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Revolution Has Come, Time to Pick Up your Swiffer
or
Study shows War Causes Back Pain
by robert karimi, 3/25/03

When I woke up on the first full day of George Bush II’s Gulf War II, I was sad. What could I do to show my dissatisfaction with the King George II’s decision?

Scream? Organize a poetry rally? Block a bridge? I looked around my apartment for an idea. The clutter on the floor gave me a suggestion.

Clean the house. I had a wonderful guest coming over, and I wanted to make my home a safe, inviting place where we could just chill and talk about God, the universe, and everything.

I started off with the kitchen and the dining room (all one room). Cleaned out my cat’s litter, and used both my Swiffer Dry and my Swiffer Wet (with Lemon scent). I only have a few dishes (and no pots and pans), so the kitchen went quickly. And, the dining room’s hardwood floors sparkled. My cat rubbed her face on my arms while I cleaned her litter, giving me a sign that I was on the right path.

I placed some books on the coffee table for my friend to read while he slept in the living room: Rumi, Buddha, Buber, Leticia Hernandez, and Neruda left in no particular order.

Why all this detail for this visit? In times like these, being close to friends and family are my primary concern. Bringing folks together, to me, is a great way to cause lasting change. Cleaning the house is the beginning.
Is this selfishness or paranoia?

I scrubbed the toilet to a beautiful shine, and I felt like I was quietly doing my part to challenge the King.
Silly, no? The act of cleaning the house never makes the 6 O’Clock News (Although my mother thinks that all news networks should broadcast every time I clean my house.). The act of cleaning clutter does not weigh in the mind like organizing a rally, sit-in, or march.

However, every time something became brighter or became less scummy, I felt like I was changing the world.
This is my act against war. My clean house. My mirrors shining. My tub glimmering. My toilet smelling of artificial lemon scent. My home a place where people feel safe. Where my friend can feel comfortable. Where we can find joy in conversation and communion. And, as an added benefit, my clean house makes it easier for me to write. Clean house; clean thoughts. Very liberating. Very simple.

I know the clean house is not the final act; in addition, this is not the complete story of my first full day shadowed by war.
During my cleaning spree, I had an accident.

In John Gardner’s Grendel, the monster-hero Grendel loses his limb to the man-hero Beowulf, and then bleeds to his death. Right before his death, Grendel says to the reader: “Grendel has had an accident, so may you all.”

I had an accident in the same way. I felt invincible. I was cleaning, and nothing could harm me. I held three empty boxes in both hands as I walked down my wooden stairs; I slipped, slid down the stairs, and slammed my lower back on the concrete sidewalk. I rolled over my stomach in pain, and I realized I couldn’t get up.

No paralysis. No tingly limb. Just the worst pain in my life every time I tried to get up.

I was in the alley on the side of my apartment. No one could see me. I called friends on my cell phone. Most were too far away.

Some were surprised by the calmness of my voice. Jokes were being shared to ease my pain. “So, you were like Legolas going down the stairs surfing with his shield, except you were the shield?,” one friend said, using the Two Tower reference to rationalize my pain with humor.

I then called my co-worker, who was a block away, to come and help me because no one could hear me in the alley.

As my muscles spasmed, thoughts of the war left me.

I just fell, and I wanted to get up, but I couldn’t.

I was afraid I couldn’t walk anymore. I didn’t know what was going on.

But I was going to learn more about myself and this war. This accident was a lesson. Not fully revealing itself to me, yet.
Pain. I was all about stopping pain, as I waited for my co-worker.

(Part Two will be later. Please no worries. I am better now. It’s a severely sprained back, but come back to the site for part two of my accident’s lesson.)