The Sacred Table

Picture this:
A long table made of dark oak.
14 wooden chairs.
At each chair sits someone who means the world to you.
There is a large fireplace with a roaring fire.
Brass goblets of wine.
A hearty stew is served with warm homemade bread.
The meal begins with a moment of silence.
As everyone eats, each persons tells why they are grateful.
Warmth in the heart.  Love in the air.
Outside, a cold winter breeze blows a twig across the snow.

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

To float in a non-toxic splendor.
To enjoy the frozen smell of morning.
To look into your eyes and be aroused by your smile.
Underneath the fog lies a laugh til you cry kind of day.

I dreamt of foreigners smashing a ramrod through magnificent 50 foot doors made of thick ornate wood.
A ramrod containing my memories

and my stuff.



.

Learning to be comfortable with being uncomfortable

This sitting with my emotions sucks.  It feels like my first day of kindergarten.  Can't I hide in a 4 servings boxful of Kraft Macaroni & Cheese?  Everything is getting clearer: my dreams of losing you, my messy life that makes me ashamed, the pain in my gut, and the answers that allude me when I am far away.  Being comfortable with being uncomfortable is where the answers lie.  It's a silly idea.  We search so hard for the thing to help us escape.  It's almost the national past time at this point, but when you look around you see the people that seem the happiest are the people who apparently have nothing.  Yet they have something.  They have their families, their communities, and they have themselves.  They are comfortable in their own skin.
Sit for awhile.  Be with yourself.  Forget YouTube and Hulu and the Iphone and the ice cream sundae.
Spend an afternoon with you.  You magnificent creature, you.

Salad for Breakfast?

I just had a nice salad with french bread for breakfast.  What?!#   Who the hell would eat a bunch of veggies for breakfast?  Many of the healthiest people throughout the world would.  In most Asian countries, veggies with rice is a normal breakfast.  In the Mediterranean, they may have veggies with their breakfast (pastry with spinach, veggie omelet) or fruit.  The traditional American high processed carbohydrate breakfast is just that: traditional American.  Cereal was invented originally as a health product before it became sugar smacks (notice that smack is also a term for heroin).  Doughnuts were invented here and so was the high fat, high sugar frappuccino.  The average American adult eats about 30 teaspoons of sugar per day.  If you are not careful, you can get that before you even get into the car to go to work.
What's the difference?
Sugar is an inflammatory.
Vegetables are an anti-inflammatory.
Vegetables have fiber.
Sugar doesn't.
Vegetables are packed with nutrients.
Sugar is not.
You can begin your morning creating disease or maintaining health.
Sometimes, I choose the doughnut, sometimes I chose the salad.
Cool Link that shows how much sugar in different breakfast items.

Which do you choose?

What We Decide

In every bite that we take there is a decision.  It is usually not a conscious thought, but it is there anyways.  In simplest terms, we are deciding how we feel.  While it is true that we sometimes decide what we eat by how we feel, it also true that what we eat governs how we feel.  It is not just about this food causing heart disease or this food preventing cancer.  It is how we feel in the moment.  Processed foods have been shown to increase depression.  Mediterranean foods decrease depression.  This is not something that will happen to you 20 years from now, it is now, in the moment.  If I wake up and eat eggs and bacon and pancakes and coffee I am almost immediately groggy.  I want to sleep.  If I do sleep after eating such a meal, I get indigestion and then I'm irritable.  If I have a breakfast of Greek yogurt, fruit, nuts, cinnamon, and honey and have a green tea with it, I feel light.  I am happier.  I get more done.
The hard part about this decision is the eggs and bacon and pancakes tastes really good.  And so does the yogurt and honey, but sometimes I want to feel groggy and heavy.  Sometimes, I want to go back to bed.
Sometimes, the energy of life seems like too much and I retreat.
In every bite, there is a decision.  Do you want to hide under a blanket or do you want to breathe the fresh air of a new day?

