Window washing and the power of ME

According to Encyclopedia Britannica, the word window comes from the Old Norse vindauga—vindr meaning wind and auga meaning eye. Literally, a “wind-eye.”

Long before glass panes and sleek frames, windows were simply openings to let in light, air, and life. And sometimes, as we know, those windows become streaked, dirty, clouded by weather and water. When we look out our “wind-eye,” the view can be obscured by these small accumulations.

While in the Book Nook at the Abbey during offering service time on a recent retreat, I noticed the windows were quite dirty. I offered to clean them, along with the windows in the adjacent office. All service opportunities are part of our dharma practice, including washing windows.

What do you think of when you look through a window? Probably not the Greek story of Narcissus. I had to do a bit of research. This is a short summary inspired by an article by Alice Loxton on History Hit.

Narcissus was famed for his beauty, causing others to fall hopelessly in love with him. His arrogance led him to hurt those who cared for him. One of his admirers was Echo, who wandered the woods until all that remained of her was her voice, an echo.

So… let’s pause with that. Who hasn’t, at some point, been either Narcissus or Echo? Our own arrogance and self-absorption push others away, or we lose ourselves completely in someone else.

Enter Nemesis, the goddess of retribution. She led Narcissus to a pool. Seeing his own reflection, he fell instantly in love, unable to look away, unable to reach what he desired. The object of his love was only himself. And in his despair, he destroyed himself.

Back to the offering service.

My intention in cleaning the windows was simple: to create a clear “wind-eye” for anyone looking out, to bring a bit of beauty and ease. I gathered all the materials (which, as you know, at the Abbey is its own act of service), and began the chore on a bright,, beautiful, sunny day.

After a while, I noticed streaks. But were they inside or outside?

Stephanie was inside, pointing them out to me.  But I couldn’t see them. All I could see, shining right back at me, was my own reflection. No matter how she tried to guide me, all I saw was…ME

If that’s not a Dharma teaching, I don’t know what is.

There I was, like Narcissus. Unable to see beyond myself. A friend is pointing out exactly what needs cleaning, and I can’t see it. Sunglasses didn’t help. Changing angles didn’t help. The light just kept returning my own face to me.

And yet, Stephanie was not Echo. She didn’t disappear or give up. She stayed, patiently redirecting, with care and understanding, like my  teachers and Dharma friends who continue to point the way, even when ME, ME, ME keeps getting in the way.

So I came back later, when the light had shifted, when the windows were in shadow.

Isn’t that often when we turn to practice? Not when everything is bright and easy, but when the discomfort of duhkha becomes too much to ignore. When the shine fades. Even though it’s still the shine of samsara, we cling to it, we feel content, even happy, gazing at the reflection of ourselves.

In the shadow, I could finally see clearly. I moved between inside and outside, slowly working the streaks away. It took patience. It took waiting. It took letting the conditions change.

When I get in my own way, I can’t see beyond myself. Everything becomes about ME, even the effort to “clean” or improve. Conceit and arrogance are like bright reflections of a projected self onto a window pane. Like Narcissus, I get caught in them.

But still, I’ll keep cleaning. Slowly, slowly. With patience. With persistence. With acceptance.

Because at the Abbey, the teachings are everywhere — on the cushion, and even in offering service while washing windows.  Thank you!