One True Thing

I am walking down a dirt road on a blustery December morning.  The sky is dark and heavy with clouds.  The road is dark from yesterday's rain.  The woods, too, are somber shades of gray and brown, fading into gloomy shadow off to my right.  The only color in the winter light are mounds of emerald moss and pale lichens clinging to the north road bank, rusty clumps of sedge grass and a few dull green cedars shaking their shaggy arms in the wind.

My footsteps make a steady rhythm against the earth, my mind floats hither and yon above.  I am all alone, and wondering.

Solstice is approaching, and right on its heels, Christmas and the new year.  Now, when days are short and shadows long, while nature rests, inner life blossoms.  This is the time for introspection - a solitary pursuit - hopefully to gain new perspectives and firmer resolve for the coming year.  But it is also a time of joining together; of gathering in groups large and small to celebrate, to spread cheer and fellowship.

Introspection is easy enough, though sometimes painful, but joining together in more than the physical sense seems nigh impossible.  I need not mention all that divides us; anyone with eyes can see.  How can peace and good will prevail?

Religion doesn't get us there.  Instead it creates smaller and smaller factions, each one claiming to be the only true path.

Science, too, has failed, for even the most learned scholars can't agree on their facts.  What we call truth often rests on shifting sand.

If not faith or wisdom, what is left that can join us?  Love comes to mind, though human love wears many colors and often proves false.  Pure love is something we aspire to; the head may grasp the idea, the heart may respond, but the will yet fails.

So we struggle onward, all alone together, separate but intertwined like twigs on the same tree, poking and scraping one another, railing at those who cross us, gloating when the enemy falls.

This is necessary, this strife, in order to learn and grow.  How fast we progress is up to us, but eventually the two largest branches of our family tree - science and religion, wisdom and faith and all their myriad crisscrossing twigs - must join, for without wisdom there can be no love, without love, no wisdom.

I carry these thoughts home with me and let them rest as I go about my day.  In the afternoon I walk again, this time on a path through the woods.  The sky is still gray, though several shades lighter, and the wind is buffered by the trees.

Suddenly the clouds part and a ray of sun streams through.  I walk into the light, watching damp leaves begin to glisten.  A feeling comes over me and I stop a moment, waiting for my thoughts to catch up.

Light is the purest thing I know.  Nothing can hide in its radiance.  Darkness bows before it, all dross is burned away.  Light sacrifices itself endlessly so that we might live.  Without it we perish.  Light illumines our thoughts and warms our heart, bringing head and heart together, healing division by its truth and purity.

Holy Light, Light of the world, born at the darkest time of year; scorned, rejected, misunderstood, yet waiting still.  Precious gift!  You confront us with humility and grace in the smallest of ways, waiting for us to be ready to receive you.  Crystals glitter on the sleeping earth, starlight falls through the cold winter skies, touching the white breath of animals as they step gingerly through frozen fields.  The lights of Christmas are a reminder, softening the harsh angles of life, softening hearts and mellowing thoughts so, even though the world still struggles and suffers, for a brief time we can feel the Light's power, bringing us together in peace and good will.

Punkins, Petals and the Pot o' Gold

Kitchen Alchemy with Sis Shortrib

Children, roll up your sleeves.  We are raising food preparation to an art form.  We are using food as our medicine.  We are taking a teeny, tiny foray into Alchemy, the ancient art of using plants to create medicine.  Our Pot o' Gold holds a symphony of notes carefully blended to bring health and harmony to those who partake.  So, let's assemble our orchestra.

You'll need a pie punkin, organically grown as all the ingredients MUST be, else you are defeating the purpose and wasting your time.  It can be a large or small punkin, depending on how many folks you want to feed.

1.  Cut a circle out of the top and trim off the strings, then take out the seeds and strings from the inside and feed 'em to the chickens.  Waste not, want not.

2. Use a knife and a spoon to scrape out as much of the punkin flesh as you can without cutting clear through.  We don't want our pot to spring a leak.  While you're scraping, you can ponder how punkins are ruled by the moon, as are squash, cucumbers and most melons.  Moon plants are cooling, nourishing and moisturizing.  Think of the dew drops falling at night with the moon shining on them.

