Pink Clouds and Scones

I’ve spent most of the day opening my heart to the agony of another final chapter. I can feel the desperate reluctance as I gently insist. “It’s going to cease. At some point. As long as we courageously enter the whirlpool, this will pass. We will be sucked down, that’s just the way it is. And momentarily we will believe we’ll drown. But remember the truth and it will set us free. Out of the swirling chaos suddenly there is peace. All it wants, is to be felt.”

I don’t know how it happens, I just know it happens. I simply need to remember. And surrender. And trust. All the while opening to the shredding of my dream.

The second agreement: Don’t take anything personally.

The trick is to open and detach at the same time.

Because the triggers never go away. I will forever be confronted with this sense of hopelessness, abandonment, betrayal and loss. Some long ago illusion that I misunderstood and keep replaying in my life. What has changed is my ability to be detached from it’s seeming reality. To detach from being owned by the emotions. To be the observer of the pain as well as the channel. Recognising that I am something other than the pain. And so I gently insist. I take it’s hand and assure it that I will be there through the fear of drowning and into the light as we slide through to the other side. We enter the chaos together, the dancer and the danced. Each witnessing again that this too has passed.

So, my self nurturing comfort came in the form of baking scones. Spelt flour scones with a big pinch of cardamom. Served with lavender scented cream and fresh raspberries. Soya cream in this case.  I would’ve used goats cream if I’d had any on hand. Or best of all, clotted cream, if I could find an organic one. Today I broke my ‘steer clear of soya’ guideline and just loved it. The final ingredient for heavenly perfection is Thé Vert Au Tibet from Mariage Frére, located in the Marais in Paris. Some of the finer things in life are simply sooo very fine.

I used a recipe from my very favorite baking guide book, Ken Haedrich, Home For The Holidays. I do alter the exact measurements and sometime add or subtract ingredients. But his is the most delicious, creative starting point I’ve found. My son put on Jack Johnson, a long time favorite in our house for feel good ‘cooking’ music. He then came in asking if he could help. My hips started dancing as he grated the lemon zest and washed up the bowls I’d used.

I was sorry I hadn’t bought fresh lemons. The zest of an older lemon skin lacks . . . well . . . zest. But grinding the cardamom with my little mortar and pestle gave me all of the sensual anticipation I needed. There’s something exquisitely satisfying in grinding my own spices. The release! Not only from my muscles working away at the hard tiny nuggets. But the discovery of the rich aroma as it escapes from it’s casing. Like a genie let loose from it’s lamp. Freed from captivity. Wafting, intoxicating, around my head. Tickling my nostrils. Teasing my taste buds. It takes me along on a ride through memories. Sweden, the first time I tasted a cardamom pastry, in the bakery of my Swedish lover. India, where cardamom often goes into the savoury dishes my kids and I enjoyed at the roadside cafes or off street carts. A rolling kaleidoscope of sounds and colours carry my feeling higher.

And Jack’s singing:

“I never seen nobody move the way she did
Well she did and she does and she’ll do it again
When you move like a jellyfish
Rhythm is nothing
You go with the flow
You don’t stop”

One of His main complaints was that I was always feeling something different each day. Changing like the weather. Getting swept up in the feelings of the moment. Making plans that would change as my feelings changed. And so it appeared to Him that I never did what I said.

Well, there’s a lot of truth to that. The bonus is: I do bake scone on a whim. And savour every aspect of the experience. I wouldn’t trade my rich tapestry of sensual vitality for stability or predictability. I love my feminine essence. And I honour the masculine that has the ability to hold the space while the wind blows and the waves dance. I appreciate the calm, still, silent depth that He lives in.

“If you would only listen
You might just realise what you’re missing
You’re missing me

La da da da da da . . .”

The true beauty, above all else is that the sky sang out to me in my kitchen as we finished clearing up dinner. Arty pointed out the raspberries and cream, with shades of lavender clouds in the sky.

Another amazing day of infinite love and appreciation.