A Conscious Reality

http://www.prweb.com/releases/2007/8/prweb544456.htm

Filed under: Press on August 9th, 2007 | No Comments »

August 2, 2007

Ok here’s another- Don’t ask me how this happens, kind of like the stories they just begin to unfold in front of me and I have no choice but to oblige & put them together.  So I’ve taken out a package of split peas (orange and green) a few days ago, believing that I will be making a version of split pea soup.  A few days go by and I start creating this soup in my head. Today I actually made it:  It starts with sauteeing a few stalks of celery, fresh garlic cloves, and lots of oregano (fresh if you have) I used dried leaves (salt & pepper of course).  I’ve been neurotic about digestive health lately so I soaked the peas for a few hours even though you really don’t need to especially not split peas, mine always turn to mush because they cook so fast and I just let it simmer for too long.  I cook the celery mixture on medium heat for a while, then add organic vegetable broth (Trader Joe’s makes a good one or Pacific brand) just enough to collect all the flavors and cover the bottom of pan- OOPs forgot to add the cauliflower- I wanted a more hearty soup without adding meat or the tradtional split pea things- And I had the cauliflower- wash clean & slice up the florets, almost 1/2 a head will go into this- I would have preferred to saute it with the celery mixture- oh well.  Ok now add 1 and 1/4 cups split peas and 1 quart of the veg. broth.  Check on this after 20 minutes- because mine turned mushy- but still tastes really good:)

This will make a thicker soup- Add more broth or use less peas to thin this out (I will try that next time).

Now if you like “regular” tasting food this will suit you just fine, but I like to layer flavors and mix things that usually aren’t paired together. So I look around my kitchen for flavors that might work- then it hits me!  Top this soup with some cumin (spice) and 1/2 chopped date roll (mashed dates rolled in coconut flakes topped with almond) I removed the almond, finely chopped the date, and a generous sprinkle of (unsweetened) coconut flakes-Yummy!

Recap:

Sautee 3 stalks celery with 3 cloves garlic and lots of oregano

Add washed & trimmed florets of Cauliflower from 1/2 head

Add 1 quart Veg. Broth & 1 & 1/4 Cups split peas

Bring to Boil, reduce, and simmer for 20 minutes or so.

Topping:

Mix a generous sprinkle of cumin into each bowl, then top with 1/2 chopped date (or date roll), and generous sprinkling of coconut flakes.

Filed under: Recipes on August 2nd, 2007 | 1 Comment »

August 2, 2007

Ok- I know what you must be thinking- a recipe???  Part of my creative process and gluten free existence, since my birthday in April, with the exception of a bad relapse for 10 days- Since I’ve had to struggle with making good food that tastes good, I figured I would share with you that it is possible to have tasty food that is gluten free!!!  The best recipes I concoct out of leftovers and desperation; like this morning, I was looking for the quinoa flakes to make breakfast, but before finding them- since of course I was already starving when I decided to eat, I found the last brown rice cake with the crumbs of all the others.  After starting to eat part of the last rice cake and still looking for the quinoa flakes I decided that this would be my breakfast.  I emptied the crushed up brown rice cakes into a bowl (they look like puffed wheat cereal-if you remember those bags in the cereal aisle)-  then I added a heaping teaspoon of almond butter, and sliced up a banana- To be eaten with spoon!  Yes it is sticky- but I figured I could change that with the last few drops of vanilla rice milk  I had that was due to expire today.  I sloshed it around until the almond butter thinned out into the rice milk and then ate it like regular cereal.  The milk was thicker but tastier than plain any type of milk!!!

Recap:

Crush up 1 or 2 brown rice cakes

1 heaping teaspoon of almond butter

1 banana sliced

1/4- 1/2 cup of vanilla rice milk

Combine all ingredients in bowl & enjoy!

Variation:  If you love apples & cinnamon use that instead of banana- or your own creation.