            "Penetrating into the earth, I sustain all creatures by my strength,

             By becoming the moon full of juices, I nourish all plants."

             [Bhagavad Gita, 15:13]

Set the punkin, its top and the flesh aside.  For the rest of the symphony, gather the following:

Sun:  A few fresh or dried calendula blossoms.  If you don't have 'em, use chamomile, or better yet, both.   A little fresh ginger root, grated or sliced thin.

Mercury: 2 or three stalks celery, chopped; 1 carrot; a few sprigs of fresh parsley and about 2 or 3 teaspoons toasted caraway seed.  Get the freshest smelling caraway you can find and toast it over medium heat in a frying pan, stirring all the while till a wonderful roasted smell hits your nose.  Remove to a dish, let cool, then grind in a nut and seed grinder.  A coffee grinder works good.  If you don't have one, get one.  O' course the Alchemists of old would've used their mortar and pestle, and if you have one and have a mind to, use it.  Most of us has gotten lazy.

Venus:  1/2 apple, peeled and sliced; a handful of fresh or a Tbs. dried rose petals.  Do NOT use roses from a florist!  They are highly toxic.  Make sure your roses are untreated in any way and try to get the kind that smell good.  4 or 5 dried hibiscus flowers.  Buy them at a health food store.

Mars:  1 or 2 onions, chopped; 1 clove garlic, diced; 1 chili pepper.  It don't have to be a real hot chili.  We ain't aiming to scorch ourselves, just add a little warmth.

Jupiter:  A little freshly grated nutmeg.

Saturn:  1 large mullein leaf, or if you can't find one, use 6 pansy flowers, or a little plantain herb from your yard.  Everybody's got plantain growing nearby, learn it and use it!  If you can't find that either, then the caraway seed will have to do, as it's ruled by Saturn as well as Mercury.

Now then, put a pan of water on the stove, about enough to fill 3/4 of your punkin. Turn on the heat.  While it's heating, put your calendula and chamomile in a bit of old dish cloth or muslin and tie it up with dental floss.  And while you're at it, think about how old that water is in your pan; 4.6 billion years, so they say.  Think how many places it's been - racing down rivers, sailing in oceans, risin' up into the clouds and fallin' to earth again, millions of times, all over the globe.  It's been dew and mist, snowflakes and ice, steam rising from hot springs, in wells and fountains and in the leaves of plants and some places we d'ruther not think about.  And now, to your good fortune, it has landed in your cooking pan.  Oh wonderful water!  Be thankful for it, 'cause many folks on the planet don't have clean water to drink.

When the water's boiling, toss your bag of herbs into it, along with the ginger.  Hallelujah!  We have just added the gold to our pot, as the sun rules these herbs, and its metal is gold.  Think of golden sunlight, Leo the lion, the heart beating in the center of your chest and the sun being the center of the solar system.  All our sun plants are warming, yet anti-inflammatory as well.  That's the power and beauty of the sun.  Take the pan off the heat, put on the lid and let it steep.

Get out your frying pan and put a couple tablespoons olive oil in it.  Turn on the heat.  Drop in the chopped celery, carrot and parsley.  We are adding Mercury and toning our nervous system, enlivening our minds and bringing clarity to our thoughts.

Stir the pan and add the hibiscus.  It is the flute in our orchestra, light and lively, with a sprightly, citrus flavor. Next add the sliced apple and rose petals.  These are Venusian plants.  Venus harmonizes all the notes into a pleasant melody.  And we all know the rose is the flower of love.  Inhale the scent as it hits your nose and feel your heart expand.

Stir some more, then put in the onion, garlic and chili pepper.  Huzzah huzzah, now the cymbals is clashing, for we have just added Martian fire to invigorate ourselves.  We want courage and strength, we want vitality, and Mars has those things a'plenty.

Next comes the grated nutmeg, ruled by Jupiter.  He's a jolly fellow, expanding our outlook and raising our spirits.  Jupiter loves good food and drink, and by adding nutmeg we boost our appetite, our mood, and some say the libido as well, so breathe deep.

