It's just that simple.

A more difficult day in the kitchen. Or is it?

Today’s bread has been on the challenging side: between my eagerness to push hydration, and the weather unexpectedly staying higher than — let’s say — optimal, I’ve got eight out of ten loaves that haven’t risen in the bake with the vigor I hope for.

It’s a little disappointing and a lot anxiety-provoking.

Tenshin Roshi has pointed out to me (quite a few times, so I guess the lesson hasn’t completely sunk in), that teachings are coming in from everywhere, all the time.

Of course, in principle, and, intellectually, I get it.

I have to admit, that in practice, I’m not always quite there.

Using this morning’s bread as an example: how does my body feel in the moment?

— Like there’s a live wire running through it.

From the way I’m feeling that electric buzzsaw of anxiety in my body, you’d think I was about to face down a sabertooth tiger, and, that’s exactly how anxiety is useful: the associated adrenaline and heightened vigilance would have kept my hominid ancestor alive long enough to procreate, and several thousand generations later, you get me.

Of course, there’s no sabertooth tiger in the kitchen.

Just some slightly flat sourdough bread. Not exactly the same threat level. And yet…

So, how’s that anxiety serving me right now? what does my reaction have to teach me in the moment?

Quite a lot, if I pay it some gentle attention and investigate the feeling as it arises. I feel like the attention is really more like allowance — just not judging the anxiety, letting it be there, doing it’s thing, without reacting to it with — let’s say — fear, disgust, or, maybe, revulsion.

Here’s where practice comes into the equation. Sure, I’m standing in the kitchen and things aren’t going my way. Sure, the bread dough was too warm and too wet. Sure, the loaves aren’t baking the way I want.

Breathe, jacob. Pause.

Just that moment, I can go ahead and allow myself to feel the anxiety, and maybe be a little curious around the edges of it.

What’s making me anxious?

Is the anxiety useful?

Can I make space for the experience without letting it take over?

Breathe, again. What the hell — let’s take a third breath (as if I had a choice about breathing).

Okay then.

I’m afraid of that slightly under-leavened bread.

I don’t want to waste the dough and the time.

I don’t like to make mistakes.

I don’t like admitting mistakes. Admitting a mistake triggers all kinds of judgement and then shame and all the unpleasant self-worth issues that shame triggers.

I like things to go my way.

Things often have other ideas: they go the way they go.

A feedback loop here: a little anxiety triggered by those things going the way they’re going to go, and then a chain of reactions to the anxiety.

Suffering based on, what?

Definitely not the bread. Honestly, not even suffering based on the anxiety. Suffering derived from reacting to the anxiety. A chain of suffering that weighs me down and keeps me from moving forward. Maybe causes me to be short-tempered and reactive. Down on myself and angry at the cat for begging for kibble at my feet, or the woodpecker knocking on the side of the house, or really, anyone and anything that crosses my path.

Or.

Breathe. Pause. Just allow the anxiety to be here. Acknowledging it without fighting it. It’s just asking me to pay attention. Breathe in anxiety. Breathe out anxiety.

Oh, right: it’s just bread. Bread that’s teaching me to moderate hydration with more care and to have a temperature back plan. bread that’s reminding me to pay attention to the moment, not to a story arising out of thoughts about the moment.

It’s also way more than bread.

Here’s a teaching coming through: I can allow the moment to just be itself without judgement. I can allow my breath to come in and go out without triggering a chemical chain reaction of thought and story. Just allow the experience of whatever arises. of whatever’s happening right now.

Getting back to the bread baking, because that’s what’s really happening right here now in front of me: I can play around with the wet dough and see what it can teach me about a remix and a second rise. I can relax and fool around a little bit. Maybe see what the bread can teach me about this moment.

What this moment has to offer.

I can just bake.

It’s that simple.

Your comments are always welcomed and encouraged. I’d love to hear from you.

One more thing.

As a zen priest I’m a student of Tenshin Fletcher Roshi at Yokoji Zen Mountain Center. For more info on Yokoji, please visit www.zmc.org.

I’m also the caretaker of Warwick Zendo, a small in-person and online sangha based in the lower Hudson Valley of New York. if you’d like to check out our practice community, we’re at www.warwickzen.org.

How this works.

I plan to post at least once a week, at minimum. The Freeside offers those weekly posts, which will always be accessible. Payside will (eventually) offer access to some longer writing and ongoing investigations into practices both literary and zen.

Payside also helps to sustain this project, and this practice. Like any creative project, keep sweeping is a kind of labor, and as such, your support to sustain that labor is much appreciated.

If Payside is not for you, that’s all good. The posts will keep coming on Freeside. The support of your reading and attention is a deeply appreciated gift, and I thank you for being here.

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