SoulVeggie

Ode to Andy Rooney

Rooney's death was announced recently, and I was speculating on what he might say about the topic.  I always enjoyed listening to his often insightful, albeit, cranky, observations.  Here's my ad hoc version of such.  Best read with his unique verbal cadence in mind.  He was a true original.  Mark

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"Don't you wonder about this "dying" thing?  I mean, people really make a big deal about this all the time.  Why do they call it "dying"?  What if it's really a new beginning?  Why don't we call it "re-booting?"  When was the original "booting?"  I don't like boots.  They irritate my ankles.

I think most of us worry too much about what's going to happen at the end.  I don't understand why we think we can second guess the universe and anticipate the next phase of our existence.  If it's a phase, does than mean we eventually get over it?

Then there are those who think the more pious amongst us will go to some heaven where we wear white robes, sing, and play harps all the time.  Don't you just hate robes?  No pockets, and totally inappropriate after Labor Day.  Don't even get me started about the harps.

If not ascending to heaven, I'm told we descend into fiery molten pits to live an eternity tortured by demons and hell's spawn.  I guess it's kind of like watching "American Idol" or a Republican Presidential Debate.

In one of his more cherry moments speculating about death, Mark Twain noted:

"[A] Dying man couldn't make up his mind which place to go to -- both have their advantages, "heaven for climate, hell for company!"

I'm not sure which I'd prefer.  Would interesting companions make up for lousy weather?  Would I be allowed to smoke a good cigar in Heaven?  I like my sweater.  A little chill in the air makes me feel more alive.

But, as things go, I think I have to agree with that venerable philosopher, Socrates, who probably best expresses the reality of the situation:

"To fear death, gentleman, is no other than to think oneself wise when one is not, to think one knows what one does not know."

You see, to Socrates, death was either a dreamless sleep or something exciting and new to experience.

I like new experiences.  That's how we grow and learn.  But then, as Socrates also noted:

"To know, is to know that you know nothing. That is the meaning of true knowledge."

I sometimes wonder what Socrates would think of Google or Facebook.

Anyway, I'm going to miss my time on Earth.  I've gotten used to my shoes and this sweater that has kept me warm most of my adult life.  Will I be allowed to have a desk in heaven?  I like this desk.

But then, as is often noted, "a wise man knows not to be the last to leave the party."

Guess it's time to go... see you soon."

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Article: "The Yoga of Cooking and Eating"

I remember a transcendent moment, many years ago, when I was stirring millet in a pan to roast it, thinking about how monk’s “compete” for the honor of cooking for their order.  The individual grains of millet became “stars” in my mind, and the pan held within it a wonderful spiral galaxy of life, hope, & spirit.

The idea of communicating love to others through cooking has been a consistent theme in my life.  Indeed, it was when I no longer desired to cook for a significant other, that I often realized, definitively, that the relationship was over.  The giving of food, of sustenance, is a powerful process in human community, and in many societies over time, something that has often transcended bigotry, hate, racism, and a host of negative emotions.  The “giving” of food is fundamental, unselfish action, and comes from our core.  In some cultures, if someone shows up hungry at your doorstep, you are duty-bound to feed them whatever you might have available.  It is a recognition of the “I am/We are” aspects inside.

I remember, too, being awed by the cooks at “Kalachandji’s” in Dallas, Texas (a Krishna temple), whose practice of bhakti yoga (yoga of service) mandated that they were blessing the food they were making and would never dream of tasting it before delivering to anxious customers.  From a spiritual standpoint, they were “raising the vibrational level” of the food (or so I believe, unscientifically).  Spreading the love (pun intended).

This line of thinking also led to a little story I’d run across years later:  Great-grandma was in the kitchen after a huge multi-descendent dinner party, and engaged in dealing with a huge mound of dishes needed cleaning.  She was singing and happy.  Her great-grandchildren were puzzled.  “Why are you so happy?” They’d asked her. “It’s simple,” she responded.  “All these dishes means we had all this food, plentiful times, and everyone is full.  We should be thankful and feel blessed.”

It was delightful to run across the following article recently (here’s an excerpt followed by the full link).  It encapsulated very well some things I’ve learned over the years and sometimes forget during longer periods of emotional or situational stress:

“I had always thought that cooking was something you did to feed yourself and your family. However, monastic life has continued to teach me that cooking, if done with the right consciousness, can be a kind of yoga practice. I'm not referring to the yoga practice where you try to turn yourself into a pretzel. I am sticking to the original meaning of the term, which arises from the Sanskrit root yuj, which means to harness or bind back. Yoga means you are trying to reconnect with the divine.

Whether or not that reconnect actually takes place depends on one's consciousness. During my vegetarian cooking demonstrations at Columbia University, I tell my students that our consciousness during our cooking should be that we are "cooking for the pleasure of God and that we want to share our food with others."

Knowing that we're cooking for someone else can help remove some of the selfishness we harbor in our hearts and can increase the quality of selflessness. Since the process of yoga is meant to purify the heart and mind of negative tendencies, cooking with the right consciousness can be transformed into a yoga practice.”

I’ve studied Hatha Yoga (basic asanas) and for a couple of decades Raja & Agni Yoga (mind, fire/soul), and it’s humbling to remember that the simplest actions can be the most transformative, that we can also have “walking meditations” as some teachers put it, that don’t require immobility and solitude.  Mindfulness in cutting our fruits/vegetables. Thoughtful as we heat our grains and water, and thankful that we choose not to eat meat or dairy.  In this process, we are truly one with nature, and manifest gratitude in being alive.  Life persists, and we appreciate the bounty presented, transmuted, and provided.  To share this with another is to share a deep love for all that is.  Giving, without expectation of reward or reciprocation.  Acknowledging mutual divinity.

Enjoy this fine essay:  “On Yoga and Cooking.”  I think the author really nails it all and perhaps his words will provide a new perspective worth pondering.

Namaste!  Mark  (Twitter: @solveggie)