Lately i've been feeling a bit thwarted, admittedly by my own hand. And when I feel this way I dive on in to meditation and slap my cards on the table. It's the only way to get things resolved.
At moments like this I imagine the Universe pushing through twin, timeworn, saloon doors, pausing for a moment betwixt them for effect. The sun sears the thirsty landscape behind, seeping, blinding, like a white-hot argent abyss. And wearing a ten gallon hat with dusty chaps, the Universe sidles up, bandy-legged, along my side, plunks down two shot glasses and a bottle of bitter, brown booze. 'There's only one way this thing can go down,' I declare, all business and brass tacks. I think the Universe appreciates my candor, if not my edge. 'That's right, and it's up to you to decide which way that will be,' the Universe replies, graveled, funereal, because my Universe also smokes filterless cigarettes. 'I'm just here for the ride.'
My latest revelation: I've not been clear about where i want to be, when all along I thought I was. I've been errant, I realize, dawdled, some, but when it comes to growth of the spirit, there are no linear paths nor predictable arrival times. I'm like a gypsy, see, and I've permitted the gale to sweep me to and fro with its most decided effort. And through my self-discovery, I have always erred on the side of prudence, I'm guilty for being severely thorough and taking my sweet (bleep) time. My motto: Your strides will prove fruitless if a trail of half-baked endurances lies behind you, and nothing ever prospers from a marriage to denial or sloppiness. Believing so will result in a life of... you do the math.
I've been hovering in limbo for a while now with my material life, and I will admit, I feel as though I may vaporize. My revelation was twofold today, one a catalyst for the other, each an inextricable part of this whole, neither born first nor subordinate, but indeed concomitant. You've just read the one, and this the other underscores its meaning: There is a difference between being scrupulous and flogging a dead horse, you may well know. It's high time I set down the baton and made up my bloody mind.
I'm happy to announce that along with a commitment to materialize once again, and pursue that what has struck my fancy these livelong years in a serious way, I have also decided to come back to the Tartine experiment as it was intended. I mean to investigate this business of methodical progress, one with a beginning, a middle, one with a definitive end. For even the most resolute gypsy must land on solid ground from time to time. One can only hope that the landing will involve both feet, or in the very least that the horse aground is flocculent enough to break her fall, wholly perished many times over that it may be.
700g BRM semolina flour
300g KA bread flour
*75g each flax and sesame seeds
Crust: Uber shattery. Crumb: rather tight, and the texture was very moist and tender. Flavor: Nutty, buttery, divine. Aroma: Smelled like buttery heaven. Dough temperament: Tres simple! Worry factor when fermenting: Zero. It increased in size predictably. I so love my rye starter (thanks Susan!). At first the dough was like batter and I was afraid, but after the series of turns, it developed fantastic gluten strength.
* Update: My baker friend Joe, who is off on a new venture to become a bona fide bread maker, told me that had I soaked the flax seeds, I would have gotten a more open crumb. He intimated that flax seeds in particular draw a great deal of moisture from the dough, which will result in a tighter crumb. I will try this experiment again, taking his advice. He said that there is no need to soak the sesame.
To the staff of life, and an ode to writing, my first love.