Feeding the Hungry Ghost (24 page)

Serves 2

2 teaspoons canola or peanut oil

1 clove garlic, minced

1
thumb-size piece fresh ginger, peeled and cut into matchsticks

2 scallions, chopped

1 carrot, cut into matchsticks

1 stalk celery, chopped

1 red bell pepper, cut into matchsticks

1 cup shredded cabbage

4 ounces firm tofu, cut into bite-size cubes

2 tablespoons soy sauce

1 tablespoon Asian rice vinegar

1 teaspoon agave nectar or honey

1 teaspoon sesame oil

One 8-ounce package shirataki, rinsed well and drained

In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add the garlic, ginger, and scallions. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are fragrant and softened, about 2 minutes.

Add the carrot, celery, and red bell pepper. Cooking, stirring occasionally, until they become tender, 2 to 3 minutes more.

Add the cabbage and tofu. Cook, stirring occasionally to prevent the vegetables and tofu from sticking to the bottom of the pan. Cabbage wilts quickly, so this will only take 3 to 5 minutes.

In a small bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, rice vinegar, agave nectar, and sesame oil. Pour the mixture over the vegetables and tofu, and stir gently until evenly coated.

Add the shirataki and toss to combine. Cook, giving a gentle stir, until the sauce is mostly absorbed and the shirataki is heated through, a few minutes more.

Maybe ghosts really do spend their days directing us, in which case they’re as busy in the next life as in this one. No wonder
some of them get cranky. Or maybe the haunting is of our own making — regret or anger over the things we did and didn’t do, longing for what was, pain over what we want that can never be again. In either case, it is unfinished business.

It helps us to honor and commemorate the dead. It makes it easier for us. And who knows? Maybe it helps them, too. Who doesn’t like being remembered and showered with presents? But we have no proof a bottle of scotch or a handful of lychees tastes as good to a spirit as it does when you still have a physical self. Another thing being alive has going for it — there’s still time to buff over the rough spots in our personalities. There’s still time to make it right.

I don’t know what the dead need, but the living need at least two Hungry Ghost Festivals. The frantic approach of throwing booze at our ancestors in the hopes they’ll leave us alone reflects the way things are when you scrape below the surface — it’s all our raw feelings, our fears, our own hungry ghosts. The demure family get-together, complete with candles and squid, reflects a desire to draw around us those we love, now while we are still living, when we can clank around in our clever bag of bones, engaging with all our senses, from scotch’s medicinal tang and smoky notes to the spiced sweetness of lychees.

So do it now. Feed yourself and those you love. Or even those you like. It is summer, the harvest is bountiful, and we are alive.

GENTLE NUDGE
the
TENTH: BALANCING ACT

Sitting on my desk is a statuette of Ganesh, the Hindu elephant-headed god, god of the harvest and remover of obstacles. In many representations, Ganesh is seated, looking benign and slightly pleased with the universe — or himself. He is the god of success,
after all. My Ganesh is dancing. Or at least poised to dance. He is balanced on one foot, the other leg raised and bent, his arms extended in graceful waves, the position belly dancers call serpentine.

I’m a belly-dance dropout, but I, too, can balance on one foot. I often do this when on the phone or waiting in line at the bank or post office — it’s an easy way to multitask, it kills the time, it works the abs. I can balance when I’m still, but we’re not still, are we? We’re always moving.

Even when we’re at rest, our brains are active. Sometimes, they’re just willful. My brain regularly wakes from a semisound sleep around three in the morning and takes the rest of me hostage, treating me to a double feature of stupid things I’ve done wrong during the day and things I’m behind on and may never get to.

This does not encourage a return to sleep. It encourages hours of unproductive worry. I can get myself crazy and out of balance by lying absolutely still. It’s a talent I’m not especially proud of.

Balance is something we crave with our whole being. Balance does not mean blandness; it means stability. It is like the Tao symbol of yin and yang, two equal parts, light and dark, female and male, curled into each other to make a perfect circle, a completeness.

Perfect and complete are hard to keep up. We are made up of opposites, but when one side exerts more force than the other, we get knocked down — by life, by stress, by the nasty flu making the rounds in the office. We crave balance, but we’re not good at it. We work too hard at the expense of the relationships that sustain us — our families, our communities, ourselves. We’re running on empty, and we’re hungry, depleted. But we don’t stop; we keep bouncing and banging from extreme to extreme, from
starving to stuffing our faces. Again and again. Bad use of energy. And doesn’t it seem extreme and just the littlest bit, um, insane? The Hopi have a word for it —
koyaanisqatsi.
It means “crazy life.” It means “life out of balance.” Philip Glass composed a stirring musical score by that name. It is in turns frenetic and sonorous and moody and ominous. It is not the sound track you want for your life.

Even a hurricane, that convection of fury, has a center point of stillness. And that’s the trick. Finding balance means slowing down, finding that moment of stillness in the midst of the dance, that one thing we think we’re far too busy to do. I am sorry to say you cannot achieve balance with a pill or a Wii. But you can do it yourself. Meditate.

