They do not believe that I eat the fat, which is free, (no one wants it) and keep asking me what it's for with a "wink-wink" expression, as if I will soon give them a "real answer." Butchers are some of my favorite people now; It is really the only place I enjoy shopping other than The Goodwill. There is a special brand of humor among people who cut and handle dead flesh for a living. It reminds me of my nurse friends' humor. I get along with them swimmingly, because like me, they are often lacking the "screening" button in their speech.
Yesterday, the manager in the meat section looked me up and down, and challenged me to bring in what I eat. "I don't believe you eat it," he said with a big grin. I am not sure if it is because I am skinny, or because no one they know purposely eats fat in this way. I love this sort of friendly banter so I "raised my hand in the game," by telling him and the others that I will bring in my latest breakfast of fried fat, liquid fat and dried meat, for proof and eat it in front of them. At any rate, they happily sent me off and running with my free package of fat. But this was not the end of it.
Getting the fat is just the beginning of a whole process. It is for the purpose of making my meat biscuits or "pemmican." This product takes two ingredients: meat and fat. I like the spareness of ingredients because it calms me to have something simple in life from which to work. (This is why I wear all black. It is not because I am trying to be deep.) There is a whole ritual involved in making my pemmican. I cut up the strips of fat, take out a giant cooking pot and dump them in, turn the pot down low, and continue to check and stir my fat with a level of attentiveness that one gives to a small child. I do not want it to burn or to scorch. I leave the pieces in there to get brown and fry them for eating the next day. Then there is the straining of the fat from the chunks that are left and I pour the liquid into a container. I reheat it once again to remove any condensation from the process that might have added water to the fat. Otherwise, it can spoil.
Then, I wait for it to harden, and the next day, or later that day, I separate the hardened white mass of fat from the orangey jelly beneath. This "jelly" will be used for delicious broth, which turns my meal into pemmican "stew." At the "end" of the process, I feel a bit of nostalgia. It is like finishing a good book. Part of you wants to sustain the deep level of concentration which lifts you out of your usual buzzing state of thoughts, complaints, and ongoing distraction. When the fat is complete, I take my thinly sliced meat out of the dehydrator and pulverize it in my food processor until it is a fine powder. Then I mix in enough rendered fat in liquid form until the pemmican has the consistency of brownie batter. I pour it into bags and leave it to harden and then eat it until it runs out and I need to make more.
One aspect I love in this process, is to run my hands through the fine powdered meat before I mix it with the fat. There is something delicious and sensual about doing this, and I have much greater appreciation for these inherently sensual acts now that I don't derive pleasure from sugar. This reminds me of yet another sensual moment, that I enjoy: I like to grab the edge of the sheets with my feet and get it right between the crease of my toes, and feel the soft, tickling sensation. It is wonderful. I also get this delicious feeling too, from engaging in this whole pemmican-making process with my meat and fat hunks.
There are so many aspects from it which give me pleasure, that I cannot think of them all. It reminds me of those books for children that show a picture of a person doing something, and ask, "How many such and such can you find in this picture?" It is an exercise of pure creativity, to make my fat as useful as possible. I even rub some of it on my lips as moisturizer.
At first, I didn't grasp the global benefit to undergoing the step-by-step process required for pemmican-making. It seemed like a lot of work when I learned about it. But then I began to think about it more and more, until I just felt like trying it. But I still didn't want it to be what I deemed "too much work." Therefore, it annoyed me that there were often hunks of meat attached to the fat the butcher gave me. I would never tell them this and simply take whatever the butcher gives me. I do not expect them to cut it perfectly when I am not paying for it. I had to cut off all the meat myself with our not-so-sharp knife in order to separate it from the fat.
More to do, I thought irritated. But after completing this step several times now, I realize, that my soul craves every part of this activity for the peace it brings. The more I do, the better. The steps followed in this activity allows me to engage in the moment, instead of having my mind running away from itself in its usual mode. It gives me pure focus. Even to exist in a minute of this space is bountiful. And this sates me inside as though I have just been fed something of great sustaining powers before I have even eaten any of the pemmican.
