January 24, 2008

• Here and Now

  History is informative, but we live in the present.
  
  A breath has come in.  Now it is going out.
  
  Every wisdom tradition teaches of time.
  
  Beginning
  
  Breathing
  
  Ending
  
  Expiration
  
  Yesterday is gone
  
  That door is closed and can never be reopened.
  
  No matter how long we stare at the door.
  
  No matter that we long for it to be a window allowing us one more glimpse, one more opportunity to write that story. 
  
  It is finished.
  
  My cat doesn't do this. 
  
  She wakes, she sleeps, she eats.
  
  When she eats, it's not because she remembers being hungry, or that she remembers being sad.  She's hungry now, in this moment.
  
  When she sleeps, she does not dream of the mouse that got away.  Although perhaps she does dream of the jingle bell she left beneath the sofa because it's still there. 
  
  When she wakes, she will invite herself to curl up on me because she doesn't care about the fact that she was warm by the fire yesterday.  Now, in this moment she is cold. 
  
  My cat has a wisdom I envy.  When I wake in the morning I go back to the place I was warm yesterday expecting to feel warmth again.  I am surprised every time to find that the door is closed.  I can't open it.  I can't change it.  I can't call back the flame that filled the fireplace.  I can't do anything in yesterday.  I can't feel it, smell it or taste it. 
  
  But I can't be warm in the clothes of today unless I leave off staring at the closed door. 
  
  I have a pair of shoes.  Okay, I have many many pairs of shoes.  But there's this one in particular that I've been wearing a lot.  They are black and klunky.  Not designer shoes, or even a good knock-off of a designer.  They are basic, black, mannish looking lace up shoes.  Sturdy shoes, and they keep my feet warm.  (Even warmer than my lovely, elegant Steve Madden boots.).  Every time I slide my foot into those shoes I think, "I have big feet."
  
  The other day, I had taken my shoes off in the the living room - where I frequently remove my shoes and leave them for other members of the household to trip across.  But the point of this story is that on that particular day and at that particular time, I had a new realization.  My shoes happened to be lying there beside the shoes of one of my boys.  And my shoes were tiny.  If my shoes which fit me beautifully are tiny, my feet must be tiny inside them.
  
  Days get lived in context and relationship.  Every day we spend is a new room we've entered.  Rooms we've been through before have led us to the room we're in now.  But the only way to live in this room, is to live in relationship to the people and circumstances who are in this room with us. 
  
  A breath comes in.  A breath goes out.
  
  A breath comes in.  A breath goes out.
  
  .
  * * * * *
  
  The house I've been looking at online and drooling over, sold.  Oh well.  I knew it was unlikely that it would still be availble come June, but I was kind of hoping. 
  
  A breath comes in.  A breath goes out.
  
  * * * * *
  
  Having New Mexican for lunch:
  
  Chicken Soup
  
  2 T Olive oil
  one large onion diced
  4-6 large boneless skinless chicken breats, cut into bite sized cubes
  3 cans reduced sodium chicken broth
  4 large potatoes, diced into small pieces
  1 16 ounce tub of frozen Bueno Autumn Roast green chile (hot)
  1 can fire roasted diced tomatoes (I'd have used two but the pot got full)
  1 can fat free refried beans
  sea salt to taste
  
  In a large soup pot over medium high heat: Cook onion in olive oil until soft.  Then add all the other ingredients and simmer until potatoes are tender (about 45 minutes). Add water as necessary.  Makes about 10 servings.  It's better the second day because the chile flavor gets stronger overnight. 
  

  • 5:33 am
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