
It’s a full moon tonight and I seem to have limitless energy. I sit here at 1:15 in the morning, baking cookies and making tea. What’s come over me? Late night baking is usually the last thing I want to do. Maybe there’s some romantic urge in me being extracted by the gravitational pull of that full moon which inspires me to undertake such domestic expressions. Perhaps it’s my need for silence, discipline, and simplicity. There’s something humbling about baking, especially when your baking requires the omission of many usual suspects. For me, it’s gluten grains, eggs, soy and often times, dairy. My sort of baking is a meditative adventure. Following a recipe systematically, being as exact as possible so as to allow the magical chemical reactions to take place and end in a tasty oral experience, is much like knitting or singing a well known song. Follow the steps, take your time, let it flow, don’t think too much, feel it. One of the best things about baking is that I’m not a baker, and I don’t aspire to be. It doesn’t matter if the world loves my cookies. I don’t spend my days assessing my strengths and weaknesses or trying to decided just what sort of baking I should specialize in. I can follow the rules, or tweak them a bit and experiment, i can eat the batter as I go or I can throw it all out the window if I want. There’s really nothing at stake for me. My identity is far from invested in my baking ability and experience, or lack there of. It’s a liberating endeavor, especially considering that so often, the things I aspire to accomplish are mired in a life time of illusions, expectations, hopes, fears and dreams. Staying up till the wee hours on a juicy full moon night and baking for the sheer experience of it is a way to remember the sunshine feeling of joy and to rediscover the centering silence of play.
