In the kitchen, things are rather predictable.
The knife cuts the lemon the same way today as it did yesterday.
The tofu sizzles in the pan the same way it sizzles at home.
The strawberries have no moods, the plums' oxygen level seems to remain stable throughout the day.
Lately, I have been spending quite a bit of time in the kitchen.
My mom is 83 today.
I used to be afraid to ask questions.
Would I hurt someone's feelings? Would I be out of line?
There was an actual dread to whatever could come out of asking a question.
Now, I still recognize the ghost of that fear, sometime. It's familiar and it wants me to believe that it's real.
So I talk to it. I look at it in its beady little eyes and tell it that I am the boss, and not only that but that I am not alone. That asking a question and being ready for an answer is okay.
Then I take a breath, I connect with my heart, and I ask.
You can ask too.
SCARED OF THE SACRED