A minister once told me that there is enough material for a year's worth of sermons held in the moments of a single day. The trick is to pay attention.
Even a humble dish like oatmeal can hold a teaching, as I discovered the weekend before Christmas when I was leading a workshop on silence at the Kripalu Center for Yoga and Health.
It was my first time at The Center which is located in Lenox, MA, smack in the middle of the Berkshires. I had heard the food there was healthy and mainly organic, (Okay, one friend had advised me to pack snacks and a bottle of wine to have in my room.) but nothing prepared me for how absolutely delicious it was. And abundant. No need for a cache of snacks here.
The first morning, I helped myself to the baked oatmeal, one of the many dishes in the buffet. One bite and I was smitten. Hands down, the most fabulous oatmeal I have ever had. It was laden with nuts and fruit and spices, but there was more to it than that. Some secret ingredient, perhaps.
I told my students about it. At length. When I called home, I told my daughter about it. My husband had come along for the weekend and I talked to him about it so much, he finally said, "It's oatmeal."
When I was meditating, it was my mantra. I couldn't wait for breakfast the next morning. In short, I became obsessed. Nuttier than a holiday fruitcake. Have you ever been taken with a desire like that? It's no mistake that "bewitched," "haunted" and "possessed" are listed under "obsession" in the thesaurus. That kind of giving over of self to an object or person or a dish of oatmeal is a kind of dementia.
When I ran into one of the kitchen staff in the hall, I asked about it. He said there was a Kripalu cookbook in the Center's store and probably the recipe was there. In between sessions, I hit the store, only to find the recipe missing from the cookbook. One of the clerks in the store said to just go ask for it. He told me it was a family recipe of one the chefs.
After dinner, I encountered another of the staff and when I asked for it, he said, "We don't give out the recipes." He suggested I bring a pen and paper to breakfast in the morning and write down the ingredients which are always listed above each dish. I couldn't wait for morning.
At breakfast, I was ready, pen in hand, mission nearly accomplished. The Holy Grail of grains nearly in hand.
And oatmeal wasn't on the menu.
Sometimes I don't need to be hit up side the head with a sledgehammer to get it. The message was so clear, I laughed out loud. What better place to have a lesson in non-attachment than at a Yoga Center?
I was still laughing when, on my way to my class, I passed a chef. I stopped to thank her for nurturing us with such delicious food. Love the oatmeal, I tossed in at the end.
"You have to prepare it the night before," she said. "Beat the eggs and sugar and milk and add it to the oatmeal mix and let it set overnight. Then bake for 45 minutes in the morning."
Was it an accident that the moment I let go of my hunger for the recipe, it came to me so easily?
Enough moments in a single day for a year's worth of sermons.

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