To cook

Miscellany

I am nestled comfortable writing on the laptop; I must honest be - I do quite love writing with pen on papyrus, paper. Yet, the laziness that I am; I never get to relaying the same to the digital medium, and so instead I write on the laptop directly, and this too is quite an adventure in writing!

Anyways,

If it don’t come easy, you need to let it go. - Coyote

Creative Turning

It has helped me immensely to find out that cooking is an art form and reflective of creativity. In her book on going beyond anxiety, Martha Beck suggests -

First address and allay the anxiety, then proceed to do at least one creative act per day; that is the way beyond anxiety. (paraphrased by me!) - from her talk here-

Anyways, she’d tried this out herself and says it worked wonders. For me, though everyday does have a measure or the other of creativity a more fundamental question arises:

What is anxiety?

I mean, really, what is it?

I feel pretty swell through-out most days, however upon encountering certain situations with certain people, or each of these two elements individually I notice my body freezes up, or heats up, or basically does something that is SO discomforting and discomfitting that I start to really fret, like -

What is WRONG WITH ME?

Is this anxiety? Then, it seems true what appears as the signal behind this message:

Anxiety is the price we pay for freedom. - Melissa Berstein

In which case, how does one sit with, live with such a paradox?

Musing

So, am I to believe that throughout most of my day I am actually in a state of unsubstantiated or ungrounded bliss, following which even a slight deviation from baseline causes me to fret intensely, insistently and reliably enough that I begin to believe that there is something fundamentally the matter with me?

Or do I go the other route and say that all the alarms and signals coming up just point out for me ways in which to further my own training upon myself? That the bad parts of the experience are the most juicy and flavorful in that they show me what it is that stops me from… well infinte bliss?

Is this a feature or is this a bug?

Do I proceed in fixing this or do I enjoy the reminders that this after all is not heaven?

The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true Poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it. — William Blake, The Marriage of Heaven and Hell

The End

It is all evil,
I shall ensure that they all die and suffer.

Call me what you like,
I am above all this meaningless clutter.

I truly am here to cause your demise-
Fear me, for I hold the key!

Call me the love of your life,
or the apple in Eve's eyes; nonetheless -

You are now mine.
Hark!,

No, we must parry; and save and protect the
blessed beauty and the mercy-

For the dark is profane,
None who venture forth may live to persist.

Come, let us pray,
Let us hold hands and sing;

That this darkness may finally leave us-
for the world is all good and all light,

And this is the only truth.
Ah!-

There is Only One Truth,
This Dust, hurts us.

Love, always,

Raghav

or emptycloud@ybl if india!