"I Can't Read War & Peace Anymore"

I read this yesterday in a collection of spiritual writings from 2010. I find the article relevant to my initial theme of media as an intersection of the secular and what I would deem the sacred. It also raises some interesting questions about the morality of technology, especially with regard to the Internet's impact on how we think. Definitely worth mulling over. Of course, I wouldn't put it past you if you simply skimmed the article ... if I hadn't stumbled upon it in print, I'd most likely have done the same.

As an aside, I'm a huge Annie Dillard fan.

RESOURCES:

Philip Zaleski, ed. The Best Spiritual Writing 2010 (New York: Penguin, 2010).

Kelly Original, I

Loving source of all wisdom,

I pray that I might

accept

the things I cannot change.

I pray that I might

accept and express

the way I feel.

I pray that I might

grow

in wisdom,

in understanding.

I pray that I might

pay attention

to opportunities for growth,

to my strengths and gifts.

I pray that I might

be fearless

in the face of life's lessons,

knowing that growth eases the way for love's relentless hounding.

Amen

Raw Ruach*

It’s been awhile. My initial optimism on all this elimination diet business has quite subsided, to put it lightly. At this point in the process it is perhaps more accurate to say that my detestation for the elimination diet, for my stomach and body, and for my nutritionist’s recommendations is quieting to a small but sincere grumble—“grumble” being a pun. As I am moving once again into a phase of … well, acceptance is too strong a word for it … perhaps tolerance, yes … as I have put down my swinging fists and become tolerant of the situation, I have the slightest distance from which to reflect upon my angry resistance. Let me recap my tummy’s journey over the past few months in bulleted fashion:

• March: discovery of potential allergies to eggs, dairy, gluten; referral to nutritionist
• April: meet with nutritionist and agree to seek health; begin elimination diet
• April/May: detox brings mood swings, headaches, rashes, acne, etc. to surface; Kelly feels like she’s on crazy pills
• May: challenge foods by reintroducing eliminated foods, one at a time, to determine tolerability; irritability down, impatience up
• June: exhausted. Meet with nutritionist while mistakenly thinking it’s the last session (wrong!). Rather, it’s on to liver support diet: no gluten (still), no sugar, no alcohol, no CAFFEINE. Appointment promptly followed by shameful tantrum in the privacy of my apartment.
• April-June: several breakdowns, sob fests, questioning of my sanity, getting back up and dusting myself off, return to crazy land, depression; interspersed with notable improvement in stomach function and times of extreme gratitude and enthusiasm

I am not miserable and I am not complaining. This is simply a depiction of my state of self as I’ve adhered to this process. It is working, it is worth it, and as difficult as this has been there are far worse health concerns I am so grateful (lucky?) to be free of. That said, I would like to share my musings on the correlation between my tummy’s journey and my spiritual journey. As always, apologies for the hokey language, please do not let it hinder you from reading on.

After a particularly draining day of inexplicable weeping and an equally inexplicable five pound weight gain (!), I emailed my nutritionist (heretofore referred to as my “angel”; read into this as you will). It was pure panic. I had successfully finished the food challenge portion of this nightmare, ahem, regimen and was flying to New York for a wedding. I’d spent the previous weekend at a music festival where I had the foresight to purchase “safe” foods to bring with me and had done all right, save for the beers and burger. But my tummy was stronger by now and all was really not so bad, except that I hadn’t met with my nutri-angel since before the challenging had ended and was terribly troubled about how to move forward with eating. So my email went something like, “Please help! I hate my stomach! I am depressed! I don’t know how to feed myself! I’ve failed!” My angel wisely gave me a call. When she did, angel that she truly is, she urged me to celebrate my victories thus far, noting that, “People pay thousands of dollars to go away on detox retreats, yet you’ve done all this on your own in the midst of your graduate studies and busy life!” Sweet, sweet angel; sweet, sweet allergy-free victories.

My angel recommended that I do what is called a “raw day” on my cross-continental flight. Here is where the angel begins to sound crazy-anorexic and where my skepticism regarding the extremeness of this work (though softened by her profound words of support) peaked. Her advice? Oh simple: eat ONLY six to seven green apples that day, with a whey protein beverage. Pishaw!!!! What am I, a giant hamster? As in, the literal and figurative “guinea pig.” This recommendation struck me as psychotic, unbalanced, unhealthy. But I am not a quitter. Actually, historically I am a huge quitter—theater, track & field, cross-country, lacrosse, rugby, and my college foodservice job—but apparently I’ve grown out of that habit. Or the crazy really got to me. So I followed this seemingly sickly advice and did the apples-only raw food day as I travelled from the left to the right coast of this great nation up in the friendly skies.

Turns out, “raw” is the perfect term for describing how this plan to heal my stomach has felt. My relationship with my body and with food, the social alienation of being different at table, my physical and emotional wounds, the challenge of having to mindfully choose again and again and all day everyday what is allowable versus what is being craved or what is easiest … all has been exposed. Not so much in the sense of looking behind the curtain to discover some lie that has always been there, but more as if I have been stripped of all my masks, shields, weapons and armor. And I’m just sitting here, looking at the mask that seeks approval, at the shield that protects me from the arrows of painful memories. Raw like the bare body, raw like the open wound, raw like the uncooked self that is so literally not prepared for consumption. Not prepared for the simplest of trials. My spirit is raw, scraped out, open and naked.

As for the green apples-only day, my trip and the wedding were incredible! And also followed immediately upon my return by yet another cry fest—and another anorexic raw day. I remain a raw wreck.

*Ruach is a Hebrew word used in the Hebrew Bible that generally means wind, breath, mind, spirit. I use it here in the title to mean all these, especially spirit. I am also playing with the word "raw," as the phrase "Raw Ruach" demonstrates alliteration and consonance as well as semi-assonance. I've read my Nabokov.