Last we come to Saturn, who rules the skeleton.  Mullein and plantain help strengthen the bones, but if you don't have them, don't fret.  The caraway will do, as it is ruled by Saturn as well as Mercury.  Caraway adds the bass note to our symphony; a deep, mysterious spice, with wonderful digestive properties.

Stir it all good, and let it cook a bit.  Now fish out the sack of calendula and chamomile from the pan of water, squeeze out the goodness and discard.  Put your vegetables in the pan, heat it to the boil, then simmer a good while till its soft and well done.  Puree it all in a food processor or blender, till its smooth, add some salt and pepper to taste, and, if you want it richer, a pat of butter or a little cream.  Then, children, pour it into your punkin and serve your Pot o' Gold.  Blessings on the meal.

The Dark Horseman

Do you ever feel a prickle at the back of your neck and glance over your shoulder, certain you are being followed?  That's because you are.  A dark horseman rides in the shadows, always present yet seldom noticed.  You might see the flutter of a long, flowing cloak as the breeze stirs it, or hear the muffled sound of horse's hooves striking the earth.  Maybe a faint melody catches your ear (or is it a bridle's ring?) evoking thoughts that dissolve before they form.

Sometimes, in a quiet moment, a ray of remembrance lights the horseman up and recognition dawns.  Of course!  He is the past, the bearer of all your yesterdays, bound to you with ties that can't be severed.  His face is deeply etched and battle-scarred, his gaze direct and fathomless with the wisdom of the ages.  Vital and alive, his presence may make you uneasy, uncomfortable, ashamed, because nothing of you is hidden from him.

Then you notice his cloak.  Ah, his cloak!  It is a tapestry woven of many slender threads, in places beautiful to behold, with intricate designs and diamonds glistening throughout.  Other spots are dark and snarled, fraught with broken strands.  Seamlessly it flows down over the horse's back, down and out of sight.

Mostly you pay the horseman no mind, maybe wishing to forget he's there, but his influence touches you in myriad ways.  He is a thief, for he has stolen parts of you that can't be retrieved, and the loss leaves a hollowness deep inside.  He is your worst nightmare, charging at you with his sword drawn and whistling through the air, his horse thundering ahead as if demons pursued, eyes rolling and nostrils flared.  You cower in terror, certain you will be trampled, but the sudden prick of steel propels you forward; there is no other choice.

At times his sword is a beacon of light showing you the path ahead.  There, in the brilliant beam, you catch a glimpse of tomorrow; a rosy-cheeked young miss dressed all in white, only beginning to appear.

Comforter, faithful companion, puzzling enigma and mysterious stranger, all these things he is as well, but most importantly, the horseman is your teacher.  He is the firm foundation beneath your feet, offering you the gifts of memory, conscience and experience.  His wisdom can lead you into the future on a path straight and true instead of a zig-zagging course that veers hither and yon.

To learn from him he demands your attention.  He asks that you wrest yourself away from the present a bit, for today is the temptress, seducing with bright and flitting distractions, consuming time and energy in addictive ways, leaving you dissatisfied and reaching for more.  Enjoy the fruits she offers, but make wise use of her time, and save empty places here and there where her influence can't be felt.  Then the horseman will appear more clearly, bringing you countless revelations.

"Do not long for that which you have left behind," he whispers.  "It is right where it ought to be.  Do not mourn for the loved ones who've gone ahead on their journey.  They are waiting just around the bend and you will catch up to them bye and bye.  Remember this: love and gratitude are the wings that carry you up into higher vistas, you and the ones close to your heart, where sight grows strong.  Then you will see a huge army of horsemen, their cloaks flowing one into the other, marching forward into the future where all things must go, for good or for ill.  May you find the courage and strength to prevail over darkness and bring light to the world."

Ozark Potlikker 101

Original Recipe and Etiquette Tips

by Sis Shortrib, Ozark Alchemist

Get a mess o' greens.  Collards, mustards, turnip, kale, dandelion, nettle - whatever you like, it don't much matter.