I am sustained when I give my attention fully in making my meat biscuits, and also in my work teaching and doing intuitive readings. This care and interest continues to generate more and more incoming gifts. The process is a wonderful opportunity. I experienced the truth of this yesterday, when I learned that I could embark on yet another process, in the field of my work. I had an idea, and told a friend about a new venture, and she gave me a whole schedule of things to do to make it happen. Right off, I did not like her viable suggestion. It seemed painstaking, laborious, and tiresome. It wasn't exactly what I had envisioned. I rejected her ideas immediately.
This is a person who I love and respect on many levels. But all I could see at the time, when she offered her wisdom, was the way it hindered me and would cause me too much work. To make matters more complicated, I made up a story about her motives for suggesting it. I decided it was because she believed I was not good enough to do it the other way--the way that did not involve as much of a process and that had been my favored approach. The other way was new and untraveled.
Fortunately, I realized later that I was being a jackass and avoiding both the methods and the loving care she was offering. She was actually paying attention to what I said. This is friendship and care. She was offering the "fat" of her knowledge, rather than nodding her head in a stupor, and just throwing out some quick route to shut me up. She was giving me an opportunity to find yet another process with which to nourish myself.
Before you wonder what in the world this has to do with fat, I will explain. I do not use these long-winded analogies to be clever. I am an experiential person, and experiencing is how I learn. Without direct practice, I will spiral once again into that unfocused student falling asleep in Women's Studies. It is in the details of ordinary life that I find self-knowledge and excitement. I did not plan to write about how fat makes me focus, and use everything intended, and about all the other wonderful aspects. I just felt the sensation of joy around the process and began to write. But I realized there was a huge gift inherent in the experience, the more I wrote.
I cannot say enough good things about making pemmican. I get to use every part of my ingredients to create. Nothing goes to waste. It makes me feel nourished and sated. To use all of my meat is to use the meat of substance that my dear friend offered, and to use the care that is being sent to me. It is to receive and welcome every possibility, every bit of my heart, ears, creativity, and senses, while the mind quiets and nothingness burns clean. All of this comes from participating in a process.
This is the gift and the answer. When you burn away what is not wanted by focusing on a task at hand, then you have the chance to experience the wonder of pure nothingness. It is the silence that we often seem to find only in sleep, though it exists in our waking life in the form of various jobs when we focus on them. That is why monks often clean the toilets with a toothbrush. It is not because they are that concerned about the cleanliness of the toilet, but more so with using details to stimulate the cleansing of the mind and the emptying of its reservoir of "gunk," as I call it. The mind is so busy hopping and jumping that it needs tasks to calm it and bring us to "awakeness."
This is the reason I am deeply connected to movement in the body. It is not to look toned, nor is it to show off my flexibility. I am not that flexible. When you bring your awareness to the act of movement in the body, you are once again, "engaged." When you carefully go through each step in making something, or drink up every last drop of love sent your way in a friendship, or spend hours putting something together, you are immersed fully in precious inner quiet and the study of your life through living it.
I could easily buy my pemmican already made. But then I would not receive this amazing gift. I could have ignored my friend's suggestion. I could look at the process of making pemmican as simply a laborious task. But then I would not have the opportunity to receive its wonderful benefits. There is nothing that replicates the process of working through an idea other than working it.
It is not really to get to the "end-goal." Of course, I want the "finished product" in the end. After all, it is delicious. But my focus is ALL about what happens during the "making." It is about what emerges when you put your whole self into an action. Whether it is a kiss, a performance, or cleaning your briefcase out, the gift of awareness is always accessible. And if this gift comes for me in the form of globs of fat--whose transformation to meat biscuits allows me to feel aliveness and silence, then I welcome it with grace and gratitude. It is with this understanding that I continue to sing the song of love for fat, my lovely fat.
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