La Cumbre Peak glows coral in the sunrise. Santa Barbara's October is teeming with creative juice. And my life is exploding, at least in my mind. So much, so much is arising: ideas, plans, passions. I'm afraid of plans, afraid of acting to quickly, of taking one direction and leaving another behind. Before I take action, I need to know which is the path that matters. I watch opportunities swirling around me: roads, streets, hallways appear in my mind's eye, and I bide my time. I boil water, sweep the deck, pet the dog and prepare a pot of potatoes, carrots and Swiss chard.
Food is driving my days, not in the sense of binge eating, or eating for sport -- but food anew -- reading about nutrition and acting on the knowledge. The Zen teacher, Shunryu Suzuki, said, "Preparing food is not just about yourself and others. It is about everything."
My regimen is not rigid, I am not holding fast to rules. Food goes deep. Changing eating habits is possibly as difficult as kicking drugs. The way we eat and our choice of food is instilled from infancy. It is in our cellular memory. For me to make a dramatic change in the food I eat, requires giving myself slack. I need to ease into it and to let the fact that I feel better -- more vital and alive -- be my encouragement.
There are so many different diets, and in the long run, who knows which will be the best? Which brings me back to waiting and watching and going slow.
These October days nudge me like an affectionate puppy with a pink tongue and a wet nose. And I am beside myself with all that is unfolding within me and around me. And still, I am cleaning, clearing and organizing. At the moment, this seems to be the heart of my life and the ground.