Soon I'm chopping away in the silence of my kitchen. No music or radio or even another lovely human being to interrupt me. This is a golden time, a rare chance to just take care of whatever is in front of me, without an overarching ambition or agenda. Just food and cooking and my sock-clad feet beneath me.
A soothing sense of timelessness overtakes me. The motions of cooking cease to be an activity and become instead a place that I've gone to. I have nowhere else to go, and no one else to be, but this person, right here. It matters little what I call myself in these moments: a cook, a woman, a writer are all true but somehow extra and unnecessary. There's a sort of grace in this, a nourishment that goes beyond any superficial desires and ideas. It touches, and satisfies, a deeper hunger for expression and connection and the simple pleasure of working with my body.
And in the end, of course, there's the soup, the incredibly practical result of having cooking as your passion. First you get to play and then, you get to eat! The soup is good and very satisfying. Probably it will be a little better tomorrow, as it often is with soups. And so the day continues. The timelessness is no longer being directly experienced but still, it echos and supports me as I move out from inclosure and intimacy and into the wondrous, chaotic mess of the bright world.
I hope you find an opportunity to step out of doing and into being and becoming, into the timelessness of your activity. Don't search for it outside of yourself, or in things or special arrangements or identities. Just open your eyes and work with whatever you happen to find at hand. Everything you need is here.
(Image: Dana Velden)