A New Year of Flavours

It’s a new year.

This one, for me, is raw and unformed, like an egg fresh out of its shell.

There is much to be hopeful for.

There are some regrets and losses, some patterns that have outgrown their psychic usefulness, and new, more open ones waiting to be formed.

There is still a war, several in fact, and my country still involved, for reasons of greed and political ambition.

There is an academic workplace I’m part of, too much like a corporation with a supporting layer of exploited workers, and an upper crust of privilege, too much like an aristocracy.

There are students and colleagues with the constant and endless possibilities that an intellectual community and the life of the mind can provide.

There is the life of the senses, replenishing and renewing: the sight of snow falling on new year’s day;
the silky feel of cherries sliding off a tree into a bowl;
the smell of breaded oysters frying in a pan;
the sight of my mother’s aged hands making mushroom dumplings for the Christmas eve meal;
the reassuring sound of coffee bubbling in the morning, on a small espresso maker on the stove.

Some small wishes and hopes for the new year…

New flavours
new cooking skills
flirtation, sexiness, who knows, maybe even love
the resolve to keep trying to change things for the better
more time with my ma
a return to the breath, to the occasional wisdoms and insights of meditation
more books and ideas
community
friendship
travel
sensuality.

Happy new year.

May its flavours be varied and intense, and may all your food be made with love.