The Gift Of Change – by Loba
The wonderful renovation of my dear kitchen has brought to light my lifetime of fearing change and trying to keep things largely the same. I was very attached to the way things were in my lovable, huggable niche, attached to the way I’m able to nestle into its lovely curvy counters as I drink a cup of tea, and to the rhythm of my ever-spiraling movements in its little 8 by 10 foot space. I even had a funny attachment to the spot in the floor where the breath of the ground came through and I thought of it as my sipapu – like the hole that the ancient peoples always made in their kivas, an avenue for Spirit to enter. But over the years, the little split in the linoleum grew and grew, until I often tripped on it and it became hard to keep clean. And so for the past year or so we had been discussing possible ways of fixing it, whether we should patch it up or do something more drastic.
I never doubted the practicality of it, mind you. Kiva and I were finding it hard to cook at the same time without constantly bumping into each other, with me coming close to injuring her on numerous occasions with my tendency to gesture excitedly with hot spatulas and pans! Plus, with all the blessings of her incredible online shopping skills, the pantry had outgrown itself. More and more, we were both feeling the need to make room for the pounds of dried shitake mushrooms, bulk teas and spices, sea vegetables, whole grains for sprouting and grinding, and quality decaf coffee. And as part of her medicine woman magic, Kiva had created so many herbal vinegars, oils, honeys, salves, tinctures, herbs for Wolf’s infusions and fermented drinks that every available shelf and cranny was overflowing.
As hard as it was to accept the role or trust my abilities, I had by then accepted the blessing of being an excellent cook. Even though everything I had valued when I was growing up had one way or another been stripped from me, after arriving in the canyon I was somehow able to accept and believe in the reality of a kitchen of my own, in a home that no one would ever take away. I’d taken in the blessings of love, and all the gifts and skills I’d been working so hard to develop. What I continued to have trouble with was the shift in self image that came with my engagement with the real world beyond hope and imagination, with any alteration in what I knew and believed, with the onset of my first white hairs and the uninvited lines on my face. What I had the hardest time accepting, I realize, was the gift of change.
When I sat down with Resolute to first envision the possibilities, I was as excited as a little kid! At a deeper level, change still felt like a threat to the integrity and form of all that I cherished. It seemed like the waves of the ocean trying to pull me from the rock solid world I cling to. Loving this dear wilderness sanctuary, change could mean a fire that would burn down the forest we live in and the native species we’d restored. Finding true love, change could mean getting less of that love if not losing it altogether. Aging seemed like a change from life in the direction of death. On the other hand, my teaching of Animá has meant seeing not only the value of change, but the necessity. Changing the way genders relate, and mothers teach their children. Changing the way we treat ourselves as well as the earth. Changing society from a fear and war based paradigm to a community of cooperation and caring. Growth is change, as is wising up, and growing stronger. Improving is change as much as loss or damage, and accepting change was for me an important improvement.
From the time I gave my blessing to the project, it wasn’t long before Wolf cut out the section of the wall separating what had been the dining room. With every layer of old carpet and linoleum I helped pull up, I felt us getting closer to our vision of what the kitchen could be: an oasis of beauty and inspiration, nourishment and satisfaction. As I write this, we’re still waiting for help with counters and cabinets… but with the newly laid tile, it already feels so beautiful I just want to light candles, burn sage, drink tea on the floor and admire it. I want to polish the silver trim on the old cookstove, cover the plastic water jugs with pretty Indian tapestry material, replace the old trash cans, and start using a more attractive compost bucket that Wolf got. I intend to find pretty gallon jars to fill with my many treasures of grains, beans and pickled wonders and clean out all the existing cabinets. I’ll go through the pantry and sort out anything that doesn’t belong, and make (and then keep!) everything as nice as this rose-tinted tile floor.
In this profound evolution of the kitchen I see a mirror of my own personal shifts. I give myself credit for overcoming my resistance and embracing the changes that were happening in my life and home. For letting go of attachment to the way things were. For accepting the help of so many loving people in this concerted effort, when some part of me wishes I could do it all on my own and not trouble anyone. For finally getting to a place in my life where I feel worthy of such blessings, and for being committed to maintaining, treasuring and honoring this kitchen for the temple that it has always been but is now so much more, now. For being able to deeply appreciate the changes and for being as thrilled as always about those things that remain the same: the view out the windows, the wind that flows through, the dancing fire in the hundred year old cookstove, the food in the pantry, the curvy counters, antique cookware, drying canyon herbs, precious canyon stones, handmade lace and knickknacks…and for the unchanging love I feel every time I cook a meal.
Next I will learn to welcome other alterations of my daily existence and maybe even the appearance of the beautiful white hairs that once gave me fits… accepting the ways in which change can be a progression, a healing and a gift.
-By Loba (www.animacenter.org)
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Categories: Loba Hardin -Writings, Loba's Loving Kitchen, Understanding & Practicing Animá
