Spring is the season that arrives seemingly overnight. A morning's blue skies overcast to a grey afternoon, and are then overtaken as rain wins the battle with winter. Spoils of the febricitous war are seen at the earth's next go-round; the sun's path lights a different hue. The loser will gallantly attempt straggling skirmishes, gaining ground back...a Blackberry Winter reigning for a day, maybe two.
This morning was gorgeous. Not a cloud in sight. No skirmish on the horizon. By mid-morning, dreary soldiers had marched over the mountain range. And, on my commute home from work, the impacts of the afternoon altercation were clear to my seeking eyes...searching for signs of change. The foothills spread out in a welcoming carpet of glorious green.
This kind of richness comes only once a year. Only now, in spring. New grass sprouts are sweet in their youth, too sweet in fact, candy coated. Spring grass is dangerous. This is the kind of pasture that beckons horses and cows to indulge fully. The meadows call with invitations to roll in verdant luxuriance, the equivalent of our silk sheets, I suppose. Although, I have never felt the latter upon my skin, and much prefer the former. This is the kind of grass that causes bloat and colic at the cream of the field's first fruits; it, being too much for wintered bellies used to dry grass. Imagine eating a German Chocolate Cake, and entire German Chocolate Cake, after a month's fasting. You would bloat too.
I read today an article about my Second Brain, from a link off of Gluten-Free Goddess's Blog. Often, it functions as my first, that is, my Gut directs my actions and controls my life more than I want it to, and more than my Reason can control.
If the Mind controls the Gut (think about being nervous and getting a "butterfly" stomach, as stated in the article), does it not also seem logical to follow that the Gut can control the Mind? I know, I have experiential proof from the years leading to my divorce, that a mind in torment, results in digestive hell. I also know, with every day's passing, that the State of my Gut, impacts my Mind. "Impact" is too weak a word --- my gut controls my mind.
I have never been able to fully explain how mentally exhausting it is just trying to feed myself. Or, how much anxiety fills every spoon I lift to my lips. I know what is coming. I anticipate the control. I know that I will very likely be contorted, bending to the will of this lower brain.
This morning on my bus-ride, I read this:"We all try to accept with some sort of submission our afflictions when they actually arrive. But the prayer in Gethsemane shows that the preceding anxiety is equally God's will and equally part of our human destiny" (C.S. Lewis, Letters to Malcom).
I feel my faith, and the beauty of God, in sorrow. I do not feel "joy" in belief. This, perhaps, my destiny?...to feel my anxiety not as a defect, but rather as my share in The Passion (Lewis, 62), for, there was surely anxiety present before those thorns as well.
And now, to dinner. To eating and anxiety...and turmeric root. This smaller and darker relative of ginger is delightful in its root form. As a ground spice, it is just another pretty-faced jar. But the root? The root gives character. The root gives stability to dinner. And, this root leaves a kissable trace.
I have been sprouting Mung Beans for a few days now, and this morning their tails told me they were ready, their length complete.
~ Dinner for My Other Brain ~
Sprouted mung beans
Sautéed turmeric & ginger root
Freshly cracked mixed peppercorns