November 30th, 2007
Sometimes change happens like an earthquake. When I lived in southern California for a while, I remember realizing that the two biggest bummers about the L.A. experience were a) traffic and b) earthquakes. Traffic I could sometimes avoid–by being wiley–but earthquakes… I almost tried to anticipate one, in some insane attempt to prepare myself for the horrible shakeup it would bring. As if you can prepare to be swallowed into a crevass! Or to be bounced forty feet in the air–still behind the steering wheel! Complete shakeups are rarely orchestrated, and generally happen to us–the type of change the average Western-worlder gets insurance for.
But we can’t avoid them. Death. Breakups. the Flu. They all come as earthquakes to the body and mind. The best we can do is be as present as possible for the experience, and then take the opportunity to change as much as possible while the earth is still shaking. Not just tossing life like a salad, but allowing more shifts to take place–the shifts that have been getting ready to happen. Lying in wait.
I just went through an earthquake and I am still experiencing the aftershocks. It rocked through my being with all the forces of nature; anger, truth, compassion, shame, guilt, terror–all intermingled with a profound sense of peace each time I surrendered to the quake’s violence. The funny thing is that the epicenter was deep inside of me, and I didn’t even know it. Oh, I suppose there were some clues, but nothing that registered on my personal Richter scale. Little did I know I was a Krakatoa (okay, that’s a volcano–indulge me), waiting to erupt with change–to fling off crusty sludge to align more with myself, my truth, and with Nature.
And I’m letting this be an opportunity for more: In hypnosis, we say that someone is hypnotized when the critical part of their mind is bypassed–in other words, when their conscious thinking is arrested–and, in that moment, new suggestions can get into the subconcious mind. So, if the earthquake is the bypass of the critical mind (and boy, is it!), then the aftershocks provide opportunities for real, deep re-programming. Here’s an incomplete list of what I’ve learned from this:
I am stronger than I think.
Love is never wasted.
The truth is a force, not a concept.
There is healing in everything.
Aftershock: I’ve painted my apartment. It’s a buttery yellow and it RULES!!! Just because I don’t eat it doesn’t mean I don’t want to live in a buttery womb of lovely yellowness.
     
Aftershock: I’ve been actively changing my food. We all get into ruts, whether it’s that our health food store never changes its produce, or we fail to crack the recipe books, and I need to get out of my leek/mushroom/tempeh stirfry addiction. Whenever my body reaches for something familiar, I’m saying “make another choice” and pushing my envelope. By changing food, I am changing my blood, my consciousness, my everything. And the nice thing is that it’s not so earthquakey–more like a gardener’s rate of change… gentle and spectacular.
Aftershock: Falling in love with cooking again; the kitchen is a whole lot more inviting this time of year–if only as a source of heat–so I’m diving in, allowing myself to be moved like a witch with my powerful potions in my urban cauldron. Cooking hones the intuition, and the more time I spend in the kitchen, the more magical my life becomes. I’m excited to be playing with that power again.
  
So as you continue to explore and practice MB, put on any available seat belt you can find (haha), eat whole foods as much as you can, chewing them well. Yes, sometimes there will be an earthquake–there’s no avoiding nature’s shocking adjustments–and when they come, take good advantage. Thankfully, on most days, we can pick up our surfboards, run to the beach, and ride the ocean of life.
Change is good. Chew well.
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November 20th, 2007
Last Friday, the Canadian monopoly known as Air Canada hit a major snafu; every single one of the computers of their global network went down. Ouch. For about 6 hours. Double ouch. And I happened to be flying on Friday. On what airline, you ask? Mais bien sur, Air Computer Crash itself. Triple ouch.
I read this horrible book two years ago called The Long Emergency by James Howard Kuntzler. It’s not actually that the book is horrible–it’s that it predicts horrible things, mainly concerning the end of the fossil fuel platform on which we live, travel, eat, and do just about every other thing in our lives that doesn’t involve a horse, a mule or a human slave. We’re all so glad the days of slavery are over, and that is due, not only to the uplift of the human conscience and character, but to the fact that we have oil and natural gas to do all those jobs for us. Anyway, Mister Kuntzler–in a book–effectively changed how I look at the future forever. And as someone who not only stockpiled rice, water, canned beans, coins and blankets for Y2K, but was also on a freaking local committee preparing the neighborhood for it, I have been known to (putting it mildly) prepare for the worst. So I shouldn’t be reading books like The Long Emergency. Let’s just say that dystopic visions of the future can wreck my day with gusto.
