"... a day of wine and roses" by juntos on flickr
I have no doubt that we are living in a time of conscious evolution. All around me I see signs that humans are opening their minds, hearts and souls in order to receive universal communication. We’re on a communal path towards something inexpressible and not entirely knowable even to those who are closest to it.
Yet no matter how many yoga asanas I practice, how many hours of meditation I log, how many days of juice fasting I complete, or how many traditional healing modalities I try, I am still confronted with the fact that I exist within a physical, animal body. And as an animal – albeit a consciously evolving one – I have appetites. I have to take care of basic urges – eating, sleeping, exercising, desires – on a day to day basis. It’s a perplexing paradox that while I experience the world through the filters of a relatively sophisticated brain which can consider the philosophical aspects of existence, I am still bound by my animal desires. As a conscious, thoughtful being, how can I gain some freedom from the appetites?
Some might suggest that appetites are something to be mastered. However, they are part of our design, and seeking to master them is to struggle with a powerful force. I suggest that a more resonant way to become free from our baser appetites is to acknowledge, embrace and cultivate them. For we weren’t given hunger alone. We were also given taste buds – a tool for discernment.
Every time I get hungry, I have a choice to make. How am I going to satisfy this need? From a purely animal, instinctual perspective, I could eat anything that is close at hand and will fill my empty tummy. I can eat a McDonald’s burger or a big green salad; I can eat something snatched from the depths of the freezer and zapped to warmth in a microwave or something fresh and juicy plucked right off a tree and warmed by the sun. The difference between my human hunger and that of any other animal is that mine has evolved – or perhaps devolved – beyond an instinctual classification of food and non-food to something more intellectualized. In our contemporary global society, all foodstuffs are open to consideration. Whether by social convention or the simple necessity of survival in times of scarcity, we’ve become omnivorous.
In theory, an omnivore is a great thing to be. My body can survive on such a wide range of sustenance – what a miracle! Furthermore, being an omnivore requires more than an open mouth. It also requires an open mind. This means that I can taste the foods of other peoples and literally become one with their cultures. Sharing in someone else’s cuisine is an easy first step towards recognizing my unity with this person and all other living beings. Omnivores are cultural ambassadors who communicate not with the nuanced skills of political diplomacy but with the universal language of flavor, aroma and satiation.
Rejecting omnivorism does not mean closing one’s mind or restricting the palette. In fact, it brings about a more enlightened state of consciousness by elevating the act of eating from a base instinct to an existential experience. The pathway to heightened sensual pleasure and intellectual engagement with one’s sustenance is through the cultivation of taste.
Let’s take the classic example of flavor discernment: wine. Imagine a rustic dinner table spread with fantastic food and surrounded by flush-faced friends, sipping a nuanced nebbiollo and engaging in joyful conversation. Now picture the same scene, but guzzling wine out of a box. It changes the whole scene, doesn’t it? The box wine may not exactly taste bad, but it’s presence becomes more of a prop in your wineglass rather than a sensually elevating experience. As one begins to taste wines of different varietals, grown in the unique conditions of different vineyards, and with the touch of different individual winemakers, an appreciation of the breadth of possibilities born of the humble grape blossoms. A world of flavor, of pleasure, of intellectual engagement opens up. Each winemaker becomes an artist, working in partnership to express the integrity of his land and fruit in every bottle. Don’t we owe the artist and his materials the utmost respect?
Furthermore, don’t we owe ourselves the respect of providing sustenance that nourishes on every single level? Nourishment may begin with vitamins and minerals, but it certainly doesn’t end there. We respect our bodies and our earth by choosing wholesome, nutritious ingredients, and we respect our souls by preparing them with love in order to enhance our eating experience. Preparing good ingredients to the best of our ability is an act of humble gratitude. Eating and truly enjoying our food is an act of worship.
Cultivating taste is not an argument for hedonism. Rather, it’s about engaging all of the senses to become fully present in the act of nourishment. It’s about appreciating and participating in the chain of creation. It’s about finding inspiration in the most mundane places. When we take the time to cultivate taste, we become free from the tyranny of hunger and elevate the simple animal act of feeding ourselves to an expression of the soul.
Perhaps a future exists in which we don’t need food, water and shelter to sustain our living vessels. But until then, we can celebrate these appetites with which we must live in a graceful balance by cultivating taste.
