Banana Leaf "Take A Bite...I Dare You"

A moderately sized house located along the main strip of a college town with a bright neon sign shining "OPEN" in the front window conjures images of "happy ending" massage parlors, sketchy money loaning businesses, or psychic palm reading establishments. The Banana Leaf is none of these things. Walk up the handicap access ramp, open the door, and you are at home. Take a seat.
But don't lean up against the board where the reception desk is, you might tip it over, as I almost did. In the most gracious voice you've heard since eating at fast-paced, entitled-because-we're-here-restaurants in the last ten years comes a soft, "hii, table for two? The wait will be about 10-15 min." Like a storm-trooper jedi-mind-tricked into letting Luke and the crew go you sit down and wait. As you wait you glance around the living room where there are about seven tables. You see paintings, photos, statues, and images that will remind you of The King and Me. And the wife of the owner is dressed in eastern baggy pants like a bollywood dancer. The aroma reminded me of when I was in Scotland and had real, good Indian food for the first time; less scathing than the smell of cheap fried food, but definitely the same waft of coconuts, spices, breads, and avocados.
And then you glance at the table behind you and you see a couple drinking some kind of green juice. You ask what it is and you learn it is an avocado juice. You might get one to share with your date or you might get individual ones; in either case it is a hearty portion.
I know what I want immediately. We order and wait, talking pleasantly among ourselves while taking in the scents, the visual stimulus that beams you into another land, in another time, in another culture. When your food arrives it is surrounded by banana leafs; reinforcing the displacement of your senses and presence into another world. I take a piece of naan bread, dip into the coconut curry, take a bite, and I'm nearly there; elephants walking on jungle trails, people bathing in the river, cleaning their cloths...and then I take a sip of the avocado juice, and it happens. I am sitting on an elephant, riding through the Sri Lankan jungle. It is exotic. It is smooth and moves like mango juice over your palate and as it hits your throat it cools down any stress in your life, taking a yoga approach of relaxation right to the pit of your stomach. And you are immediately satisfied.
Do yourself a favor: travel. Get lost in Sri Lanka at the Banana Leaf. Take a bite...I dare you...

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Expert Advice

I once read in a blog about blogging that you should blog about a blog topic with which you are an expert. It told me that I should write as if I were explaining my expert opinion to someone who was familiar with my topic but not as knowledgeable as myself. I don't think I know anything about anything because I don't really have a solid topic to blog about!! Sad? Perhaps. Pathetic? Maybe more cosmetically on this page than in actuality. Changeable? I'm going with yes on this one. I can't blog about restaurants anymore because I don't go out! Some diet thing I'm on lately. I'll let you know how it works out in 50 years, whether I have cancer or diabetes or am as healthy as a clam; one that has not been caught and is still in the ocean of course.

One or the Other

I chose the fork that in the road that led me to life. I chose the fork in the road that led me to death. I chose the fork in the road that led me to my dreams.
I chose the fork in the road that felt safe and easy.
I chose the fork in the road that made me the happiest. I chose the fork in the road that didn't have fear written all over it; fear was where it pointed to and I'll never know what was at the end of that path.
I know that on the path that I took, there was no fear, there was no suffering, there was no denial, there was no control, there was no sacrifice. I knew that path led to safety and most importantly I knew that path's ending; a consummation of fear and loathing.
The path that frightens us the most is the path with the largest obstacles, the sharpest turns, the least amount of visibility, and the steepest of hills and climbs.
Too bad each step along that path is a step that forces us to grow, to live, and to overcome. It forces us to reach a higher, better, happier, more fulfilling end. Too bad we don't take that path because it scares us. What if fear did not exist? What if the word was never invented? Would we then have to take feelings of fear and describe them as feelings of life? What if every time we were scared the only word we could think of was life. What if we realized we could transform that weakest part of life to the strongest and healthiest by overcoming and swallowing up weakness in the pursuit of excellence. A great many possibilities await us; we have only to choose; one step at a time; one choice at a time. so choose.

