Bonnie‘s affronting example of the latter problem came when she
said that what one is like at home represents how one treats their entire
lives: a cluttered home reflected a cluttered mind, and a cluttered mind
manifested neglect in other areas of life. If such a person was responsible
for another's welfare, they were putting them at risk. A personal discipline
that could resolve this problem, she said into an amalgam of sceptically
sheepish expressions, would be to look back whenever we left a room. If
we could tell that we had been there, we had left behind a monument to
our neglect. It didn‘t matter what this monument might be; a spoon sitting
on the counter or a lose toothpaste cap represented an attitude that has a
concomitant value outside of the home. As continuity in one‘s life reigned
supreme, this value could grow to cruel proportions.
Bonnie then said that to argue leaving a toothpaste cap off the tube
was indicative of a callous disregard for humanity was ridiculously petty,
as I had, was to say that whoever replaced it was performing a task that
was beneath the social station of the neglectful person. They are self-
important, not having time to clean up after themselves, and they will
habitually treat others as servants in other ways. The proof of this, she
explained blandly to a newcomer, is evident when the culprit is informed
of their neglect and they treat the circumstance with disdain—as I had just
done. She added that there are no small things in life, only small
perspectives.
As simple as this exercise may sound, K ha- lib explained that our
programmed penchant for laziness and neglect was so deep that just
remembering to turn around invariably required the help of another
person. This situation quickly became confrontational, which was another
lesson in self- importance and servitude.
He said, "It is from experiencing the difficulty of turning around that
you can appreciate how careless you really are, and that it is your
irresponsibility that leaves you feeling vulnerable, thereby robbing you of
your joy."
Thereafter, Kha- lib regularly asked attendees if their clothes closets
were in order—all items clean and on hangers—or did we reuse items that
should have been washed. Did we leave cupboard doors and drawers open
so that someone else‘s hip or forehead could close them? Was there a shoe
perched on a stairway landing, like a banana peel, instead of in the
hallway shoe rack? Did we leave anything pending until a more
convenient time? Did we have insurance?
Into the silences his questions created, he said our stillness spoke of
our willingness to be followers. Q uestions represented the will to learn,
and formed the personally relevant framework for a meaningful answer.