Well, in order to share the misery a bit, let’s just say that we’re in for some struggles ahead–and apparently, those struggles pit us against one another as we wrestle for increasingly decreasing resources. And the worst in us comes out. So basically, when I think of anything beyond, say, 2057 or so, I see us all as rabid, gun-toting militiamen scouring the parched planet for little vegetables patches that the savvy and prescient will have learned how to grow in preparation for the end times. Great stuff. I would really want to date me and make a future together!
Luckily, there is a healthier side of me always searching for evidence to the contrary. And I found it, on Friday, waiting for Air Incompetence to get its act together. Whereas we were all justified, after having stood in line for, oh, FOUR HOURS, to smear our collective feces all over the walls like caged monkeys, my line-mates and I chatted, commiserated, held each other’s places when Nature called, bought one another coffee, went for updates and just generally bonded. After hour five, when we should have been getting all American (I am a dual citizen and definitely felt tempted) to YELL OUR HEADS OFF about the customer always being right and the downright lousy service we were getting, we, instead, pulled each other’s suitcases forward in line so that babies could be attended to. It was lovely. At hour six, when we finally got to the ticket counter and the woman there, who had just started her shift asked “and WHY exactly did you miss your flight this morning?” we grimaced and shook our weak fists in unison, understanding our mutual frustration completely. Later, past security and customs, stuck in the belly of the airport, waiting for a 9 p.m. flight, we took naps, had beers and dinner, and shared about our lives to the point where numbers were exchanged and who knows… some of those people may be reading about themselves right now.
All this to say… you are a BUMMER, Howard Kuntzler, and you are making me a lousy date! I don’t believe that people–under pressure–do anything but get closer and needier and more generous and just generally lovelier. That’s what I choose to believe today. So there.
By the way, this is why I bothered to stay at the airport: FRIENDS IN FLORIDA
      
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November 18th, 2007
Hi. Someone asked for this recipe to be posted and I had lost it in my computer crash, so here’s the tofu turkey recipe–from my head. But it’s really easy and do-able. TRY IT.
Tofu Turkey with Mushroom Gravy
Equipment:
Handheld blender or food processor
A medium-sized colander
Cheesecloth
A baking sheet
A pastry brush
Aluminum Foil
A skillet
A large measuring cup
Knife, wooden spoons, and the other usual stuff
Turkey:
5 lbs extra firm tofu
Shoyu
Toasted sesame oil
Onions (lots)
Mushrooms (lots)
Celery (a few stalks)
Seitan (if you like it)
Unyeasted, whole wheat sourdough bread, in cubes
Poultry seasoning (as much as you want)
Gravy:
Onions
Mushrooms (optional)
Water
Shoyu
Mirin (optional)
Brown rice vinegar (optional)
Kuzu
For the “Turkey”: THE NIGHT BEFORE: Whiz the 5 lbs. of tofu in a really big bowl with a handheld blender. If you don’t have one, it’s a great time to go get one. They are cheap ($30?) and soooooooo useful. I also refer to the handheld blender as “food dildo”. If you don’t have one, and aren’t going to get one, you can puree the tofu in a food processor, in batches, until it’s all smooth and creamy. There may be a few lumps, but nothing big. As you are blending, add about 2 tablespoons of shoyu to the tofu to give it a little extra taste. The more daring may add some herbs…
You now have a 5 lb blob of tofu. Congratulations! Take a colander (medium-sized or smallish are best–the bigger the colander, the flatter the “turkey” will be) and line it with a double layer of cheese cloth, with about six inches extra on each side. Place the colander on a big plate or baking sheet. Spoon your tofu blob into the cheesecloth-lined colander until it molds completely to the colander. A little tofu “milk” will start coming through the colander. That’s good. That’s why you’re doing this, to press all excess liquid out of the tofu, making it a sturdier turkey. Fold the extra cheese cloth over the top of the tofu and place a plate and a weight on top of that. Let sit overnight in the fridge.
