All my relations
As I turn the page in Linda Hogan’s beautiful book Dwellings, I read the title of the next chapter - All My Relations. I immediately stop reading for my body is filling will gratitude. Gratitude to writers like Linda who give words to otherwise ungraspable my felt sense of life. You see, this phrase is giving words to a sacred inner experience that I have not been able to articulate, until this moment.
The said inner emotion comes up at mealtime, which organically starts with an unchoreographed ceremony designed bit by bit with many inspirations throughout my life.
The first part of this choreography is plating my food in a steel thali. The thali reminds of two things. First, the many times my most sumptuous meals were served in Thali’s in austere ashrams filled with silence. Second, those with lesser means, tend to prefer steel plates where I come from but they also teach me how to value what’s on it more. After all, anyone who has known hunger knows the value of a hot meal.
My plate is usually filled with simple dal, rice, some spiced vegetables, and a pickle if I am feeling festive. Growing up, when my sister and I would want to go to the latest restaurant in town seeking novelty, my father would consent and also say - To me nothing like home-cooked dal. He would even order the same at the restaurant! The man, knew what he liked! I am glad I take after him.
Next, I sit cross-legged on the floor with this bounty in front of me like the many yogis who taught me the art of stillness. Some days I even remember to let my eyes eat before my belly. Sometimes when stillness is fully present - I take a palm full of water and circle the plate. I must confess I saw Gandhi do this in some documentary. Since then, I mimic this anointing of life-giving food with the symbol of life itself, water. But I cannot help myself from an important modification - splashing the remaining water on my head! After all, I am life. A co-anointing of life with life by life.
Next, with folded hands, I look at the tree outside my window and ask for the strength to serve ‘all its relations.’ For the grace to gladly reciprocate the sustenance grown on the body of earth to fuel mine. The soil, the seed, the sunlight, the water. The farmers. The shop, the delivery person, the store checkout person. My hands that cooked this meal, my mother who taught me how, my grandmother who taught her how! What a huge production and cast of characters are needed just to fill my belly once!
A welling sense springs up in the form of sacred tears. What deep interdependence I realize, and how little I do in the theatre of my own meals and how much I ought to give back.
My odd but honest choreography expressing a complex feeling intertwined with layers of history, story, and emotion is now named - ALL MY RELATIONS.
All my relation, may I remember with every meal to feed you with reverence!
Photo by Lior Shapira on Unsplash