Processed Foods increase depression:
Processed food increases depression risk - UPI.com

Mediterranean Diet decreases depression:
Mediterranean Diet Associated With Reduced Risk Of Depression

The Effects of Undereating

I did it.  Yesterday, I didn't go back for seconds.  I didn't buy the monster cookie with a cafe mocha.  I ate two little cookies before bed instead of the package of 6.
And where did it leave me?
I began to grieve.
I told the whole story last night to a bunch of my men friends.  The three long months, my Mom's car accident, the cancer, the operations, the hospital, the rehab, the time spent with her, the hope, my Dad by her bedside, the nurses who treated her well, the nurses who didn't seem to care, Christine making the life-affirming collage, all the cards and flowers and teddy bears, my mom beginning to accept my step-mom, my mom telling us her dreams, the card I gave her which said "I Love You, that's all you need to know", and my Aunt.  My Aunt, who came to be with us, who brought us out to dinner, who stayed with my Mom the last four days of her life even when I got sick, who was with her when she took her last breath and called me to come in the middle of the night.
All this came out and the tears started to come too.  The men who were with me were totally there for me.  They are a group of men who love me.  Sometimes letting in the love is the hardest part.  My Mom knew that well.

I didn't stuff my emotions with food yesterday and I feel a little more alive today.

Rationalizing

I like to rationalize.  I just ate a nice healthy salad with avocado and walnuts and a few slices of french bread.  Well then, I should be able to eat a 600 calorie monster chocolate chip cookie with a 400 calorie cafe mocha covered with a "healthy" dollop of whipped cream.  At least I ate the salad, but why not change the thought?  How about "I treated my body nicely with a salad" and I want to keep going in that direction so why don't I just wait on the cookie and see what happens.  What if I don't overeat?  What would happen then?
Research shows that people who under eat just a bit live longer than those who overeat.  What would it be like to practice under eating?  It brings up fear right away.  Who knows when my next meal will be?  Will I pass out from hunger?
The most important question is:
Will I feel?  Will I feel my body?  Will I feel my emotions.  Will I come alive?  And will I be able to handle that?  Will I be able to handle feeling and being fully alive?
There is only one way to find out.

Running Away

Today would be a good to day to run.  I feel groggy, tired, and overwhelmed.  I don't want to write.  I want to go back to bed.  I want to feel the sweet relief of slumber, but I am not stopping.
I went to a meditation class last night.  The teacher had us stand and raise our arms slowly and notice the energy.  It was uncomfortable.  It made me want to get back into the relative comfort of sitting meditation.  I mentioned it to the teacher afterwards. He asked me what I made of feeling uncomfortable when standing.  I thought that it was just that I was tired from working and dealing with all the stuff around my Mom.  He told me that he had a different take on it.  He thought that maybe I was just uncomfortable being in the higher energy you get when you are standing.  That seemed right to me.  There is a way to rest in high energy, but I haven't experienced it yet.
Resting in the high energy of life.  Now, there is a goal.

The Stories we tell

My Mom had a story she told her whole life.  No one loved her.  She was alone.  She wasn't beautiful.  She stuck with these tales until her final days.  I don't know if the story changed for her in the end, but evidence to the contrary started flowing in.  People calling in droves crying and wishing her the best, telling her how much they loved her.  So many cards came to her that she didn't even open them all.  I think her story was crumbling and she was having a hard time opening to the truth.  People loved her dearly, she was never really alone, and she was absolutely beautiful.  I wonder what her life would have been like if she could have changed her story.  If she could have known how talented she was at getting people to open up or how she could connect on a deep emotional level.  I wonder if she could have changed her story if she knew how many people would be grieving her death.
I have been thinking a lot about the stories I tell myself.  Many of them have changed, but some remain the same.  They are not all positive stories.  One thing I do know though is that I am loved.  I'm so glad that story has changed for me.  I don't always let it in, but I know.
The stories we tell affect every part of our lives and what we can accomplish and what will come to us.

What stories do you tell?