hullo
i recommend searching on the internet for recipies
coz you can always elaborate
but this is what i cook
(for one person)
soak 1/2 cup of mung beans over night
pour out and rinse
(three times a day if you soak them and then don’t get around to
cooking til later)
prepare the spices in a cup:
1 teaspoon of salt
1/2 t of coriander
1/2 t of cumin
1/4 t of fennel
1/4 t of cardamom
pinch of asafotedia (Hing)
have 2/3 t of tumeric ready
cut 1/2 ginger root into tiny bits (or grate)
cut one carrot into bite size pieces
measure out 1/4 cup of basmati rice
start boiling some water in a tea kettle
put the pot on the stove you want to use (make sure there’s a lid)
low flame
add one Tablespoon of Ghee or coconut oil (or other oil of your
prefrence)
when it’s all melted (or warm enough)
add the spice mixture and ginger
stir intermittently
when it starts to bubble slightly (about a minute)
add tumeric
after about fifteen seconds more
add the rice and mix it into the paste thoroughly
then turn up the flame to medium
add carrots and mung beans
mix in
and pan fry for a minute or two
then add the water
just enough to cover everything about an inch
mix well
and cover
high heat till it starts to boil
then turn to low
and let simmer for an hour or so
then stir well
mush it all up
and if you want it to be more liquidy
add more water
leave lid on and let cool for fifteen minutes or so
good to garnish with fresh cilantro
fresh raw ginger
and cyane pepper
—
also cooks very well in a pressure cooker
or let cook for hours in crock pot
very flavourfull
— tell me your results!
Oh, everything i’d like to say…
there is, of course, too much
when i left Bangor
i made it to Acadia national park rather quickly
there was some thick traffic
so i decided to pull off at a little rest area
where there were two old men in cars waiting…
i walked through the woods a bit
and i hadn’t had sex for about a week
so was feeling horny
one walked up to me
seemed very tired/dopey/bored
not hard at all
i kinda thought the experience was fun because of how odd it seemed
but he wasn’t into it and i wasn’t into it
(nothing much happened)
and he walked off
whereupon
i got into the tree
and imagined myself making love to the forest
just enjoying the sexual energy swirling around me
and then into my mind crept a friend i met recently
of whom the sexual energy was quite strong
mainly because we’d not been able to have it…
— see, i’ve often found that
with relationships
the spark of sex can fire a lot
but if you just culminate quickly
well…
the tension
the attraction
the magic of the art of making love
is lost
that is
you could make love for YEARS
toying
coying
teasing
writing letters
phone calls
oh, this can get quite tyring
and, honestly
i don’t indulge in it very often anymore
but this man, because of circumstance
(as i’m trying to yank his pants off after we’ve fallen off the couch)
“i’m in a monogamous relationship” (though his boyfriend was on the
other side of the country…)
i’ve been dealing with that a lot lately
that is to say
Men
and their Lovers
which i step between
and worry about burning them, or their lovers, or myself
and being gentle with it
feeling guilty
reticent
i step slowly
i feel already that i’ve damaged relationships
though at the begining
(and this was a few years ago)
i remember thinking that it was OK
that is
(as a friend once put to me: “jealousy is the feeling when you know you
could be better for that person than who they are spending their time
with)
the relationship wasn’t something that i really resptected for it’s
content
(which i didn’t understand)
but only for it’s form
that is, that it was a relationship of a man whom i did love and
respect
and only felt tender towards his lover because of my love for him
(my how i digress)
and lessons!
i learned that just because a lover of mine loves someone else
does not mean that this second person would be at all good for me
the art of deliberation
i have been building that mechanism
(i’m tired, let me refocus)
SO
i was in the forest
and this new friend of mine pops into my head
and he becomes the energy of the forest…
i’m on the road into the park
and have been wrestling with time…
i had expressed the intention to ride a ferry
to see the coast of Maine
which is quite wrinkly
and best seen from the water
i was told
my first try, in portland, i walked towards it
kept going to little places along the way
being distracted
got to the boat: missed the last one.
hmmm
drove two days
with intention to catch it in Rockland
got there very early in the day
so i went looking for books
and book stores
and keep being distracted on my walk to the docks
i walked up as the last ferry was pulling away.
