I was almost home from work, enjoying the wind and clouds and trees, when I saw a neighbor who was about to take his dogs to a little park down by the river. The dogs had a good time playing, and I really appreciated the opportunity to go down by the river.
Last week, a co-worker stopped by my office to chat. Not surprisingly, the conversation turned to current affairs, and I voiced my every day growing anger and grief and disgust and commitment to seek more ways to have positive impact. My co-worker essentially responded that as a yoga teacher, she thought I ought to know that I shouldn’t get so upset, things weren’t so bad.
As should not be surprising to those who know me or practice yoga with me or read what I post on social media that I explained that my yoga calls for lucid and engaged citizenship and not escape from challenges and difficult emotions. My co-worker demurred, still wanting her own comfortable silence.
The fateful weekend passed. When I returned to the office this week, I found a note and a cookie on my desk. The note basically said, wow, Charlottesville, I hope you’re feeling ok, I thought you might like a cookie. Without addressing the substance of the note, (my own conflict aversion coming to the fore or perhaps my sense that in this case there was little point in pursuing the conversation further and my co-worker has been a pleasant colleague ), when emailing about another matter, I said merely thank you for the cookie.
I’d thought that would be the end of it, but my co-worker then stopped by to thank me for saying thanks for the cookie, I no longer restrained myself from passionately though tolerably politely articulating what I really thought, including what a privilege it is to be able to have a bakery cookie whether for hunger or comfort.
I can relate to wanting everything to be ok, and I’m really glad I have plenty of food and a comfortable home, but I also believe that with my privilege comes great responsibility, now even more than ever. I seek to be more aware not less. What about you?
On the last morning of the trip, when we were standing next to the bus (how blessed we were to have a well-driven, air-conditioned bus to take us through southern India; I was most grateful and conscious of its protective bubble) getting ready to head north for Chennai, I noticed that there were limes under the wheels of the bus. I was standing next to Douglas Brooks, the leader of the trip. “Why are there limes under the wheels?” I asked. “To feed the demons,” he replied, “so that they do not feed on you. We make offering (bali dana) for auspicious memories and a safe trip home.” The offering to the demons, bali dana, recognizes, I think, that we cannot eradicate demons. We can feed them, though, avert their gaze with our offering to something they find more desirable and delicious than feeding on us.
On our last day of riding the bus, we were witness to the aftermath of a cyclone that downed trees and shut down power and tore roofs off of houses and rutted roads (thanks to all who noticed that I was in that part of the world and sent emails inquiring about our safety). When it hit, we were far enough south that all we got was a little rain. We flew out long enough after it showed, that it did not impact our flight, which went perfectly smoothly. I do not know whether putting limes under the wheels of the bus made any difference to the external flow of our trip. I do know, though, that I cannot kill off my demons; they are an essential part of me and my history. Shifting the gaze of my demons and shifting my own gaze at my demons, though, is another matter entirely. When we can turn our gaze (drishti) to the auspicious, even when looking through the eyes of our demons, that is when we can truly see what is best in things and better be able to respond with true embrace to whatever life hands us.
Last night, after yoga class, I went with a couple of students to the new Italian restaurant at Eastern Market, Acqua al 2. I’d been shown the inside before it opened, but this was the first chance to go and eat. A long-time neighbor, yoga student, and friend is the mom of one of the co-owners and has known the other owner since childhood. The co-owners were both were raised in the District and have returned after college, along with many of their friends to live, and work, and be with family. I went to eat with the eagerness of knowing my friend and her family better and supporting them, more than for the purpose of needing to be one of the first to check out a new dining opportunity on the Hill, although that was certainly another pleasure.
As we planned the dinner (we have been awaiting the opening for some months and talking about going since then), I thought about how different it is to go to a business where I feel a connection to the proprietor or the workers. I felt more open to what would be there, more joyousness at its very existence, and a yearning to find it wonderful and be supportive. When the business is run by a stranger, or even more removed, some corporation whose duty is mostly to shareholders, the natural forgiveness for quirks that we have for those we like, welcome, and love is missing, and we ourselves miss out the essence of true relationship. Getting to share this new place with my friends was a superb reminder how important is community and how we can support it and cultivate it.
What a delight that, even as a NY-bred food snob, I can cheerfully recommend the restaurant. It is larger than most restaurants on the Hill, so it does not feel like a neighborhood-style Hill restaurant. but I think the neighborhood was ready for something larger. The atmosphere is lovely: communal seating in front near the bar for those who have forgotten to make reservation (yes, you already need them, unless you are coming after 9 [kitchen serves until 11]), spacious, pleasantly lit, comfortable tables, and a great mural on the outside, which transforms a concrete wall a foot along the side of the restaurant into a view of Florence.
We started with the “zuppa del giorno,” which yesterday in keeping with the unseasonably cool weather, was a warm bread and tomato soup that was a rich and flavorful concoction. Given the lateness of the hour, we didn’t have the entrees (though I’ve heard good reports). We shared at our table for three, the pasta sampler (for two), which was five different vegetarian pastas of the chef’s choosing, and the salad sampler (which you can get as all vegetarian if you ask). We each had different favorites of the pastas, but all were good and very classic in preparation and presentation. The salads were light and fresh, with an emphasis on bitter greens, which I like, and were an excellent foil to the rich pastas. The pastas came out one by one, giving an opportunity to have two or three bites to savor, with then a little wait in between for the next one. This was not a meal to be hurried; things come at a European pace. I was too full for dessert, but my friends insisted. The cheese cake is the kind that is more like mousse than the heavy American cheese cake and my companions raved. I had a fruit tart that was well-prepared — most of which I took home. I will enjoy eating it today after speaking on a telephone seminar with people I know are asking challenging questions.
The restaurant is still getting its rhythm. It was packed with lines out the door even at 8pm on a Tuesday night just two weeks after its opening, which is no doubt inviting the staff to live up to intense challenges. The food is sure to be good, and if you go with the generosity you would have for family and friends starting out on a new venture, you will have a delicious experience.
Note: Plenty of vegetarian options with the pastas and salads, but it would be harder to find vegan on the menu (given that it is a Florentine restaurant). My only wish based on last night’s meal, is that the restaurant would use more environmentally friendly containers for taking things home. Right now, it is using foil trays with a plastic cover, so if you anticipate bringing part of a dish home, try to remember to bring your own carry container.
