Kitchen
Nourish
“Rosy late-afternoon light slants sideways through the windows as Athena and I spread our harvest on the countertop. Down the hill, I can still see the proud vegetable rows from which we gathered this soon-to-be feast.
I send a silent thank-you to Devī, the Goddess, and her gardens, and that which watches over all of life, big and seemingly small.
Athena hums next to me, methodically washing the dirt off the vegetables.
“Did you know trees can talk to one another?” she asks.
“I’ve heard that.”
“They can tell one another if danger is coming, even from miles away. The fungi that live along the roots send the messages. There’s even evidence that the roots can ‘hear’ vibrations and gravitate toward them.” She tickles the green onions’ white, thready fingers. They quiver. “Sometimes I’m overwhelmed by the liveness of it all.”
After the vegetables are washed, I pull out cutting boards and knives.
“What do you want to cook today?”
“I don’t care.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Whatever.”
“Well, is there something you enjoy cooking?”
“Not really.”
“Aren’t you hungry? I know I am!”
“You can decide, Lila. I’ll eat anything.” She steps away from the vegetables, her body tense as a fist. But her eyes aren’t angry; they’re afraid.
Setting down my knife, I offer her an open palm. After a distrusting glance, she places her hand in mine and gasps.
“Your hand is pulsing!”
“Yes. Now, see if you can take a nice, deep breath.”
She tries half-heartedly, but she cuts herself off.
“No, I’m fine.”
“Really?”
“Really, Lila. I shouldn’t slow us down. I should—”
I feel her overactivated nervous system buzzing.
“Athena, all is well. It’s okay to wait a bit. Food is an offering. If I’m not feeling harmonious, I don’t cook. Food cooked while suffering is not a gift to the person receiving it. Unsettled energy translates into food, even if one’s technique is great. Our intentions are potent. So, let’s just wait a short while.”
“Okay.” She reaches for my other hand. I close my eyes and envision the warm light shining in my heart center. Then I begin to direct the light from my heart to hers. She responds with a long sigh. Her tight grasp relaxes, and she aligns her shallow, sharp breathing to the measure of mine. Her inhala-tions and exhalations steadily become more fluid. Time slows, and we’re in sync. When her hands drop, the deep crease that often punctuates her eyebrows is gone.
“You’re bumping into a saṃskāra. Do you know what that is?”
“Nope.”
“Samskaras are like grooves in a vinyl record. From way back in our youth!”
“You know, Lila, those are suddenly ‘cool’ again.”
“Ah, yes, the wheel of life keeps on turning: Everything old is new again.”
