Madeleine cake, Japanese style

I just had a Proustian moment.

I was sitting at a bench, outdoors in the sun, lots of lovely spring sounds around me, and a smell of grass. The water lilies in the pond in front of me were just opening up to the sun.

I was having the miso soup that came with my take away sushi lunch, straight from the cup. I was enjoying it, very much, but suddenly I thought: "Why aren't there any little pieces of tofu in here?". Then I remembered that they never put tofu in the soup, and realised that it was a taste triggered memory. I was remembering the first time I had miso soup. It was in a lovely flat in Potsdam, outside of Berlin, round about this time of year, a couple of years back. I was visiting my then lover, an amazing man, quite a few years older than myself. I remembered how much he taught me. About me, about him, about people, about life, about food, about enjoying the moment, about living, about yoga, about sensuality, about crying, about laughing, about beauty, about minds, about bodies, about touching, about taking pleasure, about giving pleasure, about dancing, about courage, about work, about play, about giving, and about taking. I was better at certain kinds of giving than others, and certain kinds of taking than others, so there was a bit of an imbalance between the two of us.

At the time, I didn't have a very good idea of who I was, I as still finding out, and didn't take to kindly to his attempts at showing me these things, as I felt that he was trying to influence, change, me. I wanted to do the changing, the finding out, for myself.

Today, I can see how much he really did influence me. And what a good thing that is. That was a lovely spring. And lovely miso soup.

Every breath is unique

Lie on your back. Still. Perfectly still. Your body doesn't/can't/mustn't move. Inhale. Exhale. Calmly. You're not moving, it's not you breathing. The air is pressing/squeezing/seeping into your lungs as if though it wanted to go there/had its own will/on its own accord. It probes/wanders/lingers, visits every crevice/rounded surface/wet warm spot of the walls of your lungs. You experience how the air inside of you is part of/not separate from/the same as the air surrounding you. You are wrapped in/filled with/merging with the air. When you exhale, it's not you exhaling, it' s the air growing tired/curious/satisfied, moving on to a new pair of lungs. Soon, very soon, new air, previously unknown to you, will fill you/examine you/experience you, just like the previous air. Only different. It's not you moving through the air, it's the air moving through you. Lie still. Lie perfectly still. Let the air breath you.

Inhale. Exhale.

(Thanks BKS and CMIII)