What lifts us up?

I wandered a lot this week.. My mind wandered, my heart wandered, my body deeply resonated and went into an auto-pilot hard to define, my dreams followed….long, action packed, characters galore. The typhoon Koinu was making for sure an impact in the pressure building up but luckily not so much over the city. In comparison with past weeks storms we can also call it a feather like typhoon over Hong Kong. If I may dare.

This is what I meant ….can you imagine a recent one?

My intention for today, for this special space that I get to create for myself and also for you is to re-focus and by doing this I find it easier to look at what lifts me up.

And I do not mean this in general.I mean it as a question on adding bits of awareness on what might have stood up for me …this week, or this month, or what still lives there with me in my heart that brought me joy.

I had few stories in mind to start with…

The first story is from this Friday.Having a simple salad lunch in a park next to our office. Listening to some new birds and being totally happy with the weather. This being also called a way of “cultivating joy”… Whoever knows Hong Kong, knows also that being outside is quite a demanding stretch and effort during the summer and this week and Mr.Koinu( this week’s typhoon’s name) brought for sure a fresh outlook and even cooler moods. I have been learning also in my meditation practices to be thankful on purpose for each bowl of food, to go back frankly speaking to our grandmothers and aunts teaching and table manners(and I will bring this up in my second story as I do not wish you to imagine elaborate settings).

By doing that I have also realised suddenly the entire taste of a salad I tried numerous ways before simply stood out.I simply loved it. There was a crunchiness, there was a sourness, there was a softness….something lifted me up instantly .Something left a mark in my “internal bookmarks” system.

This leads me now to Saturday.. all that I thought I would be doing got stalled. A sudden joy of having a “blank canvas” day, a day to “far niente” and maybe a lot. So, few coffees later, a tea, and a nice inspiration for breakfast - a autumn concoction of apple and cinnamon and fresh bread… I was still wandering, still searching for a an extraordinary “lift me” up moment.

Apple Cinnamon Concoction

I have surrendered into listening to the nature unlocking its powers, keeping the doors large open after so long and just feeling all the murmurs of the trees interrupted at times by Mr.Charlie the parrot. He is a free and very talkative bird, has a lot of opinions and must not be ignored. One must look at him and get lost in his beautiful red, blue feathers. He might put up a full show for you either by talking a lot of by raffling his feathers and doing few risky rotations on a branch.

And right there and then, the page you read says:

“We have a term shoshoku, which is about the feelings you have when you receive a letter from home. Even without an actual picture, you know something about your home, what people are doing there, or which flowers are blooming. This is shoshoku."

Shunryu Suzuki

I got goosebumps. Yes, I live far away from my home. Yet, the letter from home was like a feather barely touching my cheeks. I could sense it.I could imagine it. I could find it deep into my body. This was not nostalgia. I felt like home. And home is love and love is expressed in food.

I have found myself in front of the fridge again simmering of creative impulses. I love this jitters of finding new challenges to turn all I got there in front of me into a good, really good “pick me up”. I love these moments - you can say. It is also my space where hardly I could possibly let anyone join. I move in a rhythm particular to that moment and I love to pour myself into whatever flows. The process is always the same.I pull out some key ingredients and lay things around me…. The key ingredient was red quinoa who could take me back to my little Friday moment of delight in the park. Some nice stuff went into over…. A nice firm tofu covered in almonds, some nice carrots. Some other veggies got on the chopping board. I get immersed into the colours and looks and feels like all work well together. Red pepper, parsley (my ultimate favourite), pickled red onion, fresh onion, pumpkins seeds…… and would you guess what other treasure I still had in the fridge - ……… edible flowers! Sometimes -I do surprise myself entirely….

It all turned into a symphony for me. I stop hearing.I stop thinking or wandering, I am by now just living in that taste that I was only imagining .I could feel the first bite even when I was cooking. The crunch and all. The zest. The apple vinegar tanginess.

“Fa rai din ce ai” Romanian proverb - “Whatever you got, turn into heaven”

Beyond the taste ,beyond the question that might arise about how delicious it is or not - it is home. Beyond all the joy lived there in the moment of creation it is home. Beyond sharing with people and having a meal together, it is home. I know I am one with this.I can sense all that my mum, my grandmothers, my neighbours all in once.All in that act of creating a meal to share. A good meal. With all your soul.

About table manners ….. very briefly. The time I was growing up had challenges but as a kid I could not be aware of many of those. I grew up in a building where all my neighbour doors were open. We had some closer friends than others and it was pretty much a replica of village. We were out of salt, mum would say” check with neighbour M” … This would mean literally barging in my neighbour house, not even sure if I was knocking the door, and saying “Auntie M - I am getting some salt, I hope is ok”.

30 min later, once the meal was cooked, my mum will say again “go and check if they want to eat with us”. I would rush again and barge in - “hello hello, food is ready.” If they could not join us, we will share some later .

This could be everything “salt, sugar, flour, help with sewing, help with maybe a hammer… anything.” I would bookmark the coffee tales for other times….

This was my “village” in a small town. With new flats and some new way of living, yet with same strong community sense - helping each other with everything.

And then we had the real village - where my grandparents lived. Some of them had small round birch table and stools, all short. A summer and a winter kitchen. The summer was the best ever - so many memories there. This table would keep all the kids together, sometimes there would be 2 tables … depends on the crowd. And they would challenge my “urban” education to see if I still know how to share. I would be asked if I need special cutlery, separate plates…I did not know initially I was being teased by my uncles…just to see my mere reaction. I do remember I was looking around me and replying - “however my cousins eat, I will eat the same way”. This meant- just to be clear - shared bowls, a multitude of dishes, polenta, or freshly baked bread just there in big chunks, and “ silence” ….. not sure why …we were not really encouraged to talk to much at meals. I guess we would break many times this particular “mannerism” and giggle a lot. It was supposed to be part of “manners”. I did keep the most important one instead - chewing with a closed mouth. I can never compete on eat slow —- sadly,I am even today a fast eater. Thankful yet fast. Room to grow.

There are many stories that bring me a letter from home. I bet alongside me, you dear reader went on “reading your own letters from home”. Call me, share them with me…My coffee is always here waiting for you.

There is this little feather like gesture that lives with me still. It happened one day taking the ferry back to town. A nice warm day. Public holiday. Looking at sea and inhaling deeply its beauty, tears came down my cheeks, tears I could not stop or even try to comprehend. I did not have anything to wipe them with but my bear hands. And I have tried to keep my head really into the window so my bench neighbour would not see me. It was sadness but also joy a mix of things. It was also a letter from home.I maybe wanted to be in my mum’s village that morning and have coffee together. I stayed with it and tasted the saltiness in my fragile tears.

The ferry arrived and I stood up, by now my tears managed to dry off. My neighbour stood up as well, looked at me and with a very gentle smile he said” You have the perfect colour on you for a holiday. What a lovely pink”.

“Thank you very much”. Is all one can say….. and one smiles inside so big.