Five Senses Friday — Only Better

Every week I come up against the same issue with my Five Senses Friday post (other than the fact that I type "Sense" instead of "Senses" each and every time), and that issue is the "Feel" category. Because while I "feel" the cold wind against my face, I also "feel" the delight of a surprise in the mail, the anguish of loss, the boredom of routine. Aren't these sensations just as real?

While reading Sharon Salzberg's Loving Kindness book this week, I landed on a way to remedy this situation. According to the Buddha (and this will probably not come as a surprise to anyone) there are 6 doors of perception — seeing, hearing, tasting, smelling, touching, and through the mind door by thinking, feeling emotions, and seeing mental images. "Those six ways of perceiving define the totality of our experience." Sharon writes. My thoughts exactly. So, welcome to "Six Senses Saturday." Or sometimes Sunday.

Touch:
• cold wind blowing snowflakes against my cheeks
• an impossibly light polyester/spandex workout top from Athleta, the fabric so soft it almost doesn't exist. What a treat!
• soft brown corrugate giving way to the smooth, glossy cover a new book

See:
• the heart-wrenching images of death and destruction from Haiti

• the distraction of angel statuary illuminated on a cemetery hillside, motionless sentries
• winter's limbs of gray and brown, interrupted by the fullness of hillside pines
• puddles of melted snow

Taste:

• homemade open-face tuna melts on sourdough bread
• steeped ginger tea

• a chocolate chip cookie that tasted stale and disappointing at first, until I discovered the size of the chocolate chips, which were more "chunk" than "chip"

• a Bento box lunch of miso soup, crisp tempeh vegetables, seaweed salad, tuna and avacado rolls, steamed edamame
• the comfort of homemade burritos, followed by the joy of finding just enough chocolate pudding mix in the pantry for 2 servings

Hear:
• that the last layer of the family freezer was unearthed this week, with a roast and meatloaf dating back to 1980, when I was all of 8 and my brother was still working on his undergraduate degree. I'm glad my brother is throwing this stuff away immediately because I'm a sentimental enough person to keep and potentially even try to eat anything that my mom touched at some point in it's disturbingly long, mostly cryogenic lifespan.

• smashing cloves of garlic between a ceramic mug and wooden cutting board, and the ensuing brittle, peeling-away sounds
• the white noise of our hallway fan, valliantly trying to push warm air against cold
• sleeping dog, dreaming of treats, thumping her wagging tail against the metal radiator

Smell:
• breaded eggplant frying in olive oil
• an old light bulb's burnt covering of dust
• jasmine green tea
• the perfume of fresh coriander

Feel:
• surges of impatience, along with
• the nervous thrill of considering a new and challenging plan
• eager for a friend's return from Ecuador
• thankful for a full week of meditative after-work activities ahead