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Indian “Pony” Ride
The Indian equivalent of the pony ride, is, not surprisingly, the elephant ride.
This elephant, who is now 37 years old, became the giver of rides for tourists and birthday parties after having been rescued from malnourishment and the back-breaking labor of years of hauling lumber. I was lucky enough to be able to get lots of hugging from her before people gathered for their rides. She especially liked to be scratched behind her ears.
Though the ride was rather tame–or perhaps because tame (i.e. gentle)–I rather enjoyed moving with this gracious being. A horse might now seem small (though likely feistier).
Flashpoint
I went tonight to the space at Flashpoint to see a dance performance by people I know from the Sunday contact improv jam. One of the things that I am finding thought-provoking about the jamming with dancers is dancing for the sake of the dance, but also as a practice for those who perform. I went to support friends appearing in a small venue. I know how much I appreciate it when people make an effort to come to workshops, and in the days when I was still exhibiting art, to my openings. I also went to be able to witness from the space of pure observer, my friends in performance mode, so that I could learn and appreciate more about the dialogue and dialect of dancers and the dance. And I went because it was fun.
Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
Nail Soup (and reminders)
One of my favorite fairy tales is the one about the traveler who teaches the old woman how to make “nail soup.” It is a cold, wintry night in the forest, and a traveler comes upon a hut. He knocks on the door and asks for shelter. The old woman who lives in the hut says he can sleep in the shed, but she cannot give him any food. The traveler thanks her for providing shelter. He says he does not need food, but if she lets him in by the fire, he will show her how to make soup from a nail. The woman, who is rather miserly, is excited by the idea of being able to make soup from a nail, so she lets him in and puts a big soup pot filled with snow to melt over the fire. The traveler puts the nail in the soup and says, “what a wonderful broth we will have from this nail. If we only had a potato or two, it would be even better.” The woman roots around in her hoard and puts a potato in the pot. “Now it will be even more wonderful,” said the traveler. “If we only had an onion to add, it would be the most savory soup you have ever tasted.” The woman goes to her winter stores and finds an onion. The traveler sniffs the soup, “mmm, how wonderful it smells, if we had a carrot or a parsnip, it would be gracious enough for any guest.” The woman, trembling with the excitement of creating soup from a nail, adds both a carrot and a parsnip. At this point, the broth is starting to take on thickness and color, and the hut is redolent of bubbling hot vegetable soup. “Oh for some salt and a little meat,” cried the man, “and this soup would truly be fit for a king.” “From only a nail, soup fit for a king!” exclaimed the old woman, “that I must have.” She added a precious pinch of salt and some meat dried to last through the winter. The soup, of course, was delicious, the traveler well-fed, and the woman happy to share (even if she was tricked).
Sometimes we need a reminder of our abundance, both inner and outer, to be invited to bring out all we have so that we can better serve. Just as the traveler with the nail reminded the isolated old woman of how to share her abundance, sometimes we need to remind ourselves of what we have rather than what we are missing. I find that when I am feeling more empty than full, coming to my mat and my meditation cushion and practicing gratitude quickly helps me remember.
Okra Germinated; First Roses Opened
First flower on a cherry tomato appeared overnight. Peppers are budding. They all like the heat. Dill is going yellow around the edges already. It does not like the heat. One of the things I love most about gardening is noticing what thrives to excess and what struggles, depending on the weather patterns. With the right balance of plants, there will always be a bumper crop of something (both edible and ornamental). Eating locally, with consciousness acknowledgement of the limits of space and time in an affirming way, requires accepting what are the crops of the year and being creative with them rather than finding a recipe and insisting that the ingredients be available to the detriment of flavor, pocketbook, and environment.
Fostering such a relationship to my garden and my food helps me also accept that although I can grow and shift, I ultimately cannot change certain fundamental things about myself. It is better radically to affirm what I have been given than to try and contort myself into something that it seems society (Heideggerian “they”) would prefer.