The next day: Take the turkey out of the fridge. Pour off any extra tofu liquid that seeped out overnight from the baking sheet or whatever you had the colander sitting on. Remove the weight, the plate and pull back the extra cheese cloth to reveal the bottom of the “dome” that will be your turkey. Now here’s the tricky part: You must now dig into the upside-down dome, with your hand, creating a space in the middle that you will put the stuffing into. Try to dig so that you leave about 1/2 to 1 inch of tofu between you and the colander–in other words, so the dome maintains a decent thickness all round. If you find that you dig too far, you can repair it with tofu, but do your best to dig a nice ditch in the tofu, leaving the walls of the dome thick enough to protect the stuffing. Does that make sense?
Now you have a pile of tofu and an upside-down dome of tofu. Your parents must be very proud! Preheat your oven to
350 F and start working on the stuffing!
In a skillet, heat the oil, and saute the onions and a pinch of salt for about five minutes. Add the mushrooms and another pinch of salt. Add celery, seitan, poultry seasoning and bread. Sprinkle with shoyu to taste. You know what you like in a stuffing. Do whatever you want to achieve that. Make way more than you need because extra stuffing is one of life’s great benefits. When the stuffing makes you all happy and say “ooooo”, then place it in the dome of tofu, packing it down well. Take the rest of your dug-out tofu (leaving aside about 1/2 cup) and place it on top of the stuffing (and on top of the dome edges), making a bottom for the dome. Pack it down well.
Tricky part number two: Now, take a baking sheet and place it over the colander. Make sure it covers it completely. Hold them together tightly. In a graceful and quick maneuver, flip the whole colander upside-down, so that your dome now sits on the baking sheet. Remove the colander. Remove the cheesecloth, and voila! That’s your un-cooked “turkey”. If there are any cracks in the turkey, do your best to repair them with your leftover tofu. If they are really bad, just chalk it up to experience–you’ll do much better next year (or try again at Christmas!) and this will still taste great.
Make a mixture of 2 parts sesame oil to 1 part shoyu and, using a pastry brush, baste the turkey with it. Be generous with the basting. Cover the turkey with aluminum foil and bake for 1 hour. Uncover, baste again and cook for 15 more minutes, uncovered. Baste one more time and cook for 15 minutes more. Let sit for 1 hour before cutting, while you make your gravy!!
GRAVY:
Dice a bunch of onions and mushrooms. Saute onions first, with a pinch of salt, until translucent and yummy, then add mushrooms, another pinch of salt, and saute until softened and wilty.
Apparently, I just made up that word: Wilty. I know that because my computer has put a red line beneath it. Oh well.
Anyway, pour some water in a large measuring cup and add water to this saute, equalling the amount of gravy you want. You have the measuring cup so that you know how much liquid you’re using–you will need to know this for when you add the kuzu later. So make a mental note of it.
Then add shoyu, carefully, to taste (you might want to start with 1 teaspoon per cup of liquid, and add from there if desired). I haven’t given strict measurements here because a) I’m lazy and b) you are the arbiter of your gravy’s strength and saltiness. You can also add mirin (about 1/3 the amount of shoyu you put in) and a dash of brown rice vinegar, if you like. I find that the combo of the shoyu, mirin and just a touch of brown rice vinegar makes for a nice meaty flavor in the gravy.
Let it all come to a boil and then simmer for at least ten minutes.
Now, measure out the equivalent of 1 level tablespoon of kuzu per cup of gravy liquid. If it’s not perfect, don’t worry–if the gravy ends up being not thick enough, you can add more kuzu, and if it’s too thick, you can add more water and shoyu. I think gravy should be a pleasurable, sort of intuitive dish, so don’t get too hung up on it.
WHAT YOU DO NEED TO GET HUNG UP ON, though, is that kuzu needs to be diluted in cold water and be lump-free before being added to the gravy. If you add chunks of undiluted kuzu, they will become unbreakable lumps in the gravy. So when your kuzu is nice and diluted (you can break it up with your fingers in the cold water–I recommend that), add it slowly to the gravy as you stir it vigorously. The gravy will become glossy and thicken. Let it come to a boil, then reduce flame to a simmer. If the gravy is not thick enough for you, add more kuzu. If it’s too thick, add more liquid. Once you’ve gotten the thickness right, let it simmer for about ten minutes before serving on slices of tofu turkey.
