The Puzzle of Breakfast
This morning at breakfast, I played with flavors like a child exploring a box of colors—almonds, walnuts, coconut yogurt, raisins, cinnamon, flaxseed. A splash of honey in tea. Each item tasted separately. Then in combination. Then again, separately. Curious. Alive.
The thought came: Do I have enough protein?
Another bite. Do I need more? Or just want more?
I added a little buckwheat, more raisins, coconut flakes, nuts.
But soon, it didn’t matter what it was—yogurt or raisin, protein or carbohydrate.
Each bite had its role.
Each moment had its nourishment.
Each piece a puzzle of the whole.
And suddenly, the whole: a “meal.” A “breakfast.” A “nutritious moment.”
Like the chariot—so the teaching goes—it does not exist until all the pieces come together.
Wheels, axle, seat, reins… and yet, even assembled, “chariot” is just a name. A reflection. A glimpse of something beyond the parts.
So too, nutrition. So too, ocean. So too, me.
Everything is made of smaller pieces. And those are made of even smaller ones.
Until you reach the smallest piece—imminent, fleeting, unknowable.
And that too… is empty.
Yet here we are, living inside a bell curve of form and formless,
neither mountain nor mist,
but some balanced blend of both.
Eating breakfast. Naming it as such.
And smiling, perhaps, at how everything dissolves—deliciously—into everything else.
Spiritual Gravity 