Behind the scenes of my life, I’ve been working in fits and starts on little snippets of memoir, poetry, and other forms that push me outside my comfort zone. I’ve talked in the past about how meditating sitting still is a privilege (a concept I was introduced to by chef Jenny Dorsey years ago), and the below snippet, part memoir, part meander of some sort, is a very early stab at starting to make something cohesive out of those thoughts.
It’s probably about 1/3 of the total piece, but it’s the most finished part, and I thought would be something you would like to see. I’d love to hear in the comments how this resonates with your understanding of what it means to meditate (in other words, do you define it as only one thing? Or can meditation mean many things?)
How does this relate to food writing? Because a lot of what I talk about below relates to culinary labor, particularly unseen labor. Those parts are still weaving their way into this particular piece, but I’m enjoying where it’s going.
Meditation, movement
To sit still is a privilege.
How much of my life has been an oscillation between the privilege (which should be a right) to rest, and the necessity of fitting meditation within the cracks of my being, the tiny fissures in my day, the margins of my time.
I think of meditation as movement.
I think of John Coltrane’s ‘meditations’ and how ‘to meditate’ does not necessarily mean to sit still in perfect silence with an empty mind, but also to reflect, to create.
How meditation can be an expression of a thought through the rising and falling action of notes. Through the words on a page.
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