Wash 'em good to get the grit out.

Now chop some onions and fry 'em up in hog fat, or you can use coconut oil if you've a mind.  Don't use vegetable oil - it'll kill you.  Not too much fat, but don't skimp neither.  A body needs it to soak up the vitamins.

Add the greens and stir about.  Add some other stuff.  Carrots, peppers, squarsh.  Add some more.  Stir again. 

Throw in a couple o' soup bones if you got 'em, and salt and pepper.  Left over beans if you're extra hungry, but don't use 'em if comp'ny's comin'.

Add a little water, put on the lid and simmer awhile.

Meanwhile, make a batch of cornbread.  Yeller's good, blue if you want to impress, and for the extry nutrition.  So they say.  Get organic corn unless your aim is to die sooner rather than later.  And for heaven's sake don't use one o' them trashy box mixes.  They're not fit for hog slop.  Best is to get whole corn and grind it fresh.  Corn meal goes rancid and gets bitter right quick.  If you've never used fresh ground meal, you've never had corn bread.  Corn meal, milk, one or two eggs, salt, baking powder or sody if you're milk's sour.  Sorghum molasses if you want sweetnin', some fat of your choice.  That's about it; any fool knows how to make it.

When everything's ready, fish out the bones and throw 'em to the dogs.  Ladle the potlikker and all into bowls.

Always have flowers on the table, even if it's a handful o' weeds snatched from the ditch.  It'll aid the digestion and feed the soul.

Now, on the cornbread, there's die-hard dunkers and hidebound crumblers.  It's more polite to use crumbles if you've got comp'ny.  Otherwise, sop it up however you please, but wear a big napkin.  Don't forget to say grace.

Defeating the Dragon

This is a story of plants, and of people, and a dragon, and how the magic powers in the first can be used by the second to defeat the third.

The dragon is a shape-shifter, taking on many clever disguises to hide his true intent.  We have all met him; some of us consciously, others through uneasy stirrings as he creeps along the dark passageways of our subconscious minds.  But enough of him for now.  First we need to delve into the plant world and gain a foothold there before facing the beast.  So, let us begin.

When we eat, we absorb macronutrients in the form of carbohydrates, fats and proteins, and mironutrients (vitamins and minerals).  Plant foods also contain hundreds of chemicals with fancy names which have profound effects on the body, mind and spirit.

If we look even deeper into a plant's composition, beyond the physical constituents, we come to its etheric energy or life force.  Plants are not intelligent in the way humans are, but they are living beings that communicate with each other and with the entire cosmos including soil, bacteria, fungi, viruses, insects, animals and humans, the sun, the moon, planets, constellations of stars, and probably many other subtle energies we know nothing about.  This continuous interplay is what makes magic happen.  All the stimuli absorbed by the plants is refined and transformed into powerful elixirs such as essential oils, antioxidants and polyphenols which can enliven our minds, bodies and spirit.  The more we use and consume these power plants, the more we feel their effects.

What are signs of a plant's power and intelligence?  Thorns, odors, sticky sap, downy or prickly leaves and bright pigments give us clues.  Wild plants growing in their natural habitat have the most power.  Next are domesticated plants grown naturally without chemical fertilizers or pesticides.

Now picture this:  a hydroponic tomato growing in a tube of liquid in a carefully controlled indoor environment, sucking up ready-made, perfectly balanced nutrient formulas and chemicals to control pests and diseases.  This is not an intelligent plant.  It's a couch-potato tomato, with no reason to exert itself to find and synthesize what it needs from the environment.

At the other extreme, we can study the Mediterranean rock rose, Cistus incanus, which grows in abundance on Sardinia, off the coast of Italy.

This little shrub survives and thrives under extremely harsh conditions, enduring severe drought, poor soil, high temperatures and sun exposure.  Cistus has developed a symbiotic relationship with a fungus that helps its roots absorb water and minerals from the soil and fights off other fungi.  This plant has the highest polyphenol content of any plant in Europe and is proving to be a powerful remedy for many serious conditions such as Lyme disease, cancer, retroviruses and more.

