YOGA MINESTRONE

I did meditation today and I couldn’t stop talking, so my Yoga teacher suggested I’d go restore my inner spirituality with a cleansing Minestrone.

(That was after she suggested I quit meditation.)

I haven’t had minestrone since the eighties, I think I was traumatized by seeing my mother giving up her feminist ideals, by imprisoning herself behind the kitchen door to cut vegetables and stir broth for hours.

Minestrone is too long to make and one of the following situations should occur before I even consider drinking a hot vegetable soup:

1. A cold, snowing winter outside and a cosy fireplace where I can rest with my dog -(need a fireplace, a dog and move to Switzerland)

2. A life threatening disease with 39 degree fever, convulsions and severe de-hydration

3. An upcoming colonoscopy, where, in order to place a camera into my rectum, I would be forced by a doctor to clear the path.

My yoga teacher suggested that I should grab an organic minestrone at an organic store in the organic area of Bondi and I didn’t dare confess that I usually shop at Woolies, in a very inorganic way.

When I reach the soup shelves, there is a lot of meditation to be done: they all say ‘authentic’, ‘organic’, ‘preservatives free’ but when reading the labels, I find more chemicals than in the Chemical Brothers and more garlic than in Tony’s bruschetta on a square checkered table cloth in Leichardt.

Guided by my food karma, I pick the most basic, no-articifial-flavours, no-garlic, no-spices liquid vegetable mix: Darikay Hearty Vegetable Soup.

A delicate stream of vegetable debris flows through my mouth, down my throat, eagerly directed into my bowel, where its intentions will soon be revealed.

For an “inorganic” minestrone, it is an esquisite one. No strong flavours- such as onion, garlic or tomatoe sauce- but only soft pieces of legumes, celery and unidentified greens, merging in an ethereal broth of wisdom.

The consequences of my spiritual choice are soon to be manifested.

I spend the rest of the afternoon looking 5 months pregnant, heavenly contributing to air pollution and wondering if I will ever date someone again in my life (I guess I didn’t have this problem when I was 5.)

But for one thing, my Yoga teacher was right.

On the meditation level, it worked: I never left the toilet seat. Burmese style.

@Woolies

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