It is the end of one of those very long days and my body is tired, my spirit weary. I walk into the kitchen to fill up two large pots with water and put them on the stove to heat. Then I head into the bathroom and begin to fill the tub. We live in a condo with space only for a small water heater, not quite enough to fill the tub, so this routine has become part of my nightly ritual. “I can’t believe you live in the heart of Seattle and you have to heat water on the stove for your bath,” my aunt teases when she calls to check in with me from her house in rural Maine with plenty of hot water. “What a pain that must be.”
Truth be told, I don’t mind at all. It’s all a part of the process for me—these moments of preparation needed to enter this holy space of renewal each evening. Heating the water, running the faucet, pouring in some bath salts, telling my husband I’ll be disappearing for an hour, turning off the phone ringer, all signal to me I am on the threshold of something sacred. This is one of my slowing-down spaces, of which we have too few in our busy lives.
The tub is nearly full and I carefully carry the big boiling pots over, taking extreme care to avoid our sweet old dog who loves to be right underfoot. I pour the water in slowly, making patterns on the surface, and watch the steam rise like incense. I imagine my prayers and concerns being carried to God and held in care. For these few precious moments I don’t need to worry about anything, I can just be. I light a single beeswax candle which gently illuminates the white-tiled room and casts flickering shadows on the walls. I take off my clothes and standing there in my nakedness and vulnerability, I slide into the tub, being received into this womb-space. I bless myself, hands touching my forehead in an act of great tenderness. The water always feels just a bit too hot at first, but slowly my body adjusts and the heat relaxes every knotted muscle, my breath slows and deepens.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, offering a prayer of thanks for this day that has come to a close. My prayers are not always eloquent or formal. Some nights all I can ask is “Why?” or “How?” which often are the most honest prayers I can utter.
Here in this ceramic font I am a small child again, being lowered into the initiatory waters of baptism and welcomed into the Christian community of faith. I am a Jewish woman entering the mikvah for ritual purification and cleansing. I am a Hindu woman, stepping into the sacred river Ganges, seeking forgiveness of my sins. I am a Muslim woman who believes the words of the Prophet, “cleanliness is one half of faith.” I am connected across the globe in a sacred web to all those who celebrate the gifts of water.
I am aware also in these moments, of the millions in this world who go without clean water and for whom a nightly bath would be an extravagance undreamed of. My heart opens to make space to ease myself into that tension. My tears mingle with the water and I imagine I am being held in a vessel of God’s sorrow.
Finally, my prayers become wordless, only my body prays now, in a physical surrender to this liquid grace. Here in the splendor of silence, I live for a few moments as if the world were at peace, as if I were at peace.
-Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts
12 Responses
I really enjoyed this post. Thanks for sharing it. You have such a way with words.
so very beautiful–thank you!
You will see by the poem I wrote some time ago that I relate very much to your writing today. Since it is titled, “No one guesses”, it is not something I have shared worldwide! (until now)
No one guesses
why I take a bath
each evening.
It is my way
to return
to the womb.
Warm waters
envelop me
in a small space.
When I let myself slip
beneath the water,
outside sounds
become muffled.
Body sounds are amplified.
A heartbeat, a gurgle,
rhythms of maternal waters.
I am taken back
to an existence
that memory cannot reach.
But I know the sensations.
The sense of being safe,
loved, cared for.
I can be still
and totally relaxed,
letting my thoughts and dreams
just drift and float
on the water’s surface.
When I step from the bath,
it is as if I am
emerging again into life.
I am renewed
by this mysterious connection
with my earliest beginnings.
Wow, thank you all, I am moved by your responses. This was a very heartfelt piece of writing and seems to have made some heart connections, for that I am grateful.
eileen– I find taking a bath in mid-afternoon to be a decadent delight!
bette– I love the image of invoking the Spirits of all women.
heidi renee — you might be surprised how un-dreamy and small my bathroom really is, but the wonder of some candles, and yes a good scrubbing. :-)
My best friend asked me, a couple of months ago, when I was whinging about how my kids were growing older and didn’t need me to mother them so much, so how can you begin to mother yourself?
I had no answer for her. Today you helped me peel that back just a little. Thank you. My bathroom isn’t nearly as dreamy of a space as your’s and the tub needs a good scrub before I lower myself into it’s “womb” but I can see how this act would be an entrance into mothering myself.
Thank you, it is beautiful.
Simply beautiful… connecting with others yet holding the tension of those who can not receive such a gift.
Thank you for this blessing!
these are the most beautiful and meaningful words i’ve read in a very long time that took me to the core. i love how you also became different women from other cultures, connected through the sacredness of water.
somehow the act of pouring your own bath water is more meaningful in a spiritual way then for it to come out of the faucet. its like invoking the ancient Spirits of all women.
thank you, christine.
Though my routine of preparation for the nightly ritual of the steamy bubble bath is a bit different, it is much the same. It is recounting the day – a prayer for peace … for myself, my family, my friends, and the world at large. It is a time to be with my husband in the glow of candlelight to share the events of the day and speak what is on our minds and in our hearts. There are times during the day, when I steal away to the bath – solo. Water … “womb-space” indeed.
sigh…