Mindfully Eating an Orange

Yesterday I attended a workshop about writing and meditation.  Neither of these is a new thing to my life, although I will admit the meditation has been MIA a while now.  There is almost no part of our culture that honors silence, slow and still.  And I'm afraid I fell back into those old ways of working too many hours, being too busy and always in either motion or vegetation.  Deliberate stillness, that's been gone a while.

I expected lots of meditation and writing and hoped that it would spur me to add a meditative practice back into my own life.  I think it will absolutely do that.  What I did not expect was the added bonus I was given.  Phebe, the facilitator introduced us to mindful eating.  The mere mention of this was enough to send my demons screaming into consciousness.  Oh Fuck!  Eating?  This is gonna be bad they warned.  I told them to shut up, but not very emphatically.  Interesting how quickly they take root in me.  She wants you to eat an orange.  You hate oranges.  But you're such a pussy, you won't refuse.  Fat ass pussy bitch.  Mindful eating.  Right.  Guess what you're gonna be thinking about during that?  That's right. Food.  The size of your ass.  Your love affair with food.  How you breathe it in by the acre without a single thought.  I began to dread the upcoming orange segment.

When we finally arrived at this loathsome place, the demon made a reappearance.  But by then I had a few good meditations under my belt and was able to tell him to fuck off.  (Note to self - Good meditation results in easier demonic banishment).  And even though I'm not a fan of the fruit, I committed myself to the exercise of bringing my awareness to every aspect of eating that orange.  Turns out peeling and eating that orange was sensual beyond any experience I have had before.  Definitely more so than any food experience.  I wanted to linger, to draw out the delight and let it fill hours.  Caved to the pressure of time (Note to self:  Caving to time pressures short circuits delight).  When I was finally done, the demon was no where to be found.  Interesting.

People shared writing about the orange mediation and I heard lots of my own thoughts in their pieces.  It had been the most powerful moment of the day.

So fast forward about 24 hours.  There's been a couple meals since then, inhaled American style.  Sunday morning is MY time, to write, to visit with friends, to just check out.  You can find me holding court with my computer or a friend at the Dawg.  This morning, however, I can't just wolf the food in a way that leaves me hungry like I usually do.  I am reminded of that orange.  So my omelet no tomato and coffee are taken in slowly and mindfully.  The freshness of the ingredients palpable through my taste buds.  The chevre and coffee both spreading creamily across my tongue.  Aware of my tongue as it move food amongst my teeth.  Laughing to myself because I was not even aware of this carefully choreographed ballet in my mouth.  I let the food fill the time.  Pushed the writing to either side and focused in those moments on the delight of the food.

I feel full long before my omelet is done.  But push the last few bites in as I was trained to do.  I NEED to be part of the Clean Plate Club.  When, at last, I push the plate away I am full.  Not overly so.  Just enough.  I am content.  I am full.  I am nourished.  I do not want another single bite.

That's when I start to examine that feeling (Science nerd - remember).  I begin to dissect it.  The understandings come fast, almost too fast and I know I will be dissecting these over the next few weeks.

I love food.
I also hate it - like really hate it.
I have no idea what I eat most days.
What I eat is rarely about nutrition, it's about gratification.  Or it's about comfort.  Or it's about filling the hole.

I know none of those are novel thoughts in the world.  I'm sure I have read a book about every one of those topics.  OKOKOK I have read many books on those topics.  But reading and knowing are two very different things.  So as I sit at my booth at the Dawg mindfully eating my omelet they are an epiphany to me.  They feel the piece I need to make the leap of change.

Today I am grateful for a single orange and the courage it took to eat it.