Published August 7, 2024
Beloved
This morning in meditation, I heard and saw a presence — I couldn’t tell whether it was a woman or a glow of clear light — uttering the word “beloved.” […]
This morning in meditation, I heard and saw a presence — I couldn’t tell whether it was a woman or a glow of clear light — uttering the word “beloved.” […]
There are so many ways I could begin this post. I could tell you about my recent spate of dark chocolate eating. I could tell you about my continuing spate of parmesan cheese eating. […]
I have a friend who dreads summer because of what she calls the unveiling of her body. Peeling off her clothes, she says, reveals “the horror of it all.” The back fat. The cellulite. All the new cellulite that mysteriously appeared over the winter. […]
Ever since I first saw pictures and statues of Kuan-Yin, the Buddhist goddess of infinite compassion, I’ve wanted to be like her. Not only is she gorgeous — the kind of woman my 13-year-old nephew would call “a babe” — but she also manages to appear utterly casual while sporting a tiara. […]
Listen, watch and learn from these fascinating conversations about writing, living, grace, and joy. […]
I bought thirty-six peonies yesterday at Trader Joe’s. They were having a sale and although my grandmother would have disapproved—she wouldn’t buy flowers because “they always die”—I decided that staggering beauty was at least as important as Greek yogurt. [ …]
In The House at Pooh Corner, A. A. Milne wrote that for Winnie the Pooh, “Although eating honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.” […]
When I was eight, my father gave me a copy of Death Be Not Proud, a book by John Gunther about the life and death of his son Johnny. By the time I turned the last page, and I say this in the kindest possible way, I’d become a bit of a hypochondriac and completely death-obsessed. […]
I’ve been accidentally eating two breakfasts a day for four months (which makes me like Frodo and Sam who had second breakfasts every day). […]
A few weeks ago, Matt and I went out to lunch at a beach restaurant. We ordered oysters. He got his exactly the way they were listed on the menu. I got mine with quite a few exceptions, and then apologized to the waitress for being difficult. […]
Until recently, I never used the word contentment; it seemed like asking too much. Also, the word itself seemed to imply smugness and being so satisfied with the way things were that there was no room for re aching or growing. Instead of contentment, I used the word happiness. But there was also a problem with that word as well. […]
This is my yellow purse of wanting. When a friend sent me its photograph, I thought (still think) it was beautiful. I imagined carrying it even thought I don’t carry a purse because most purses are too heavy and […]
When I first heard the Buddhist description of hungry ghosts — beings with stomachs as big as caves and throats as narrow as pins — I was positive I was going straight to hell as a hungry ghost. After all, this was an exact description of my experience with food. And not just with food, but also with life. […]
It wasn’t a cleanse, wasn’t a diet. It came in a big box with gazillions of packets—Matt called them dried lentils but that is a misnomer—comprising meals and snacks for many times a day (porridge, lattes, green drinks, broths). Had I eaten all the food they suggested per day, I would have eaten two or three times the amount I usually do. […]
I’ve been thinking about chocolate cake recently. To be precise, I’ve been thinking about what happens when a piece of bittersweet flourless Chocolate Decadence Cake arrives at a table where a few friends and I have agreed to share the dense, sweet dessert. Eyes light up. […]
When my husband and I eat at an outdoor restaurant these days, his meal always looks better than mine. I’m not sure why, since we don’t usually like the same kinds of food — but within three minutes, my fork finds its way to his side of the table. …
One of the hardest things I’ve had to accept is that when I chose one thing, I didn’t choose another. When I chose to get a mammogram, I didn’t choose the thermogram route. When I chose Matt, I didn’t choose Rob, who was an avid meditator. When I chose to write (and keep writing) about compulsive eating, I didn’t choose to write a novel. […]
Night comes swiftly like “a great, dark, soft thing,” and for most of my life I’ve greeted it reluctantly, as if behind the darkness lurked terror and shattered hearts. My mother says, “You were a fast napper from the day you were born. Other kids went down for two hours. You slept for twenty minutes and were up for the rest of the day.” Even as an infant, I didn’t want to surrender to that dark, soft thing. […]
I am sitting at the kitchen table enraptured with a bowl of tomato soup. Not just any tomato soup: mine has crushed tomatoes, coconut milk, sea salt, parsley, a dash of coconut oil, and honey. (If you try it at home, blend to a thick consistency, add some thyme, pepper, and cloves.) I look down at the bowl: a nip, not even a spoonful, is left. Although I’m no longer hungry, I still want more. […]
Recently I was walking by a store in San Rafael and saw coasters of hearts with wings in the window. I’ve always been crazy about heart-anything. When I rented my first apartment in Santa Cruz, my friend Lennie helped me decorate my bathroom wall in dozens of heart-shaped boxes. […]