Thorns, sap and prickles may not sound appetizing to you, but you might be surprised at the deliciousness of gently steamed or simmered nettle leaves (heating destroys the sting) with lemon juice, salt, pepper and olive oil.  We need to educate our palates.  We need to be courageous.  The body knows what it needs to be healthy, and you will be rewarded for eating intelligent foods instead of overly processed fare made palatable with large amounts of sugar, salt and addictive chemicals.  You will begin to crave the bitter greens, the enlivening herbs and spices and the strong wild flavors, so rich and complex on the tongue.

This is not to say we should not eat plain, bland fare as well.  Too much of anything is not healthy.  We need balance in the diet; we need soft and gentle potatoes, mellow grains, the delicate flavors of cucumber and squash.

You may say that you are too old to make changes; too sick, too busy, too distracted.  You may say that it's too late to save the world, and what can one person do anyway?  But this is the dragon talking, and these are the very reasons we should eat better and live more consciously.  You may say you can't afford good food.  Then I say go out into your backyard and pick the chickweed and plantain, the nettle if you've got it, and eat those.  Dig the dandelion and burdock roots and eat them.  These foods will do you more good than anything you can buy at the store.

Diet alone is not enough to make us into strong, resilient warriors, but it is the foundation and the starting point of a healthy life.  Without proper nourishment we will never progress, never have the strength to overcome the dragon.  He has been called by different names in different times and cultures, but the important thing to remember is that he wants us to be sleepy so we don't clearly see what's happening in the world.  He wants us distracted by ever increasing towers of facts and data coming to us at lightning speed; more and more and more information that leaves us anxious, weary and confused.  He wants us to not think for ourselves so he can slyly insert his own thoughts into us while making us believe they are our own.  He wants our hearts to be disengaged from our minds, so what we think is dry and dusty, without the warmth and fire of human enthusiasm.  He wants us to be separated into smaller and smaller groups, sects, religions and factions, each one pitted against the other.  Knowledge of his true nature is our weapon against him, and our will, fueled by a strong and healthy body, is our sword.

We eat to bring will forces into our limbs, enthusiasm into our hearts and clarity to our thoughts so we can become warriors for the good, the true and the beautiful.  We eat for our children, and our childrens' children, and for all the children to come into times more distant than we can imagine, because the future depends on the present.  We eat for those who have passed on before us, for they are as vital a part of the earth as those now in the flesh.  We eat so that one day the earth might become a bright and shining star radiating wisdom and love into the universe, instead of a darkened globe of misery and woe.  We eat in communion with each other and with all the kingdoms on earth and in the heavens, that we might truly become one.

Murder in the Garden, Redemption on the Wind

I wonder how many vegetarians and vegans who prefer a kinder, gentler diet realize how much killing is required to provide them with fruits and vegetables.

Gardens are five star restaurants for hungry creatures.  Deer, raccoons, armadillos, rabbits, birds, woodchucks, squirrels, chipmunks, mice and rats, foxes, possums, skunks, and in some places, wild hogs, all want their share.  If left alone, they will take it.

Varmints are canny, sly, relentless and brazen, possessing senses and instincts far superior to our own.  Intellect is no match for them.  Fences don't stop them, save for perhaps the deer.  Repellents are worthless.  Live traps may seem like a humane solution, but they're not.  Animals turned loose in unfamiliar territory often perish because they don't know where to find food or water or shelter, and must contend not only with predators, but with those of their own kind who drive them off.

In the garden, every species has its own modus operandi.  Raccoons break fruit canes to reach the berries.  They are excellent climbers and can strip a peach or pear tree in one night.  Armadillos love to dig in soft, moist garden dirt, exposing plant roots so they wilt and die.  Cotton rats tunnel under the soil, eating roots as they go; rabbits eat the tops, woodchucks eat everything.  Squirrels pick green tomatoes, take one bite and move on to the next one.

