My legs are getting fatigued in their yogic position. (Why do they call it "easy seated position", it is not that easy.) My mind wanders from its intent as I think about food noticing the pungent smells of turmeric, ginger, sucanant and other spices slip under the closed doors of our program room. I can hear the whispers of people in deep conversation as they pass by. Funi hands us each a tiny plastic cup, the size they give you in restaurants to take ketchup home in. She asks us to carefully lift the lid to look inside. The soft Oms of chanting music is humming in the background setting the mood for this exercise. We all stare into our cups. Simple. Now she asks us to make a choice from its contents. Smell it, feel it in your fingers. Nothing, yet. Now put it in your mouth, don't chew, just feel. It feels weird. I want to chew. Time ticks by, one minute, two minutes, seems like more. Now she instructs us to chew with one request... We must chew 100 chews! Do you know how long that takes? Class is dismissed for the evening.
Mary O, my roommate, and I walk slowly to our third floor room. My springtime green night shirt adorned with colorful fruit lay upon my neat, sparsely appointed bed with one flat pillow and a single white blanket folded at it's end. We rest. Mary reads.
At 5:00pm we dutifully walk to the second floor, cafeteria style, food hall. I show my badge, it says "Judi Window" with a little 5 circled depicting the number of visits to the Center. I carefully choose a fork, knife, plate, and blue bowl. I don't know why, I just always choose a blue bowl. I hesitate when I instinctively choose the non-vegetarian line. I am safe, within my comfort zone. I decide to move to the right, just this once, to see what I can see. My orange sarong scarf brushes the colorful, shatter proof, plates, I feel it in my hand as I quickly capture its remnant. Nervous to make a mistake, my eyes dart back and forth though the choices along what seems to be a quickly moving line of hungry people. I don't know what some of the words mean. Are they the name of the dish or of food? Are they ingredients? My mind feels hurried, I breath a deep breath and stop. It is only food. They are only people. I take my time. I choose to fill my bowl with Quinoa, some kind of beans, kale, a pinch of sunflower seeds, and a scoop of (what looks to be) eggplant with tomato sauce. There. Mary smiles. She knows.
We choose a seat near the door where only a few others have been seated. We talk about the time we came to meditate with Deepak Chopra. We've come a long way in 8 years and 5 visits.
