It had organic brown basmati rice, organic sunflower oil, and warmed, natural soymilk.
Without thought, I had suddenly returned to another time—seated at a table, I faced a sliding glass door, open to fields and trees in bloom. My spoon hovered over a bowl of homemade granola, walnuts, sliced bananas, and Vermont Grade B maple syrup (the best!) with milk poured on. I was in anticipation of chunky spoonfuls crunching in my mouth.
Thirty years ago my body’s digestion appeared to have changed on the day I turned forty; I could eat homemade meatballs and sauce or pasta and sauce but not all three. Unable to digest my food, living on boiled potatoes for three weeks, and of course losing weight, I met with a specialist who, after questioning and examining me, said that he could find no reason. Next, a city hospital representative admitted that the hospital couldn’t help, but that there was a practice of naturopathic doctors in the next town. In a new type of conversation with a couple, both doctors, whom I met on alternating visits, they videotaped me as I answered their questions about every aspect of my life. Gradually, under their care I regained weight.
As years passed certain foods became a final celebration—handmade peppermint stick ice cream, eggplant lasagna, and hardest of all—coffee yogurt.
On my first trip to Meherabad, I brought fifty small cartons of silken tofu (tasteless), scared I wouldn’t get enough protein from vegetarian meals. At the first occurrence of my weight dropping there, I wanted to see a doctor right away. India’s system of natural healing is Ayurveda, so I went to a doctor who practiced in that manner. I had so little energy that I thought that I would not make it to the end of the bus ride; I thought I was dying. Reaching his office, tears came as I collapsed on his table, because I could—I was no longer in charge; he was. But no, he said, smiling, I wasn’t dying, only that I was like a dry leaf in fall, and after a week of oil massage and other treatment, I would be fine; and I was. He gave me new information about my body type based on the principles of Ayurvedic medicine that I needed to follow for my best health.
In India, there are fewer foods that I can eat than in America, but my meals are nutritious, and I am healthy. As my understanding of the cooperation of mind, body, and spirit continues to grow, so does my practice of maintaining my physical body, my mental body, and especially, my emotional body—the one that when set off balance causes a weight loss.
Back at that breakfast table years later, my dismay was short-lived. It was good that I’d spoken my reaction, but I quickly switched to forgiveness for my complaint, acceptance that my breakfast was healthy, and gratitude for a kitchen and a table—changing my “pathetic” to a strongly felt and spoken—“Perfect!”
My realization is, “What each of us faces has a lesson/s behind the apparent situation. Looking deeper into our circumstances may prompt new understanding and, more so, appreciation.”