          the chair, I also reaffirmed my commitment to love what I already have. When we clean,
          wash dishes, shake out rugs, we are taking care of the Earth, too, for we are respecting
          our tools, making them last, instead of carelessly consuming.

          And for those who walk a magical path, it is even more. When we put our attention on the
          tasks of cleaning and washing, we are charging those objects with our devotion. Like the
          act of "programming" a crystal or empowering a ceremonial tool, we can charge our
          armchair to hold us close with love, the plate to bless our food with healing, the rug to
          energize us as we walk upon it. This may sound a little Disney-esque, but why not? If it
          makes your life a little more alive to imagine that your teapot loves you back, do it!

          As spring unfolds, the urge to do more cleaning begins to simmer within most of us. We
          want to clean out, simplify, shake off the dust and glitter of winter hiberations and celebrations,
          and prepare for new adventures in the warming air and light. Begin at your front door. Wash
          the woodwork, polish the doorknobs, sweep the sill. May all who enter here feel the blessing
          of welcome, the passage from one realm to the next. Wash all the doors in the house in the
          same focused way. Meditate as you do so on the sacred nature of doors: opening, enclosing,
          defining, welcoming, protecting. Now the windows. In cleaning them, give thanks for
          vision, for clarity, for perspective, for freedom. Give thanks for the view from the window,
          whatever it is. Think of those who are imprisoned. Find something to love, some lesson, in
          each picture framed within each of your windows.

          You get the idea. As you move through your house, cleaning, organizing, discarding and
          preserving, you are reclaiming each and every element of the domestic temple as sacred.
          Not just the candles and the icons, but the can opener and the computer screen. What miracles
          of nourishment and creativity are wrought through these amazing tools. Feel the warm embrace
          of Mother Earth in hot cotton sheets just out of the dryer, crackling with energy and folded
          with magical intent. These sheets will foster deep dreaming.

          Sing or listen to music as you work. Ring a bell three times in each room as you finish. Celebrate
          the spring by filling the house with flowers, an offering to the guardian spirits of your home.
          And remember, your cleaning tools are powerful too: the broom, the feather duster, the
          sponge, the vacuum cleaner… these are but extensions of your magic, letting your will and
          intention flow through your arms and hands, through the tool, and into your home. Wave your
          broom and bring your whole house to life as sacred space. Let your intention to lead a life
          of awakened spirituality be contained within the walls of your most beloved temple.

          This is sacred work, to be savored and done with joy, and with gratitude for our prosperity.
          What a blessing to have a home to clean! What bliss, what incredible cosmic luck to be one
          of the ones who have a bed to make cozy and welcoming, a kitchen that can get messy with
          the glorious chaos of preparing a feast. By bringing awareness of blessings into everyday
          actions, we offer our thanks. Caring and cleaning, touching everything with devotion and
          full attention, is an act of prayer.

          I gave my chair one last pat, and pushed her closer to her friend the ottoman. Time to get
          back to my "real work." Strangely, instead of feeling irritable, I felt refreshed and ready to
          concentrate. Hestia was pleased, I could feel it. I had made my offering to her temple,
          and in the order of that serenity, the temple flame within me was blazing bright.

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