Forged in the Fire

Forged!

 

Have you been?

 

Well, it's an on-going process.

 

The process is called life.

 

So what's the fire (notice I'm not saying "where's the fire?")

 

The fire is life's vicissitudes.

 

So the fire lasts forever? We're forever in the fire?

 

You got it.

 

And where's the reward? What do we get out of all this heat?

 

You get forged, of course.

 

Into the shape of what?

 

You choose. You are malleable throughout, you know. You create the shape.

 

Help! I don't know how! I don't know what I want to be.

 

Well, that's tough. The fire's lit and you're in it. Deal with it. Well, all right. I'll give you some suggestions, shall I? Here's one, for example: be yourself. That ego machine is not you, although you like to pretend that it is. The ego machine is just your cover, your beard. Beneath it (or surrounding it or within it) is your true self, which is, which carries, its own flame for forging. It is the forge within which you are tempered. It is the bright unwavering and eternal flame that is your connection to the Universe and to everything in it. THAT'S your forge.

 

So you're telling me to access that flame, to be aware of the flame, and to let it forge me. But let it forge WHAT me? The ego machine?

 

If you wish.

 

If not that, then what? It's too scary to think of. It's too scary to do. Who would I be? Where would I be?

 

You choose. The flame is there. Always. Always ready. But hey—no pressure.

 

FADE OUT.

 

Well, I think we've milked that conversation till it's about dry.  Let's leave the forge and move on to the milking room. Time to bring in the fresh milk and begin the day's cheese-making. After this batch of milk settles and I've poured off half the cream that rises to the top, I'll heat it and add rennet and let it sit again.

 

And then it will be time to ladle off the curds into the little molds. And then I'll turn the shaped cheeses from the day before, and the ones from the day before that, as they dry and age on the racks.

 

The cheesemaker's job is never done. It's unending. There's always a next step to be followed as we go from hay to cow to milk to cheese to market.

 

And breadmaking is just as organic a process as the cheesemaking.  The biga has to be put together the night before (water, flour, and a tiny bit of yeast). In the morning I'll add more water and flour and some salt. Kneading wakes up the gluten so it will form little elastic cell walls to enclose the yeast's gasses. Then I set it aside for the long slow rising in a cool (not warm!) place to develop the flavor of the wheat and the yeast. The fun part is when I shape that dough, which feels as smooth and soft as a baby's bottom. And then it rises again and I bake it and the house fills with the smell of dying yeast cells.

 

The bread and the cheese are ready.

 

The wine was made ten years ago and has been aging in the cellar.

 

Bring it up. Open it. Pour that old wine into new glasses.

 

Glasses forged in the fire.

 

Feel the connection.

 

Copyright 2010  Ann Tudor   

www.anntudor.ca
http://scenesfromthejourney.blogspot.com