Filed under: Recipes on August 2nd, 2007 | No Comments »

Filed under: Stories on August 2nd, 2007 | No Comments »

Oprah.  The name invokes a lot; billionaire, mogul, power.  Someone that other people follow or wait on is someone I prefer to ignore.  I can’t be like one of them afterall.  That’s another story I’ve been telling myself- the us & them story.  My choice has always been to be different.  Knowing that millions follow her words and recommendations and book club, and rightfully so, she’s helped so many improve their lives, but knowing this makes me want to look the other way.  It’s more like peeking through dark shades so that nobody can tell that I too am watching the show.  The Oprah Magazine kept looking back at me in the oral surgeon’s waiting room.  Bryan’s crowned & root-canaled infected gum brought us here today.  I was the designated driver as he would be on painkillers after the procedure.

Bryan brought his laptop with new wireless internet card for me to use while I waited, but after hooking up the computer I shut it off deciding I would much rather look at magazines.  There were four tall stacks in the 80’s looking office.  Two stacks in the wooden table next to me, and another two stacks across the room in between the other two leather cushions that rested on a wooden bench.  The Oprah Magazine was on the other side of the room but still called my name.  It was the first thing I saw when coming into the office, aside from the typical office structure with industrial carpeting and ceilings and of course the sliding glass that formed a window to separate the patients from the staff.  Today was Friday, my regular day to call my Grandma in Israel, so I did that, maybe hoping that the urge to pick up that magazine would go away.  I left the office, made the call, and came back to find the same face with green background asking me to pick it up.  I walked over cautiously analyzing the situation, what could I possibly want with Oprah?

I rationalized that perhaps I could see if there are any categories that Oprah was publishing that my writing could fit into, maybe I could submit a story.  I opened up the table of contents and glanced over the categories and articles.  As a Sex in the City fan, Sarah Jessica Parker’s new “affordable” clothing line was of interest, then there was Ellen Barkin’s beauty routine- we’d just seen Ocean’s Thirteen, so I was interested with the public interest with Ellen.  Then I continued flipping from contents to articles to see if I could find an ounce of spirituality or something that resembled what I think I write about.  The word Consciousness caught my eye, but this was only part of self-conciousness and how to reduce inhibitions.  I saw something about breath; but this turned out to be the title of a featured photo.

No luck yet. The advice column category included Suze Orman, and Dr. Phil, among a few others, but nothing that explicitly addressed the spirit. Having browsed through Oprah’s Magazine before I wasn’t shocked, but still disappointed, since I consider her more conscious than the average bear.  I looked at my watch to see that Bryan had been in with the doctor for close to an hour an a half.  I thought of Bryan’s thoughtfulness of bringing the laptop for me to use, and then thought of his compulsion to be on his computer researching his ideas.  For today at least, I wasn’t compelled to check my email a million times and make some contact with other human beings, I even snubbed my nose at Bryan’s relationship with his computer or mine when it’s obsessive, I don’t need you all the time,  I thought.

I was content sitting down flipping through Oprah.  Reading, something I don’t do often, except for in waiting rooms.  In a doctor’s office or waiting for my pedicures with my regular nail girl, or an airport.  In those windows of time where technically I don’t have to be anywhere else, I allow myself the guilty pleasure of reading a gossip magazine (if you consider that reading) or becoming engulfed in another world, like Oprah’s, or some inspirational story.  Michelle, the editor from Maine asked  about my reading habits, which of course made me aware that I don’t really read stories or books, I’m a non-fiction junkie, where I can open the book up to any page, get what I want and leave when I want.  I’m still not sure why it’s hard for me to commit to a narrative, except for when I am in between worlds, not coming and going, but sitting and waiting.

I wonder why it is that I don’t find time in my day-to-day to sit and read?  Can’t I just pretend that I am in a waiting room?  It’s not that easy. I make a mental note to become more conscious about this and maybe even reading one of the last few books I’ve purchased. 

Filed under: Stories on July 14th, 2007 | 1 Comment »

July 12, 2007 

I’ve fallen behind, again.  I’m into week 6 of my “5 Weeks to Your First 5K”. The program called for alternating days of running and cross training, with one day off per week.  Somehow, I convinced myself that I could skip the cross training days as long as I stick to the running.  As if that isn’t bad enough, I’ve further convinced myself that if I can keep up with the required mileage for the week then I can even skip 2 days of the regimen.  I’m being hard on myself.  Considering I’m dealing with one of my lackluster moods, I’m doin’ ok.  No losses, no gains.