Yummmmmm… Post me some comments on this after you make it, okay? I wanna know how it works out. xo Jess
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November 15th, 2007
Dear Blog Reader,
So I’m realizing that you’re really out there. Yikes. And we have a … uh …relationship going. Double yikes. So, lucky for you I DRANK COFFEE TODAY!!! Woooooo hooooooo!!!! Yeeeeeeeee haaaaaaaawwww!!! … I wrote a story about it for my book, which never made the cut, but not because it didn’t TOTALLY KICK ASS!! Woooooooo hooooooooooo!!!! Yeeeeeeee Haaaaaaaaaaaw!! The story is below this photo, which I took recently on my sister’s street. Such a funny contrast, the Fall leaves and the sandals. And I was worried that Toronto would be the igloo of my childhood!
But wait. I can’t stop now. I’m caffeinated! More about “us”. Thanks so much for being there! I was freaked out by you at first, but now I’m warming up to the whole idea. Like any intimate relationship, I know we both have “issues” and “walls”, maybe even some “hurts from the past”. Let’s do our best to work through them, shall we? I’ll try not to drink too much coffee and you, well… I wish you would pick up a little more around the house… but I’m also committed to accepting you for exactly who you are, unconditionally. I think I can get over that thing you did that time. I really do. You’re only human. xoxo Jess
COFFEE BREAK:
I just downed a Venti soy cappucino from my local coffee-chain, the closest thing we’ve come to the giant insects we all thought in the sixties would take over the planet one day. I spent four dollars on the sucker and I’m getting a bang for my buck.
Once, as I called her from a red London phone booth, I told my English friend Amy that I had just had a cup of coffee. Amy is very pure, doesn’t eat this, doesn’t eat that, many omissions due, I might add ironically, to my counsel. I confessed that I had been riding the bucking bronco which is caffeine and she told me the story of the spider in the Times:
“The Times did an experiment where they gave a spider nicotine, alcohol and caffeine. After each drug, they had the spider spin a web. The nicotine web was a bit messy and nervy, the alcohol web was a little sloppy, as one might imagine. But the caffeine web, the caffeine web was a total DISAAAAHSTAH!”
And that’s exactly how she said it: Disaahstah. It is painful to be admonished in a proper English accent. I felt ashamed that my friend had caught me. I was the spider and whatever web I was planning to spin that day was doomed already. She wouldn’t trust me again until the coffee beans had run their course. She would listen to me differently, awaiting a misstep, a botched corner or mis-aligned silky strand.
So I am the spider right now, and you are in my web. Luckily, we are both experiencing the initial rush of confidence, adrenaline, and mild euphoria.
I feel like I can write anything!! I’m quite impressed with the above paragraphs, thinking that the spider imagery is a nice touch. I can see this book becoming a HUGE bestseller and my friend Amy outing herself at posh parties as THE English Amy in “Hip Chick”. Aaaaah, caffeine. No wonder we do it. It feels so damned good.
Caffeine is an excellent example of the principle: The bigger the front, the bigger the back. The front to a cup of coffee is what I’m experiencing right now: The up, the rush, the high. And there will be an equally intense back. If I’m smart, I’ll just caffeinate myself right through the back, feeling it as little as possible.
In fact, most of North American life is a big avoidance of the back of things. Life starts out and we get, get, get: Bigger, richer, more responsibile, more aware, more kids. Then it starts to slide in the other direction. We begin to lose things. Our hair, our flexibility, some dreams, eventually some friends, finally our minds and then it’s over. And we’re not encouraged to feel the losses.
I awoke in the middle of the night sobbing recently. I had been having a dream about two sets of relationships in my life: First was my mother and sister, the principle family members I grew up with. As adults, we all live airplane distances from one another. My sister had just left from a week-long visit the day before and I hadn’t spoken to my mother in about ten days. In the dream, I felt a real sense of powerlessness over the changes occurring within these relationships, namely the improvement of things with sister Sue and what I know will be the eventual loss of my mother.