So - we are left with guns and traps.  All summer long the crack of the gun is an integral part of the nighttime symphony, adding a staccato note to the drone of cicadas, the rasping katydids and hooting owls and the soaring soprano coyotes.  Needless to say, hours of sleep are lost.  It is mostly raccoons and armadillos that fall under the gun, and an occasional woodchuck, rabbit or squirrel that won't be deterred any other way.  Mice and rats are trapped if they infiltrate the hoop house.  Foxes we do not kill, even though they can and do sneak under the fence and nab your favorite hen (it's always your favorite) in broad daylight, right under your nose, leaving only a pile of feathers and outrage that poor Sadie had to die in such a dreadful way.  Foxes will also eat fallen fruit, but they do a good job of keeping the rodent population in check, so we leave them alone.

It doesn't feel right, all this killing.  But what are the alternatives?  We can get in our cars and drive to the supermarket, peruse the aisles of brightly colored produce, so perfect and blemish free, so benign, so good for us, and not think about what went into growing it.  We can virtuously buy meat alternatives in attractive plastic containers, made mainly of wheat, corn and soy grown on vast tracts of land maintained by huge diesel machines that kill and maim thousands of ground nesting birds and animals, often spraying chemicals that sicken everything including the farm workers.  There are vegan cookies and breads and ice cream; highly processed treats made from the ubiquitous corn, soy, oats, wheat, vegetable oils  and sugar in its various forms.  If you eat eggs, there are eggs from "free-range, contented hens fed a 100% vegetarian diet".  What?  Do they instruct their chickens to not eat any insects, reptiles or rodents while they are free-ranging?

I took a road trip not long ago from Missouri to Ohio and was shocked to see nothing but field after field of corn and soybeans.  Almost no pastures with grazing cows, or hay fields, or farm ponds with red wing blackbirds perched in the cattails.  Is this healthy?

Diversity equals health, we are told.  Nutrition experts advocate eating at least 40 different plant foods per week, avoiding antibiotics unless absolutely necessary, not using antibacterial soaps so that our microbime - the type and amount of microbes inhabiting every part of our body - is as diverse as possible.  This gives us a healthy, robust immune system.

Can we not see the earth as having its own microbiome, made up of humans, plants, animals and minerals, all adding to the health and well being of its inhabitants?  The same holds true for a farm.  I know of some vegans who believe we should do away with all domesticated animals, and this makes me sad, because it illustrates how divorced we've become from nature.

 A farm takes cooperation and sacrifice from all that dwell there.  The sun and the stars pour down their sacrificial light, which is taken up by the plants, who sacrifice themselves to the animals and to us.  The animals, in turn, give us sustenance and manure for compost which feeds the plants.  We humans are the intermediaries between the inspirations streaming down to us from the starry heavens and the teaming life force rising from below.  Through the sweat of our brow and our creative ideas we harmonize (or try to) all the raw materials:  soil, water, air, light, minerals, plants and animals into a farm that breathes and fluctuates with the rhythms of nature.  Our labor and our thoughts, which we send back upwards, are nourishment for the heavenly world, making the circle of sacrifice complete.

It's easy to lose sight of all this holy interplay when it's 98 degrees with no rain in sight, the armadillos are wreaking havoc in the blueberry patch and must be dealt with, everything needs weeding and mowing and watering, you're achy and tired to the bone and wondering what possessed you to pursue gardening as a livelihood.

But then there are misty mornings, or mellow afternoons, when the wood thrush flutes his liquid notes through the trees, the rooster is clucking excitedly over a worm he has found, the steers are grazing contentedly in the pasture, and you, with your hands in the good brown earth, the sun on your back and the scented, sentient air in your lungs, feel the rightness of what you are doing.  For a moment the inner loneliness that is the lot of all human beings melts away and you are enveloped in the Oneness, surrounded by the infinite love that is the heartbeat of creation.

Being a vegetarian is a noble thing.  It's never noble to kill, but one hopes that by providing quality food to hungry people, the killing is justified.  Truthfully, we are all destroyers of life in one way or another.  We can remove ourselves as far as possible from the unpleasantness, but someone has to pull the trigger.  We need to remember that, and respect and honor each other's choices.