Thich Nhat Hahn & the Mindfulness of a Cookie
Robin B. Zeiger, Ph.D.
This past week, I lost a friend, mentor, and fellow partner in this journey we call life. His name is Thich Nhat Hahn, Zen master and activist who passed away on January 22 at the age of 95. I have never met Hahn face to face. It doesn’t matter though. I am an avid reader, and he is one of the most powerful authors that have touched my soul.
Many of his books grace the shelves of my home library. As a Jungian analyst, I frequently find myself recommending his books to patients to help them relax and connect to their deeper essence of soul.
As a writer, I am envious of his gift, I wish for his ability of penning short, simple, essays on daily life that touch upon the essence of Anima Mundi — the world soul. There are some books that one reads over and over. His short essays are easy for me to pick up and once again inspire myself. In those few moments, I touch upon inner peace and inspiration.
I have a need to share his thoughts with my readers as if we can mourn together the loss of a great soul.
In his essay, “Eating my cookie,” in At Home in the World, he writes of his experience as a four-year-old when his mother would bring him a cookie from the market.
He would then go out into the yard and slowly savor the one cookie. Sometimes it took him a half hour to forty-five minutes to eat the one cookie.
In his words:
I would take a small bite and look up at the sky. Then I would touch the dog with my feet and take another small bite. I just enjoyed being there, with the sky, the earth, the bamboo thickets, the cat, the dog, the flowers. I was able to spend so much time eating my cookie because I did not have much to worry about. I was not thinking about the future; I was not regretting the past. I was dwelling entirely in the present moment, with my cookie, the dog, the bamboo thickets, the cat, and everything.
I am a busy professional, wife, mother, and grandmother. I forgot how to eat a cookie slowly. For this I am sad. All too often, I have absentmindedly gobbled something yummy, and then I find myself regretting it is all gone before I have really savored the moment. I think I knew how to eat slowly when I was a child. I have memories of root beer popsicles and ice-cream cones that I slowly licked.
Food is both so basic and so powerful. I can still taste my mother’s love every time I eat a lemon pie. I remember the feel of the cookies I dipped in milk, late at night when I joined my father in the kitchen.
Mindfulness teaches us how to slow down and live in the moment. Our modern society filled with the constant bombardment of media, people, and choices does not lend itself to quiet reflection.
In my second half of life, my husband I have moved from a city to a small agricultural village. I wake up, open the windows, and gaze out into the quiet and green fields behind our house. This is one of my favorite moments of the day, yet it does not last long enough.
It is all too easy to rush off to the next task in my “busy” list. Occasionally, I capture a moment of the mindfulness of the cookie. Perhaps it is when I slowly savor my first cup of coffee in the morning, or it is when I share a glass of wine with my husband. Sometimes it is when I warm my cold hands with a cup of chamomile mint tea.
Often the great thinkers, philosophers, and mystics touch the deepest layers of world consciousness.
I am not a Buddhist. I am a traditionally observant Jew. I observe the Jewish Shabbat (Sabbath) by often spending quiet introspective moments at home reading. Sometimes I just read something for fun. Yet, I also pick up inspirational books from many genres, including traditional Jewish texts. This Shabbat as I mourned Hanh, I looked through his writings and was once again inspired by my friend.
As I read Hahn’s reflections on his childhood cookie, I thought about the traditional short blessings I recite before I eat food. There are codified blessings for specific categories of food (e.g., bread, fruits, vegetables, wine), each one acknowledging the Creator’s gift of life. I am sure the blessings are yet another way to remind us to be mindful of the miracle of the food. When I read Hahn’s words, I was reminded once again to slow down and enjoy the moment. It is not easy.
Hanh ends his essay with:
Eating mindfully is a most important practice of meditation. We can eat in a way that we can bring back to life the cookie of our childhood. The present moment is filled with joy and happiness. If you are attentive, you will see it.
Won’t you join me in enjoying your cookie or your peach or your steaming cup of tea?
Robin B. Zeiger is a practicing Jungian psychoanalyst and a free-lance writer.
She is a member of the:
International Association of Analytical Psychology and the Israel Institute of Jungian Psychology. She can be reached at rbzeiger@yahoo.com.