Meditation reminds us we are each a bright glow of energy but a small part of a very large world. It increases mindfulness. It refreshes the spirit and body. It’s proven to lower blood pressure and increase focus. And it’s hard.

What I once called meditating meant sitting with every muscle clenched, my face scrunched with anxiety, because the great cosmic answers were not coming to me. This is not what meditation is. It’s about allowing yourself to be, to accept who and where you are in the world right now.

I have to think of meditation as a marathon run by sitting absolutely still. It takes training, and it takes patience. On the upside, you don’t need any expensive gear. I have yet to get the promised runner’s high. Maybe next time.

Sitting silently with myself makes my brain go berserk with a million useless thoughts. I need to make some calls. Isn’t that the phone ringing now? My left leg is all pins and needles. It’s going to sleep. Or else it’s something dire. Maybe I’m having an aneurysm. How can you tell? Must do a Google search. Must check
my email, or I will die. Breathe. Jesus, I’m really in the zone now. Hours must have gone by. I open my left eye and check the clock. Actual time elapsed — forty-nine seconds.

The world will wait. It’s patient. I return to following my breathing, to clearing my brain. My brain should have its own yard sale — no! Don’t think yard sale. Don’t think. Just be. Just breathe.

You’ve got to be better at this than I am. Block out fifteen minutes for yourself. No phone calls, no interruptions. Find a restful place. Sit comfortably, quietly, your feet on the floor. Your chair, your couch will support you, the soles of your feet connect you to the energy of the whole benevolent planet. You’re being looked after, so let go. Close your eyes. Open your mind and your heart. Focus on your breath, the gentle rhythm of it, the rise and fall of your chest. It’s elegant, and you do it all the time without even appreciating it. Clever you. So while you’re sitting there, just send your body a message. Tell it thank you.

You do not have to do this forever. Just for now. Give yourself permission to do what we’re always saying we need to do — be here now.

While you’re in this receptive, meditative state, contemplate what you need in order to be balanced, what you need to thrive. Think about how you live and what you eat and what you can tweak to nourish your excellent body and luminous soul.

We can’t be conscious of the seasons of the earth until we are conscious of our own seasons. We can’t be stewards of the land when we’re not able to take care of ourselves. Meditation gives you a break from your busy, busy day so you can listen to yourself. What are you saying? You may not get an instant answer. Breathe. Relax. In time, it will become clear.

In the meantime, here you are. You are enough, you are
plenty. Because if you want to look at the larger picture (and I always do), harvest means more than what you pull out of the field. It is the reward you reap for effort expended; it is the sum of who you are right now. And you are a lavish harvest.

You wouldn’t think meditating takes energy — you’re just sitting there — but it does. And you want to fuel yourself properly. A bowl of oats provides a bowl of low-glycemic, heart-supporting, whole grain goodness that stops hunger in its tracks and can help you find focus. If all you know is instant, it is time to branch out and try the pebbly wonder of steel-cut oats. They require a longer cooking time but provide ample reward by way of satiety and a full, nutty flavor.

I have added goji berries, the wonder berry of the moment. They are another ancient gift we’re just discovering. People say gojis boost circulation, immunity, and liver function. What people don’t tell you is gojis are slightly sour and chewy. When cooked in with the oats, though, they soften in flavor and texture and become entirely more agreeable.

Steel-Cut Oats with Goji Berries

Now is a good time to get into that meditative, serene state. Steel-cut oats are not your basic rolled oats. They’re cut crosswise, so they’re pebbly, not flaky, and have oaten oomph. They also require twice as much water and twice as much time to cook. But they are delicious, filling, and fabulous for you.

Enjoy topped with flaxseeds, hemp seeds, chia seeds, nuts, any manner of berries or chopped fruit, dried or fresh, a lavish sprinkle of cinnamon, a drizzle of maple syrup, whatever pleases you. I know someone who enjoys soy sauce on his oatmeal, but he’s a genius and can get away with it.

Serves 2 (or Ganesh all by himself)

2 cups water

½ cup steel-cut oats

2 tablespoons dried goji berries

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon agave nectar or maple syrup

In a medium saucepan, bring the water to a boil over high heat. Add the oats and goji berries and cook, stirring occasionally, until the oats thicken, a few minutes.

Reduce the heat to low and cook, uncovered and stirring occasionally, until the oats and water magically coalesce to optimal creaminess, 20 to 30 minutes.

Stir in the cinnamon and agave nectar, then enjoy as is or lavish with toppings to your heart’s delight.

Anyone can tell it’s autumn
when the temperature drops and the leaves change color. In South Florida, a place not otherwise known for subtlety, the change in seasons is so slight, newcomers don’t even notice. You have to live here awhile to be awake to the way the light shifts, from bright and bleached-out to a softer sunshine that bathes everything in gold. The humidity lifts, and with it, our hearts.