I expected the heavy feelings to accompany my trip to the gym.  Those guilty feelings that I haven’t been to the gym in 3 days, that I am off track, again.  Usually the guilt is accompanied by a class “a” pity party: “how did I get off track again?”  “I’m a failure,” “this is haard,”  “is this really making a difference?”  And then it loops on itself convincing me not to exercise.   I heard the remnants of the self-defeating record in the background of my mind, but far too faint to make a difference.  I didn’t go to the gym with false hopes of breaking new ground; not in the metaphysical or physical sense.  Today I went because I didn’t want to stay depressed.

Armed with my ipod and heart rate monitor I dug up from my personal training days some 9 years ago, I walked into our 2nd floor gym and eyed the room choosing my treadmill.  I was happy to avoid the sweltering 90+ degrees with rising levels of humidity outside. This however only made the ocean in front of me look more appealing.  How exhilarating it would be to finish running along the boardwalk and then jump into the cool Atlantic waters. Today is not a good day to see what you’re made of considering the 3 day off cycle. For today the ocean would stay an arm’s length away.  I entered my workout goal into the treadmill, 3.75 miles, and began warming up.  Since my epiphany that starting out slow is the way to go, I don’t dare skip this part of the workout. 

The ocean didn’t stop taunting me for some reason, still looking extra crisp and inviting.  Waves strong; forming and crashing; it seemed the waves were at about 4 foot faces, giving the usual ocean view more volume; a flock of seagulls swooped down in a formation known only to them; I was being pulled in deeper and deeper into the water- the same water that PJ was drawn into for the last time only several blocks East of here.  The thought of PJ came and passed; it was not the topic of conversation for this session.

Instead, I stayed in this tunnel vision, looking past bathers and usual distractions; I remained focused on the sheer volume of the ocean.  That’s when it happened.  I started getting a vision of myself on a treadmill.  At first I thought it was a congratulatory, Welcome back (to your treadmill)! Only it wasn’t the treadmill at the gym, it was more like the treadmill of life.  This always fascinates me that this physical treadmill going nowhere is symbolic of the journey of life.

This treadmill vision morphed into a car on the highway.  It was me driving down the highways of my life.  It was an analogy.  Ok, I thought, that makes sense.  Next I saw my reactions to life, still in this car.  While I watched myself driving this car, streams of thought continued to explain the analogy and some of my tendencies in life.  The streams came like this:

When you are driving, all that is required is that you keep your foot on the gas; in life, this equals consistent effort- I equate this to raising the bar and reaching new heights.

Distractions are an inevitable part of the process; all that is required is that you stay focused on your target; I find distractions, forget where I’m going or why I’m here.

To get to where you are going you must commit to staying on the path; in this life, I constantly forget my commitment or convince myself that it’s ok to pull over.

This wisdom of the treadmill analogy is so vivid and clear I find myself wishing I could transcribe this knowledge as it hits without any lapse in time to allow my mind to interfere with the clarity. I thought of inventing a device, perhaps one that could be hooked up to the temporal nodes and transcribe thoughts, for all those great ideas we get when we are not near pen and paper.

It didn’t matter that I couldn’t figure out how to create a thought transcriber, I was happy that at least for today, I chose to stay on the highway and keep my foot on the gas pedal.

Filed under: Stories on July 12th, 2007 | 2 Comments »

July 11, 2007

I’m starting again.  Another story.  Only my information lately has not been coming in the form of stories, more like in the form of tidbits.  I’m grateful, but I still try to elude the reality of the tidbit and weave it into a story.  I look at my screen and count six attempts at doing this.  Six attempts labeled private, my way of saying, “this ain’t gonna see the light.”  Usually it’s a sentence or two, maybe even a paragraph.  My latest tidbit developed out of trying to be a better writer.

