When I use it … the mortar and pestle you see above … I slow down.
I stand at my wooden kitchen table, tapping, stirring, grinding.
Crunchy cacao nibs begin to break up. Large chunks cover the floor of the mortar, and a few broken pieces begin filtering through to the bottom. I tap, stir, and grind. Then, there are more broken pieces, some beginning to turn to small bits. The scent of cacao rises … a silent gift, just for me.
The snowy white bowl is smattered with dust and oil pressed from the bits.
Tapping, stirring, and grinding. Smaller and smaller. Was the sound similar when my Indigenous ancestors used stones to prepare food for their families? Might their hands have shown me a better way to use the tools?
I switch hands, allowing my left arm to strengthen, as well.
Warm morning sunshine peeks through the window beside me.
The rhythm quiets my mind. It reminds me that I am strong, healthy, and capable.
Take special good care,
Love,
(“The Price of Simplifying” was the original title, as this post started out as a simple observation of the trade of time and energy … and doing things slowly. Within moments, it shifted to gratitude and observation of this simple practice. The price of simplifying? It seems a very good deal to me.)