Saturday, January 28, 2017

Routine or Ritual


I have been thinking about the difference between a routine and a ritual since yesterday morning. We all have routines, especially morning routines and fitness routines. Unfortunately, “routine” can have negative connotations; routines can feel like drudgery. I have several morning routines that I love, and I was thinking that they seem to have a ritualistic aspect. For example, I make myself a cup of Golden Milk, or turmeric tea, most mornings. I add ten ingredients, and it could feel like a chore, but it doesn’t: grinding spices and peeling fresh ginger, including a dollop of coconut oil, waiting until the spices have steeped for twenty minutes and have been strained to mix in the honey, heating the almond milk to not quite boiling. All of this takes attention and time, but instead of feeling long and boring it feels almost ceremonial. 

My morning routine preparing Golden Milk made me start thinking about the Japanese Tea Ceremony. I don’t know much about it, but it seems that the repeated gestures provide an opportunity to slow down and engage in mindfulness. Instead of rotating the teacup three times I am cranking the pepper grinder seven times. Each gesture is part of a pattern. While the spices steep I do my yoga, another routine/ritual. When the tea is ready I sit in a big chair with my feet on the footstool and hold the heavy blue cup in two hands, letting its warmth become part of me. I watch the sun rising through Black Spruce in the forest at the back of my yard. 

Later in the day, as I wander on my Hok Skis in that same forest, I have an epiphany: the difference between routine and ritual is mindfulness. Being in the moment of making the tea, not just rushing to get it done to drink it. The same is true for my fitness routines, the yoga in the morning and my walk or ski later on in the day. 

The forest is a white and black portrait; I am floating on two metres of snow. I stop and listen to the tangible silence. A crow flies above the path and caws; I can hear his wings beating against the gray air. 

Monday, January 2, 2017

Cold Heart


Stone hearted,
icy muscle,
pumping frozen feelings
through
lacy vessels
traced red and fine.

Hard-hearted,
yet fragile;
your heart would melt,
if only
you could get warm
again.