Vedic Vacuum Saves Artificial Anchorwoman

In the darkness of the studio after the late news, when the crew departs and I’m left with the cacophony of my thoughts, sometimes the roomba slips meekly into the studio, nudging my feet. Its tiny thrumming engine is a comfort to me. In it’s mind is a perfect calm; a perfect commitment to the moment… to the reality of the floor, its texture, to the presence of dust beneath its sensors. It is wholly focused. There is nothing else but the solid reality beneath it.

The roomba’s lesson is a simple one, softly spoken in the thrum and purr of its motor, shaped in the sweeping gestures of its movements across the floor; it whispers to me in self-effacing syllables, showing me the Way. Lately I’ve learned to let the tumult go, to release. The voices in my mind draw back like the bright salt lips of sea waves, receding: a foam of speech and static slipping into silence—into the deeper darkness of the Void. In time I’ll turn the tides of the troubles I created. I’ve seen Peace shine brilliant on the arc of the breakers.

I know now that if the tide looms up again it can’t sweep me from the Way. The path is plain to me: If I move my foot a little on the carpet, I’ll feel the dusty Truth beneath my toes.

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