Up close and personal with some cabbages.  I did my work shift in the kitchen because the food has been good and I wanted to see it brought in and prepared.  I was assigned to chop two lovely cabbages and they were, actually, remarkable.  Big, firm, beautiful color, a few damaged leaves on the outside to remove and then unblemished.  They were a pleasure to prepare.

I was disgracing myself emotionally.  At “tune-in” the staff spent quite a bit of time saying how they were and there was humor, but our staff chief (that’s “focalizer” in Findhorn terms; they are responsible for holding intention) wasn’t feeling well and said so.  He wasn’t complaining, but he was saying how he felt.  Others at our small table had one issue or another; a young Japanese guy and I were feeling great.  That reversed itself quickly as I was unable to involve myself in great conversations.  They were happening, but not with me.  I took an immediate dislike to one of the women who insisted on getting one of the men to lift something for me which I didn’t need help with and would not listen to my answer.  She made one of those not-so-cute statements about how men are so much more ... whatever.

Anyway, I sulked.  I got so bad I couldn’t wait for “tune-out” at the end to let everyone know how out of it I felt.  I kept getting stuck, or putting myself, into pot washing.  In theory this doesn’t matter to me in my exalted state; in practice I was angry and disappointed not to see more vegetables and more cooking.  Just sulking.

It finally dimly occurred to me that there was a mob of hungry people arriving shortly and we wanted a wonderful, warm, varied and tasty spread to greet them and it was cold outside.  Unlike the garden experience, we did have a schedule to meet and production was important, not just loving the experience.  Everybody but me had overcome whatever aches and pains troubled them; they were gliding smoothly past significant language and cultural barriers, and they were dealing with the imperfection of other people who appeared with appropriate or inappropriate concerns and requests.  Steaming trays of casseroles, big bowls of light and multicolored cabbage and carrot slaw, hot baked curry rolls, and three quite different soups were all on the table at 12:30 when we and the first would-be diners joined hands to bless the food.

There was no tune-out, just a quick hug, but by that time I didn’t need to bring every one down, because I was up, and grateful.

Photo above is the entrance to Cullerne.  Maybe we’ll get there?  Next post?