The World--whatever that word means--is crumbling and I am trying to avoid seed oils.
My friend Alex reintroduced me to the idea of health and wellness one perfect Sunday in April. Her skin scattered light like an ambering wheat field. Some vital force emanated from deep within, something I had not seen since college. A want, a will, brewed underneath the spheres of her eyes. She looked like had figured any direction was better than none.
It was delightful.
So we spoke about soft things. The industrial revolution’s profit motivate and its wanting of us to be dead and sick before that. Do you know who started the FDA? She said her skin stopped burning--in this economy, this solar spectrum--sans SPF. (That one is a rub. Lather two finger lengths at least, lest yee wish a targeted ad` for Botox suddenly speaks the capital ‘T’ truth.) She said her self diagnosed Crones or IBS or--it was something chronic and afflicting and intangible--malaise was gone. She was cooking her own meals again. That one stopped dead after graduation. I had so little time in college, but 4 hours to cook lentils and bok choy for a group of anemic adjacents, sure.
So I texted her this morning. She sent me a comprehensive list of twitter handles and oils and healthy fats. I’m going to Whole Foods to see what this self care thing is about again. I can do a week I think. And I will check back in to see about adding another. Maybe 40 more days to honor Him is what I need. I really didn’t adhere when it counted.
Song of the week: Anything by James Galway.
Scent of the week: A 15 year old whiskey with notes of vanilla.
-DFERN OUT