The Mindfulman's creed

Approaching the magnanimous walls of Hope. So willing. So forgiving. Splattered and tattered but ready for more.

My friend and I walk up, Frida and Catrina bags in hand spilling over with brushes, cans, and other necessities. This is the spot, a precarious little area with no more than a foot and half to stand on. We both take a moment to realize just how high ten feet can be when you have to work at such a height. We’ve never actually done anything like this and feel apprehensive. After a moment of silence, fortified by this act of recalcitrance, I turn to my best friend and say, “Let’s do this.”

He takes the ground level and extender pole. I climb up around behind and over to work from the top. I drag a wooden pallet to the edge to give me another few inches to hang over. He slathers the wall from below with the gunky wheat paste I made a week ago. I do the same at the top. “Ready?” I ask him. He signals. Alright… I press the top of the first half of the large poster tightly to the wall and let it roll down. “Slather!” He includes some of me in this slathering… Payback for all the slathering I got him with moments ago from above.

“It’s not sticking. It’s bulging. It’s wet and tearing!” A small panic sets in. No, dammit. This is going up!  A slew of, “Just move that! Wait! Got it? Hold that! Glue there!” reel from our mouths. In less than an hour, soaked in sweat and caked with gluten, we both step back to see what we’ve done.

We look up and nod.

“Hell yeah, man. Hell yeah.”