Emotionally Organic: Embracing Quality
“Industrial agriculture, because it depends on standardization, has bombarded us with the message that all pork is pork, all chicken is chicken, eggs eggs, even though we all know that can't really be true.”-Joel Salatin, quoted by Michael Pollan in “The Omnivore’s Dillema”At Polyface Farms, the chickens eat bugs. That's right, they eat bugs. Out of cow patties. They do not eat grain out of troffs designed just to be able to let their heads through, bodies immobilized in steel wire cages where they grow so fat they can not move. Nope. They get up, walk around, eat leaves, random grains thrown about the place, and bugs out of cow patties.But you know what? Their eggs are prized by chefs. Know why? Because they have muscle tone. The eggs, when cracked into a sauce pan, don't spread out runny and watery. They stand up tall in the pan, and keep their, well, iconic “eggy” shape. You can crack an eggs into the palm of your hand and flip it around without loosing its integrity. This is something I have NEVER seen done with eggs purchased at 79 cents per dozen at Costco.Because chickens ate bugs, and grasses, and assorted grains, this is possible. Because chickens ran around, chased, dug, worked for it, this is possible. Because the farmers took the time to take the chickens to fresh land every few days, not only is this possible but the land doesn't get buried under chicken manure (which in small amounts actually helps the grasses grow more and land be healthier).I want to lay eggs with muscle tone in my life. Above my desk at home is a note that says “My job is to implement my knowledge with excellence.” Note the word excellence. My dharma, my calling, my path does not demand that I simply implement my knowledge. Nor that I do it the most. Or the best. Simply, and succinctly, it says my job is to implement my knowledge with excellence.Eggs with muscle tone are a form of excellence. They are an orchestration of chickens being more fully chickeny mixed with farmers helping the chicken to the places where being chickeny produces an egg of top caliber. Yes the chicken is happier, but now the farmer is happier too- not because he produced more eggs (though by fluke he may from time to time). Not because he produced cheaper eggs. But because this egg is sought after, cherished. Longed for. Paid well for- by chefs who understand the value of a quality egg.“Joel told [Michael Pollan] that when he first began selling eggs to chefs, he found himself apologizing for their pallid hue in winter; the yolks would lose their rich orange color when the chickens came off the pasture in November. Then he met a chef who told him not to worry about it. The chef explained that in cooking school in Switzerland he'd been taught recipes that specifically called for April eggs, August eggs, December eggs. Some seasons produce better yolks, others better whites, and chefs would adjust their menus accordingly.”-Michael Pollan, “The Omnivore’s Dillema”My excellence and quality of being shifts. I do not, from season to season or day to day, produce the same quality. And oh how many times have I bemoaned that fact! I apologize for my “grumpy bear” days, look back fondly to times when I've had the capacity to finish a book in a week, been amazed at times when I could juggle multiple relationships and keep them all happy.But the reality is, I have patterns. In this complex ecosystem of my spirit, I have sunrises and sunsets. I have springs and winters and summers. I have wet seasons and dry.I am so deeply tempted to apologize. To bemoan. To freak out even.But I pause and breath.Because by enduring the heavy rains in Seattle, July and August are lush and green, towering evergreens and lush rolling mountains dominate the skyline. Because if the sun did not set, the owls would not come out to keep the mouse population at bay.On my grumpy days I have epiphanies. I experience darknesses of the spirit. I stare at myself in the mirror with tears streaming down and recall pain upon my lips and finger tips. In doing so I plow into my spirit the empathy needed to sit and listen to the suffering of others, for I too have walked a road like this before. I know this skyline, I understand why you are in pain... for I too have been in pain.On my dry writing times I make new memories. I go out into the world. I sing and dance and laugh. I say “fuck it” to my laptop and head out. Once out, in the world, I meet strangers. I hear tales of other lives. I make friends with trees. I listen to sun beams and migrant workers, single mothers and cafe waiters. I pop in a movie and get inspired anew. I refresh my batteries with what, eventually, produces my excellence.I have a choice to bitch. It’s on the table, and sometimes, just like the manure that fertilizes a field, it is what is needed today. Its ugly, literally shitty, but someone else down the way might actually be inspired by that more than my touching words.How many times have I had someone write me and say 'yeah, like that!' when I complained about my joints or a broken heart? I hated that I was producing something that I was convinced was not excellent. But one person's trash is another person's treasure. What was my waste became someone else's gold, someone else's 'I'm not alone.'Cows enter fields. They eat grass. By cutting the grass, the grass grows more. They leave behind their scat. Three days later larvae laid by flies are about to hatch. Chickens come and eat the larvae. Chickens leave their scat. The grass eats it. Cows come back.Its an amazingly well-timed dance. If five days pass instead of three, the chickens are too late. The flies have hatched, and the chain falls apart.This is where the delicate balance of an emotionally organic life takes on its details. It is easy enough to say “got it- I need to cry from time to time, eat fattening foods from time to time- I’m a cute little complex ecosystem.”No.Okay, maybe a bit yes, but there is more. Seriously. Though some books I have read and classes I have been to tell me to just take time for the various parts of self, I feel lost at times figuring out how much each part of my ecosystem needs what. Or more accurately, needs when.When do I need to cry? In my body, I calm myself and listen to the wisdom of my flesh. I have a monkey mind, an active thinking mind, the mind that tells me what books say, what my mother said, what I woulda, coulda, shoulda do. But for this work of finding balance in my ecosystem I need body wisdom.I need to cry two days before I need to be sharp.I need to cry when my shoulders are up in my ears and the world feels like it is trying to consume my soul.I do not need to cry when I am overwhelmed- I am better served by being productive and doing something.If I cry soft, it vents only the top 5 percent from my accumulated self. Bawling out loud, with a wail noise, will dump the top 40 percent. Keening for an extended period is necessary for dumping beyond that. Having someone hold me drops all of the above a fair amount, unless at the keening stage (such as at Winter Fire about my health challenges).That alone has given me so much, that little exercise. I can now turn to my lovers and friends and say, no, really, I need time to do this- alone. The wisdom out there says “if crying, hold,” but in my ecosystem, it does not allow what crying does for me to be as effective. There are also thoughts that say in a touch-starved culture, if we do not receive touch except for when we are upset, we will become upset more often in order to subconsciously get the touch we crave.What else does my body crave? And in what portions? And when? In sitting with these questions, I have a chance to develop my own map for the quality production of me. I have the ability to embrace my quirks that make me operate at full and fabulous capacity.Note the word embrace.Not acknowledge.Not accept.Not endure.Not tolerate.Embrace.I open up my arms to me, in all of my greatness. I embrace the quality I can produce if all of me, and all of my needs, show up today. Are seen fully in the light in all they give me. Because if chickens have the ability to run around and eat bugs, they make eggs with more muscle tone. I deserve a life that carries muscle tone.