I posted the following blog entry on Apr 16, 2010. Not that long ago, but I thought it would blend nicely with my previous post on meditation. See if you can guess where one of the Jack Kornfield CDs is currently living.
I have a heap of pecans in the kitchen. My aunt and I gathered them from the ground under her trees while laughing in the rain. I love pecans, and double-cuddly love them fresh from the tree.
The problem is shelling them.
Not that I mind it. I have practiced enough to be able to get them out fairly quickly and mostly whole, it's just that there is a stack of them.
I'm trying to get my sister to practice meditation. Part of what I love about meditation is how it helps me be fully present, not drifting about in non-existent and unlikely futures nor seething through distorted memories.
I'm also an advocate of moving meditation, not just yoga (Ashtanga is my favorite) and walking labyrinths and such, but the type of meditation that makes even washing dishes an experience as you feel the warmth of the water and smell the soap and watch the patterns in the suds.
Yesterday I shelled pecans for a while. The sharpness of the cracking shells, the color of the nuts and the gentle approach to shell destruction it takes to get them out whole--all of this provided one of these moments powerful enough to motivate me to write about it.
Last night was the first warm evening of the year. The chocolate shop nearby was packed and many people were out walking and restless. Even the dog was restless. I took her out late to cruise the neighborhood and give the cats a break. The teenagers on the street think the glowy collar I got her is cool, dude.
It should be warm tonight. And maybe I'll sit on the front porch looking out across the valley and shell pecans in the sunset.
Readin' 'n' Writin' with a little Cookin' and Travelin' thrown in.
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