The other duo brought forth in the dream consisted of two good friends from high school. We were thicker than thieves as kids, then pulled apart for a while, and now I am godmother to their babies. The relationships have grown, changed, and because of that, a loss has taken place. The me I was and the them they were are gone. Everything is good, but new people are here now, actively forcing me to let go of the past and shed an ego skin. And that hurts. I wonder how a spider feels when I whack his web with a broom.
So I wake myself up with my own wailing, actual wailing like I imagine they do in Jerusalem. I am startled by the intensity of it all when my conscious mind finally kicks in and says “What the hell is going on here?”. I am embarrassed, worried that my upstairs neighbor, a Sammy Hagar look-alike, might be listening to this pathetic midnight sob.
I am not surprised that I feel grief. What seems weird to me is that, clearly, there was no space in my waking life to feel this stuff. I hadn’t created the room to feel the loss or the pain consciously, all of which seemed very natural now that it was happening. I kept this stuff a secret even from myself and it had to sneak out in the middle of the night to breathe.
Another front and back: Big front that I am still in the lives of these people and our connections get richer by the day. Big back that the price I pay for that is the pain of letting go of life as it slips by.
The caffeine is sort of leveling off now. No longer high, my brain just feels buzzed. Hovering somewhere between a rush and a crash, my eyes are fixed on the screen as I await the inevitable blacktop of the runway that greets my bumpy landing.
Headache moving in as my fingers get less confident on the keyboard. Tiny little tremors rip through them, my own personal electrical storm. Because I know a little too much about this stuff, I am imagining my bones being completely leached of all calcium by the caffeine I’ve ingested and I am having flash-forwards to the funky electric chair that slides up the staircase which my future children will have to install for me in our future house so that grandma can get to her TV and crocheting.
I am noticing my heartbeat now. I seems louder than normal.
I think I’m in for the crash sometime soon. It’s been about an hour since I bought the coffee. I’m thinking: maybe the spider makes a helluva web the first hour. The best friggin’ web he’s done in months! He sits back, evaluating with pride his stunning work. The scientists from the Times seemed to miss that. But then it all changes. The finishing touches are necessary for maximum fly-catching and the crash is setting in. Irritable, the spider lurks back into the center of the web, looking around, wondering what to do next. “I hate making webs” he thinks to himself. He is frozen, a victim of his own plummeting spider blood sugar. Life, just moments ago one fantastic vision of idiot flies sailing head-long into his masterpiece, now sucks. Who cares? He drops a defiant poop and glares at the scientists.
The problem with caffeine is that the crash makes me want to escape myself. And one of the great escapes from the conscious mind is sleep. But I can’t sleep. The caffeine won’t permit it. I am destined, like a four-dollar zombie, to stare blankly as miserable, resentful thoughts march through my brain like a bunch of Eastern European soldiers on a rainy day. Lucky I am alone right now. I wouldn’t want to be someone in my presence. I would judge me silently and harshly. My eyes are cold like a shark’s and my vibe is not exactly warm. My head is pounding now and my conscious mind is in total control. The chatterbox. So this is what she meant by
“disaaahstah”.
Sick of my mind, I am now dusting my office. It pisses me off every time I dust something so hard it falls over, and my web seems to be getting messy as quickly as clean. The scientists would love this.
I want to just sit down and read, doing some research for this book I have the grandiosity to think that I can write and that you–whoever the hell you are–will read. Oh God, what’s it all about anyway? Life, I mean. Who do I think I am, writing a book? Whatever. My heart is loud again. I can’t sit still to read.
I put on the newest Madonna CD. It helps to drown out the voices in my head, but I am insanely jealous of her. How on earth did she manage a career like that, actually changing and growing and expressing herself every single time we as a culture declared her all dried up? The yoga! Motherhood!! And that SEX book!!? She’s crazy, man. She lives in England now. Maybe Amy knows her.
I’m dancing at my keyboard now. Body moving to Madonna’s beat. Grateful to be discharging energy some other way than through my brain, I am like a kid at a rave, my spine undulating just because the drugs and the music demand it.
I would stop reading now if I were you. I don’t expect much more of myself. I either need to re-caffeinate or sit through the withdrawal of a headache, followed tomorrow by a death-deep nap. Then I will be myself again, catching a fly or two.
