This has been a bad week with the chocolate
the scientific explanations make no sense and offer no comfort
when the same bowl of chocolate behaves differently when I touch it directly.
it’s hard not to take it personally
hard not to feel rejected
when actually, quite possibly
it’s a good thing
not a rejection so much as a whispered warning
from the pastry gods, the kitchen faeries, the spirit of the hearth
calling out
reminding me that chocolate is not my first love
not my first best destiny
a call to pause and consider and reflect
before rushing to follow another’s dream.
Like the dog that dances at the Fool’s heels
the chocolate nips to warn me that I’m standing
on the edge of a cliff.
It’s been a bad week, and if not for the park and my dog, I might have gone a bit crazy. But there was the park, and the dog, and the walking always helps, walking and walking, until with each step, my mind empties and all is quiet within. Rest through movement. The snakes that usually slither away as we pass stopped to pose for photos. 
Yesterday, we were at the park at sunset. An owl called. I spotted him up on a bare branch. As I watched, he called again, then flew off toward the edge of light over the mountains. I felt peaceful, and complete. No fancy temples, no indoor shrines. I am a daughter of the Wild God and the Earth Mother, and my place is in the woods, in the garden, by the hearth. The dough beneath my hands, the planting, the tending, the harvesting, and most of all, the rhythm of my steps as I walk the trails – my practice is a moving one. Stillness comes to me through motion.
For the last two days, the chocolate has punished me. She (oh yes, chocolate is definitely a she) would go into temper, and would stay in temper as long as I didn’t touch her directly. The tray of truffles that was only partly dipped, perfect. Scooping out a dipper of chocolate to pour into molds – no problem. The truffles that get completely submerged and shaken off by hand: swirly & bloomed. Two days in a row. Maybe it’s that my hands have been cold with the sudden wintry weather. Maybe the barometric pressure was making the chocolate cranky. Who knows for certain. Chocolate is a harsh and capricious mistress. The same bowl of chocolate produced lovely truffles for Chef. He told me it wasn’t personal, chocolate is just moody. A living thing that has good days and bad.
It was while I was dipping tray after tray of candied ginger into dark chocolate that I realized I have neglected the kitchen altar for weeks now. Bad pagan sous-chef! The altars (one for me, one for Chef) are on two tiny shelves in a corner. They’ve been out of sight for the last few months, but this past week I rearranged the kitchen back into its cold weather formation, and the altars are back in view. Covered in cocoa, with dried up, dusty chocolate in the tiny offering bowls. Bleh.
So I cleaned my shelf, washed the bowls, refreshed the offerings. The kitchen is happier when it’s clean and organized and the altars are tended. So am I.
This has been a week for finally getting around to things. Finally got all the recipes typed into the computer, printed out, and organized into a 3-ring binder. With page protectors. Finally rearranged the kitchen to include an island chocolate station. Finally started actually working The Artist’s Way instead of just doing morning pages. Finally started a blog that no friends, family or coworkers know about. Finally, a public place that’s private, where I don’t have to worry about hurting someone’s feelings. This blog is just for me. And for any strangers who chance across it.
I have an Artist’s Way exercise to be getting back to. Enough procrastination.