What the Bleep Do We Know

I saw a DVD today that was intriguing, informative, pontificating, and novel, so far as my experience goes. It was about quantum physics and how the world has recently been discovered on a much smaller level. In essence, it connected science with spirituality, God, and divinity.
Something that struck me and has nagged at me the whole day, in a manner that I do not quite yet understand how to digest, is the simple fact that matter can be neither created nor destroyed. If you allow that to sink into your mind and heart and whole being, you will realize that everything that you see, hear, smell, touch, and taste is connected by energy. If energy is only distributed throughout the universe and throughout our world, then we are indeed incepted from the same mass of energy or being. We are all one; we all share life; life lived and life sustaining; we sustain each others energy; God sustains our energy; our being is part of Gods energy.
We are told that we are all sons and daughters of a Heavenly Father. I never understood real life, heart-beating, feet-moving, interacting implications of that doctrine. We are more than just brothers and sisters through covenants and commitments, we are brothers and sisters in a real blood, cell relationship. The universe, everything and everybody in it, is connected to each other through the dispersal of energy. If you are reading this blog, you might come to realize that no matter who you or where you come from, you and I are connected. The same energy that exists in my body exists in your body. We are literally one.
If you ever get the chance, rent this DVD from your local library. It will open up and expand your mind. It also will teach of the divinity of yourself and the greater possibilities that awaits each one of us, if we will but connect into the energy of life, which stems and courses through a Master Creator and Moulder.
May peace and Love engulf the energy you carry within you. May you spread and share that energy in love with those around you and remember that no man is an island.

Hate or Love It

I saw a guy driving on the highway today, zooming in and out of people, his own personal racetrack at his fingertips. At one point, at a critical point in his travel itinerary, he tried getting over to another lane to get off his exit. As he started going he noticed a car right next to him so he had to swerve back into his lane. As he forced his path away from a collision he looked at the woman in the car next to him, sat straight up in his seat, and with his lips moving vivaciously, let the bird out of its cage for her and I to see.
I took action immediately. I quickly accelerated so as to be right behind this crazy car, honking horn loudly and indefinitely, like a bullhorn from a large ship. The man looked in his mirror and threw his hands up in a "what the hell are you doing?!" manner. He stepped on his brakes to force me to step on mine as I proceeded get in the lane the to the left so I could get next to him.
The fun part of this story is when my machismo wears out as traffic slows...for a stoplight. Uh-oh. We stop, right next to each other. I was worried he might get out of his car and continue his road rage on me. Luckily he just resorted to rolling down his window, hurling a torrent of explicative toward me. I hesitated then rolled down my window, hurling an equal force of torrential explicative toward him. This cursing back and forth lasted for about a minute as we waited for the light to turn. I don't remember what he said, or what I said. All I remember is the intense feeling of adrenaline pumping through my heart as we he turned onto his street from the main road we were just on and I let my own bird fly away.
I got home that evening, got a cold glass of water and sat down to watch t.v. I thought about my previous engagement with the enemy, my blood still pumping in and out of my heart at an alarming rate. I tried to settle down but my whole energy and mind was focused on that guy.
So many questions. Why is he such a jerk? Why can't he just be cool? Why couldn't he realize how much of a jerk he was after I honked at him? That one probably bothered me the most. The one about him still not feeling bad for what he had done after I honked and cursed at him. Not being able to figure it out, I turned on the telee and sat back in my recliner.

Laugh to Live

If she would have given up five years ago she would be nowhere now. The laughter, the crying, the yelling and the clapping would be nothing more than a dream. If she would have listened to that particular voice in her head, she would have just walked away. We are all schizophrenic, listening to different voices in our heads, all telling us something different, all wanting something different from us. Luckily she listened to the voice that told her to not quit, to keep going, tell another joke, walk out on another stage and laugh another day. That voice was no less prophetic than the other ones, no less prophetic, but much more holy. That voice was the only one that urged her to follow her dreams, walk with her talents and her loves. She loved telling jokes and making people laugh, now more than ever.
Whatever happens she doesn’t care, at least she cares a lot less where the competition goes than where she finds happiness. She’ll always have clubs, bars, and special events to tell her jokes in. Five years ago though, she would never have imagined that she would care more about her jokes than she would about telling her jokes. That may sound a bit confusing, why would someone care so much about a joke if they can’t tell it. Well, the joke is in the creating and in the telling, you’re right. The joke isn’t in the size of the audience or the general social construction of a particular audience; the joke is in her heart, and if she can please first and foremost her soul then she will be able to please souls wherever she goes.