THANKS TO NEIL SATTIN OF NEILSATTIN.COM FOR THIS LINK SHOWING THE CAFFEINE WEB
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November 6th, 2007
Pardon the oxymoron, but I have been meditating like a maniac of late. Back in 1996, I went to Texas to take a 10-day Vipassana meditation retreat, where we meditated 10 hours a day (not in a row) for ten days (yes, in a row). It was a silent retreat, and–now that I reflect upon it–it was the not talking that probably challenged me the most. I actually broke that rule on Day Seven with this very pretty woman named–believe it or not–Angel. She was pregnant, around my age, and we were walking back, in single file, from the meditation hall to the bathroom when I just lost it: “Psssst. Angel“, I whispered. She turned around, her belly determining the speed, alarmed at words coming out of me. “Yeah?” she whispered, realizing she was breaking the rules too. “I have to talk to someone” I pleaded, with the desperation I saw in certain 5-year olds last week just NEEDING another piece of their Hallowe’en loot. I can’t remember what we discussed in the bathroom that day, but it was like my birthday and an orgasm all at once, just getting some words out.
Anyhoo, I learned a very particular meditation technique during that time and Elizabeth Gilbert, author of “Eat (I’m so jealous) Pray (Let’s do another printing!) Love (not quite J.K. Rowling, but only Jesus comes close to that)” talks about it in the India part of her story. She describes this type of meditation as really hardcore and not for sissies. That made me feel better about my little tete a tete with Angel that day. Frankly, the retreat was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but not hard in an “Omigod-my-legs-are-burning-and-sweat-is-pouring-through-my -80s-leotard-and-I-think-I’m-gonna-pass-out” aerobics class sort of way. Nor was it “my-mother-has-cancer” hard… It was a “If-I-have-to-scan-my-left-foot-with-my-molasses-slow-mind-one-more -time-I’m-pretty-sure-I-am-going-to-evaporate” kind of hard. You know it? There is a dive into the unnameable, personality-less, dark and wide chasm of the Infinite Universe that takes place after a few days of sitting, when all the buzz of the mind has settled down, and you are faced with hours and hours of meditation to come–and yet, there is really only this moment, and then this moment, and then this one, and the whole thing is totally MERCILESS. Hence, my desperate call to Angel, to reinforce that I did, in fact, inhabit a self . . .with a mouth . . . that could say things.
At the same time, this selflessness is totally liberating. I like to think that we are all actually the great Nothingness which is also the great Everythingness. Can you smell what I’m steppin’ in?
After all that meditating, it was recommended that we toddle off back into our lives and sit in meditation for, oh, just… 2 HOURS every day. Yeah right! I was already cooking about that much, going to self-help meetings and writing in my journal every night. My beloved Dr. Phil hadn’t started yet, so I couldn’t add that to my bag of “things I must do for ME every day” yet, but let’s just say, the bag was getting kinda heavy. 2 hours of meditation just wasn’t gonna happen. And yes, I know that Dr. Phil is cheesy, but I just love him–for no good reason, except that he comes on at 5 o’clock and seems a really neat combination of yin and yang. Love is blind.
I settled for one half hour of meditation, on a quasi-regular basis. And it’s been very helpful. I truly think that my Vipassana retreat and subsequent practice basically put the final touches on the curing of my eating disorder; I have not binged once since the retreat. That doesn’t mean I don’t put things in my mouth sometimes that I wish weren’t there, but I never passionately, violently pack my face with food like I used to. Meditation has helped me as an actress, a hypnotherapist and teacher–it’s a great and practical tool for life. Half an hour a day seemed just fine, thank you very much, Mr. Buddha Man!!
But this week, I bloodied my head against a particular wall just enough so that I sat down to meditate for a full hour, for the first time in ten years. I needed to go deep, to get my mind to molasses-speed, to pull all of myself to my center so that I stopped banging my blood-encrusted noggin so hard. And it feels wonderful. I feel like I have choice back. I have the “I don’t need to call that person back just because he called me” which is every Hip Chick’s trump card, and a precious one at that. If it takes an hour a day to earn back that freedom, inch-inch, I’m game. It feels like a homecoming to that lovely nothingness, where all the power lies. I wish I could tell Angel.
How do you bring yourself back to center?
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