Michelle is not the only writing coach that has asked for more sensory detail of me.  I start out being frustrated, “what do you mean more detail?”  I then move into a phase of recognition, “Ok, but I don’t know how,” and then either I figure it out or not and make peace with it.  This time Bryan and I sat in a local movie theatre to catch Ocean’s Thirteen.  I caught myself trying to be extra aware of my surroundings, questioning myself, “what sounds do you hear?” “What smells do you smell?”  I continued grilling myself while Bryan watched the previews.  If I were to write a story that was set in this theatre how would I describe it? The more I questioned, the more frustrated I became.  “Who cares?!” Answered back at me.  “That’s right,” I repeated,”Who cares?!”

That’s when it came- my tidbit, my answer.  You say that you are observant, but you fail to realize that you don’t observe everything equally.  Whoa!  Just when I was beginning my pity party of, “I’m not getting anything-” referring to higher forms of communication, that’s when it hits.  That simple voice, the quiet one that’s there only when I am quiet enough.  I soaked in the tidbit, without resistance.  It’s true.  Everything I observe is a choice, usually based on preconceived notions, ideas, beliefs.  If I perceive something is important enough, I will pay attention to it. 

Usually, that leaves out 95% of what is really happening.

Filed under: Stories on July 10th, 2007 | No Comments »

July 5, 2007

I’ve had several false starts this week.  Beginning to write and then stopping.  I think I’ve wanted to write, but I’m not sure.  My focus since returning from our honeymoon has been creating a healthy kitchen and active lifestyle.  Taking my writing to the next level was also a goal, but somewhere I veered off course.  It began with my email to Michelle, a writer that gave a workshop at a retreat I went to early in June.  I didn’t stay for much of the two and a half day retreat, but I made a mental note that I liked her and perhaps we could work together on my writing. 

We began emailing from my home in NY to Michelle’s in Maine.  I liked her feedback.  Her comments were more than technical know-how and allowed me to unearth even more than I thought possible.  Michelle’s suggestions were un-invasive; I didn’t feel like she was trying to change my voice- and she even kinda got me.  Now this, was someone to keep around.  Looking back, it seems I was looking for a mentor-type, someone that could carry me into the next phase of my writing and I thought Michelle could develop into that person with time and the trust she was earning.  We spent about a week before I decided to write another story, one that was more clear & precise, I thought.  In one of our first emails, Michelle told me that one of the hardest lessons she had to learn was that of brevity.  I didn’t go as far as telling Michelle how fast a learner I was- I figured I would show her.  So I sent the next story, proud of my new work- only to get back a long response and a page full of red ink. 

It was difficult to look at the page.  In fact, it took over a week to review it, and even now, I haven’t fully digested it.  I’m beginning to see so many of my thoughts and actions the same as they had been when I was in elementary school.  How could it be?  Hadn’t I come so very far from those days?  Haven’t I changed?  Had life changing experiences?  It seems that 20+ years later the same hard-wiring was at work on me.  I was still that little girl wanting the “teacher” to see that I am smart, and I learn really fast, and that I could learn whatever new skill she was willing to teach.  I was also the same little girl that took to heart when the “teacher” even as gentle as Michelle was, suggested I try it another way.  Another way?  There was no other way in my book.  I became upset and sad; my life’s work down the drain.  Of course I didn’t really believe this but I did sulk for a bit wondering if all the writing I’d done was crap.  I knew it wasn’t; I know that my message needs to come out the paper (or screen), I know the value of the process.  But for a moment, I got caught up in what it “should” be.  The messages I sent myself through these self-defeating thoughts were if you can’t write in this new way, then maybe you need to stop and re-think this whole writing adventure.

And yet throught this time, I knew that these insecurities were just that- insecurities, but I couldn’t get past them; couldn’t get past enough of them to sit down and write and press the publish button to send my story into cyberspace.

So I sit here now, again, writing.  I don’t feel so brave, but giving up is not an option.