(grrrrr)
so
Acadia:
i drove in a rush down to Bass Cove
and got there just in time
(with a little time to spare)
and jumped on the ferry
grabbing a book ( i had recently bought)
and a jacket (just in case the sea breeze was cool)
and some water and nibbles
got on the boat
it was a beautifully clear day
and high tide
nice kids
friendly people
i clamboured out on the rocks on Swan’s island
and found a place to sit and read
taking off most of my clothes
basking and baking myself in the sun and the hot rocks
water receeding
finding star fish and seeing barnacles lick the water
and see urchins!
strange black things that flocked on the surface of the water in the
tide pools like fleas…
i got absorbed…
reading “Song of Myself” to myself outloud
being with Walt Whitman again!
inspiring so much in me
i was filled with inspiration by my new friend yet again
who inspired me to get this book (though i have had many copies in my
day of “leaves of grass” i have never read this poem)
so many ideas came into mind:
being an american–
how beautiful!
we have escaped the past
we have run from the past and out ran it!
we are free!
free to be wild and dirty
free to be lusty and open and loving
playful
free to enjoy
free to explore
what happened to america?
— i read a book last week, first night in the van in maine… on the
side of a road, dirt, against the trees, faraway.. but still littered
with trash
i read a book called “Faraway Places” by Tom Spanbauer
(he wrote “the man who fell in love with the moon” which dragged me
through life in a whole new way that was very enriching… i read it
two years ago and have been looking for this one, his first, since)
i read it entirely that morning
when i woke
bleary
at dawn
the book is only 130 pages
it’s climax crashed me to a shuddering yeping mess
which is impressive:
i’ve not cried like that in YEARS
possibly ten.
no no .
seven.
yes.
anyway
one of the most heartwrenching things in the book
was his way of showing how america wasn’t about being free at all
through the eyes of an innocent child
(well, not so innocent… but 12 years old)
so
whitman
america?
run away from the past?
WHAT?
run away from God.
God.
once i was god.
then i was the universe
then i was the earth
then i was man and woman
which beget which beget
i was a million things
and have fragmented to six billion
who am i anymore?
if i run away from my past as being a one omnipotent being
and run into my present
here i am
surrounded by myself
God in everything
God as everything.
living as god as everything
of course of course
but LIVING it.
well, it’s a feat ,indeed
i have often thought it
but often my life lives differently.
life is strange
and for some it is about one thing
and others it is about many things
and some just see god clearer
i am someone who didn’t really know about god
didn’t really know about love or jesus or any of that
when i was a kidd
i was only aware of the earth
i guess i come from a lineage of beings that was animals
or faeries
or wizards
something
i don’t know where i come from
i ran away from my past
i’m an american…
but aside from all of that
i’m on this rock on the island
thinking about god
and myself
and love
and inspiration
boundaries
and the ferry pulls in
i think to myself
>>oh, i’ll just catch the next one<<
it was another hour of reading and thinking and writing in my journal
when i realized
that was the last ferry…
but another one came in an hour later!
so i ran to it
and got to it
to hear
"nope, not going back tonight"
that was the night of the Black Out.
i watched the tide for HOURS
i watched the sky and the water
i watched.
i breathed
i could not sleep
it was too cold and damp
i was awakened
i had matches
but everything was wet
i could not light a fire
the tide went out
the tide came in
i woke
(trying to sleep, just crunching up into a ball)
feeling no remorse
just knowing
i really need to learn this lesson about time
i always forget…
i sang to myself
as the sun began to rise
i ran across the island
through the forest
getting very wet
but not too lost
to find the sun
breathing hard
and exhausted
OH
the library is closing
i must be off
perhaps when i write next
i will be more focused
see you then..
So i woke up this morning parked behind Little Lad’s bakery factory in
East Corinth Maine
i met Larry, the guy who (kinda) runs it
last week in Portland
he invited me to come up and trade my van for his pick up
which i will not be doing
it doesn’t have cruies control
and is quite beaten
— i need my comfort right now more than ever
i feel it’s a hearlding to when i’ll be settled in a Home somewhere
( my wanering days are over? )
so he woke me up this morning
but only a few hours after i intitally woke
i didn’t put up the curtains last night
and the dawn stirred me to waking
though, at times like these, i always think of the rumi poem:
the breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you
— don’t go back to sleep
you must ask for what you really want
— don’t go back to sleep
there are people going back and forth across the door sill
where the two worlds touch
the door is round and open
— don’t go back to sleep
but you know what? i often do.
