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New Computer (and the benefits of practice)

ByElizabeth

My friend D the other week had been talking about how much longer every thing takes to get done in a new city and home (he just moved across country).  I was thinking about that as I work to get up to speed on the replacement computer that came into my house yesterday afternoon.  I can tell there is lots of extra functionality, but at first, I am slower than I was with my old computer (at least five generations old) because I need to learn some new commands and navigation tools, as well as recreate my old bookmarks and remembered passwords, etc.

To be able to cope with life, we need to be willing to go out and explore, try new things, to be willing to have the time and struggle to learn enough to feel comfortable with a new place or technique.  To mature gracefully, we need to sometimes stay with the old (whatever choices led us there) and continue to refine so that we can go deeper and deeper into knowledge of what we have chosen.

Sometimes we have a real choice, sometimes we have no choice, sometimes we have an apparent choice, but only one sensible one.  One of the beauties of steady yoga practice is that it prepares us both for the new and for repetition.  It truly shows us the beauty and delight of revisiting, reexploring, and ever deepening our understanding of the complexities of what appears simple.  It also cultivates the fortitude and openness to start anew when necessary.

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    What’s For Breakfast?

    ByElizabeth

    Snowpeas, tri-color beans. Peppers. Cherry tomatoes, basil (blueberries and strawberries did not make it out of the garden).

    A student asked me the other day why I garden–was it to save money, he asked, was it for better tasting food?

    It does save money to grow food and food eaten straight out of the garden is a foodie’s exquisite pleasure, but those are not my primary motivations.

    I garden for the delight it brings through all of my senses and for the joy of knowing that the garden never questions nurturing. The more I give the garden, the more it gives back, without question or judgment.

    I garden for the sense of relationship with the deeper seasonal patterns. To experience at an intimate level the impact on health and thriving of variations in seasons, light, heat, and rain.

    With the drought and extreme heat in our area, the garden is struggling. Peppers are fruiting before having gotten tall and full. Cucumbers are yellowing and drying, though a couple have grown large enough to eat. There is a surfeit of kale, but the snow peas, which prefer cool weather, barely had time enough to grow enough to flower before it was too hot to thrive.

    Part of the reasons some recipes have many ingredients is because they are premised on there not being enough of any one thing to make a meal. I am getting a few servings of vegetables every day, but the blasting heat is preventing the kind of abundance for some things I might have in another year. The grapes, though, may be outrageous; they like this crazy heat.

    I want to be conscious of these challenges and serendipities. I want to know how I might need to change and adjust to thrive in a world that is ever more out of balance. I garden because it helps me be aware of crisis and challenge, but always and first providing extraordinary pleasure and beauty.

    Peace and light, E — Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.

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    Nail Soup (and reminders)

    ByElizabeth

    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.

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