for it ("Didn't I do a good job?") stirs, but is quickly
held in a larger understanding of what had transpired.
Mindfully speaking, I can't get away with claiming that
"I" cleaned the stove. It's more like the stove cleaned
itself, with the help of Bobby McFerrin, the scrubber,
the baking soda, and the sponge, with guest
appearances by hot water and a string of present
moments.
What is my job on the planet with a capital
J?
"What is my job on the planet?" is one question we
might do well to ask ourselves over and over again.
Otherwise, we may wind up doing somebody else's
job and not even know it. And what's more, that
somebody else might be a figment of our own
imagination and maybe a prisoner of it as well.
As thinking creatures, packaged, as are all life forms,
in unique organismic units we call bodies, and
simultaneously totally and impersonally embedded in
the warp and woof of life's ceaseless unfolding, we
have a singular capacity to take responsibility for our