Filed under: Stories on July 5th, 2007 | No Comments »

June 17, 2007

Today was a cross-training day, according to this new program I am using to motivate myself, “5 Weeks to Your First 5K.” Cross-training, means any type of cardiovascular activity except for running.  I chose the bike at our building’s gym downstairs. I’ve chosen to view this exercise regimen like a vitamin that provides certain benefits. Specifically I’ve focused on using exercise to combat the depression I’m just now coming to terms with.  And while I don’t let this condition debilitate me, I’ve decided to take further action to improve it.

I got on the upright bicycle with the extra wide black seat and began the journey.  The row in front of me had treadmills to the left and elliptical trainers on the right.  And right in front of that row were the two large bay windows that face the boardwalk and ocean.  I chose my trail from the programs available and began to pedal.  My legs were not used to the motion and I began to wonder if I should have walked instead.  It’s good to try new things, I convince myself.  The parade of people filled my vision and my world and theirs began to blend.  Shirtless men with their girlfriends, mothers with children and strollers, an ice cream cart, walking partners, bikers, all out for the day to enjoy the warm weather.  My mind began it’s work creating story after story.  I observed.  Not every passerby deserved a story.  As I watched the people and my mind, I realized that biking was difficult for me because once again, I forgot to start slow.

I smiled inside and corrected my error slowing down to that just right, comfortable pace.  My body consciousness shifted to accept the pace and supported me by easing up on the lactic acid.  My legs no longer felt heavy and unable to move.  I continued pedaling and reveling in this secret of starting slow.  My mind continued to judge person after person until I interjected with, “Why do I create these stories?”  It fascinated me that part of my regular day and activites includes in passing judgements and creating stories about people I don’t know.  I rationalized that this is part of everyone’s reality whether they are aware of it or not.  But this didn’t quiet me down.  I listened hard to find the chatter of my soul that guides me often.  These stories became part of my exercise, my skin now clammy from the sweat that had not yet broken the surface reminded me that I could move into 2nd gear now. I obliged.

We’re creative beings. We create.  Those were the words I was given.  That flow, that realm of a walking meditation opened up and I greeted the experience with gratitude.  I had set the clock on the bike to thirty five minutes, but it didn’t matter, I enjoyed each minute- each creation that entered my mind- some that were clearly created by the mind and others by the soul.  I looked passed the boardwalk and to the shore, then to the water- watching the millions of water molecules collude and create ripples and waves, white water- motion. I pretend I can hear the waves forming and crashing for a moment, avoiding the glass windows between us, but all I could hear was the hum of the bike through my ipod. The flow continued.  As creative beings we must create.  Extrapolating, I decided that if we don’t have a focus, then our creative powers can flow in many directions; like creating stories about other realities we actually know nothing about. 

All the while, the sweat had broken and I continued to pedal at that comfortable pace, where the increased uptake of oxygen was sufficient to re-supply my lungs and legs to cooperate with this task.  Moving my hands from my sides to the handlebars I found my lower back moving into a more curved position- I corrected this by contracting my core muscles and feeling my spine sit erect on the wide seat.  This was another goal of mine, to strengthen my lower back and abdominal muscles, and this was just another opportunity.

I enjoyed this time of creativity and reflection,  allowing myself to further investigate who I am & what drives my soul. I became lost, entranced in this place. Wanting to amplify the euphoria I checked in with my body, the sweat beads that formed on my face, chest and back, the lactic acid in my legs that took turns building and releasing, my dry mouth, the lower back that alternated being curved and erect, the pretend waves I could heart through the glass;  all of this was created by the fullfillment of one requirement- being present.  I reveled in that for a while- all I had to do to experience this glory was to be present.  Dumbfounded-ecstatic-enchanted-fascinated, that in this space, an awareness opened up  from a seated upright bike at a gym, in a building, in Long Island, NY, USA, this planet- I was allowed an experience that is much greater than being proactive about my physical and mental health, I was privvy to a very special playground, where my mind, body, and soul come together, and play.

The clock reaches 35 minutes, my goal for the day.  Hesitantly I climb off and continue my day.

Filed under: Stories on June 17th, 2007 | 2 Comments »

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