After a full work schedule, I went straight to the dentist for cleaning, then walked my way to the accountant’s office.

Teeth scaled, then taxes assessed. Talk about taking care of business.

In the midst of doing the dirty work, I look for any hint of happiness.

The typically, overcrowded, village parking area at the aforementioned dentist/accountant building has plenty of empty space. When I put my car in park, I see roses in bloom along the hedge, just in front of my hood.

In the dental office, the hygienist compliments the beauty of my chompers, and the cleaning actually feels satisfyingly good. She even lets me hold the sucking tube so I can vacuum my own saliva whenever I need.

“See, this is how it should be for everyone,” she says, remarking on the ease of my cleaning.

So no cavities, freshly clean gums, and I’m off to taxlandia, where I offer a bit of sweetness to the CPA in the form of an organic chocolate bar, extra dark.

He’s sharp and knows his numbers. But he he’ll remind me not to ‘sweat the small stuff.’ He’s the kind of man who I can tell that there’s a picture of Amma the hugging saint on my desk. And when I say she was smiling at me while I drafted my tax spreadsheet, he’ll respond, “Good!” and mean it.

I recently wrote about my attempts at trying to see the “One” in it all (“Embracing One”). Sometimes these taxing tasks feel so far from the sacred.

But on this day, small signs.

Sweetness and saints. Teeth and Taxes. Roses in the parking lot.

There’s a swirl of all of it, and I’m somewhere in the mix of this divine soup.


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