this morning, the sun wasn’t really up yet, just the light through the
sky
and i was cold
turning over and over on myself
as if IN on myself
i pulled up the old sleeping back over my red sheet and fell back into
dreams
i dreamed and dreamed
like swimming in honey
even though this doesn’t, perhaps, give me the type of clarity that
Rumi speaks of
that i know i need
it gives me a type of comfort
more than food
more than random sex or alchohol or pot
i love dreaming
but i’ve not been able to remember my dreams lately
— i always get woken
so i hear larry calling out my name
and it pulls me out of where i was
(walking a path on a beach? in a forest? i’ve been doing this for a
week or many in my dreams lately… )
and i go to take a shower
and do some yoga
(loving myself)
then sit to eat with the family
three bright happy kids
a vegan family
totally terrified of all animals products
“DISEASE!”
which makes me sad
i mean
anything and, hmmm, everything could kill you
but what’s the point of living trying to side-step death?
it’s such a boring occupation
that is
it wears you out with its futility
however, i don’t mind being healthy
living to be healthy
while we’re here
to enjoy it as much as possible
but to make those choices out of fear instead of pleasure
i think THAT’s poison
still, i am in no position to judge
i am still quite scared of many things:
last night, reading “Coraline” by Niel Gaiman
and seeing this hard working mother
with three children and another on the way
aneimic
sore tired throat
tired eyes and nerves
i got really scared of love
possesive owning manipulitave controlling dominating devouring
love
sometimes this fear comes back to me
the monsters in the dark
the fear of the one who loves you
i SEE it sometimes
which is what keeps the fear alive
i have not found the sword to slay this dragon
and imagine that some king i encounter on my journey will be the one to
give it to me
ney, slay it with me
but what do i know of the future?
so anyway
i got on the road after pouring my Kombucha into bottles
but too uneasy about their beliefs on health to ask them if i could
even make tea in their kitchen
as a few days ago
i got to bangor because i gave this guy Joe a ride
i also didn’t want to make tea in his kitchen
because he was SO sad
51, been travelling his whole life
mostly walks
though his ankle randomnly shattered this year
he’s still at it
wants to die
tried killing him self many times
his own son killed himself
Ugh!
such self loathing
but more, negligence
i was happy to give him a ride
to hear that song
see that mirror
cook him miso soup
(beet, turnip, carrots, burdock, and daikon)
make him tea
share with him healing herbs that could possibly heal his failing Leo
lungs (a forever smoker)
but couldn’t quiet my mind nagging me about pouring my love into
hopless vessels…
that is
i always feel so much better when i am helping other people
while helping myself at the same time
loving as a joint project, you understand
and it seems easier to help people like this
because they need help in EVERYTHING
where as many only need help in little things
and are not only unaware of what they need help in
so unable to ask
but also, very often, unable to recieve
(blink)
which i am well familiar with
so no tea in that kitchen
(laughs)
don’t want to culture that story into the next two weeks.
but one more note about last night
i was in the bakery kitchen a boy said
“hey, i’ve met you before… yes i have… and i remember where:
heartwood, in the mountains of northern california”
it is a small world
and i was happy to see the light in his eyes upon recognition
and how he instantly opened up and offered his house and meadow for me
to park in, sleep in, whatever
but he wasn’t there this morning when i called to see if i could make
tea there
(laughs)
so i’m now in Bangor
back at this cafe
after having just bought new thicker oil for the Van
hopefully to clean and stop her leaking
writing this
sending it out
then on to Bar Harbour
and then to New Brunswick
and then Quebec city?
… eventually over to Montreal
where is the place i’ll probably next have internet access
could write these tales forever
i was writing something similar in my journal last night
a list of when i was loved
by myself and those i’ve met recently
and, like recalling dreams, each segment sparked earlier memories and i
just kept writing and writing past the sunset, past the misquitoes on
my hands, past the candle going out and being lit again
the many sticks of Incencse eli gave me that i thought might dissuade
the flies
until i was woken from my writing revelrie by Larry
again
to drive my van into the telephone pole to straighten out the bumper
the old fashion way
which brings me back to Doe
where i fell asleep
and woke up cold in the early dawn
pulling the old speeping bag over my red flannel sheet
and drifting back into dreams
which is
i’m sure
where i’ll see you next
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