Culture within, Culture without

Water kefir on the left, milk kefir (more on that later) on the right. Proofs from the dictionary project on bottom.

Yes, I do some of my editing work in the kitchen. Sometimes that's the most time I spend in there of a day. This isn't really a tangent: on the subject of "me in you, you in me," I've been thinking about microorganisms within and without, and of course that takes me to words. "Symbiotic." "Commensal." "Parasite."

It's now understood that nonhuman cells outnumber human cells in our "own" bodies by ten to one. These microorganisms form colonies that can lobby with powerful demands, so that it can be literally true that we are possessed/overtaken by influences within us but not of us. "My bugs made me do it!"

Reflected on the outside: my kitchen, no doubt, is full of uncontained bugs I can't see. I welcome the spiders when I see them, benign weavers and cleaners. But I was horrified by the roaches that showed up. In my kitchen, I also contain and feed several colonies on purpose and strive to ensure they get fed correctly. It's another kind of gardening, in a way, and I do it at least as much to cultivate (pun intended) my spirit relationship with microorganisms as I do to consume the products of bacterial/yeast ferments.
Aside from the two kefirs, I have more kombucha cultures than I can manage (give me a shout if you want one!) -- enough to give some of them experimental diets, like coffee instead of tea (far right) (so far so good). This culture's ancestor moved with me from Hawaii over six years ago, and it seems to be happy back in a warm climate, although I left many of its offspring happy with happy owners back in Alaska.

Both kefir and kombucha cultures are called "SCOBY"s -- an acronym for "symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast." Which I guess we are, as humans, too.
Taking a walk on the wild side, here are two veggie krauts: napa cabbage/onion/ginger, and daikon radish. In their own juices with a little sea salt, these are consumed almost overnight in this climate by wild yeasts/bacteria (i.e. I didn't add a culture; bacteria in the environment came and feasted) and become crisp, sour-sharp, without the overwhelming pungency of those sulfurous vegetables when raw. They have to go in the fridge at this point to avoid "rotter" bactera taking over and composting them.

Sandor Katz, the great fermentation guru, points out that no American has ever died from eating wildly- or home-fermented foods--if something's really "gone bad," your taste buds will protect you.

On the other hand, many "humans," American and otherwise, have died of organisms growing out of control within their bodies, and far more feel helplessly identified with addictions and cravings that are not truly of themselves. There is a way out.

• Whatever I am doing at any moment is practice.
• Whatever I practice I get better at.
• What am I practicing now?

Likewise, 

• Whatever I feed thrives.
• What am I feeding now?

Back to the kefir, since I don't do dairy, I had a problem figuring out what to feed the milk kefir grains. I quickly figured out that they need protein (a la casein in milk) as well as sugar (a la lactose in milk). Soy milk worked great. but I mostly avoid soy too; an almond milk fortified with protein also worked well (and of course I need to get back in the kitchen habit and make my own). But then I almost killed the kefir grains when I got back from my trip by feeding them unsweetened protein almond milk. The end product smelled bad, the grain colony dwindled. They made their unhappiness clear.

A dance away from sugar seems a good idea for me right now (more on this soon), but that doesn't alter the requirements of this age-old ferment culture. Even feeding the kombucha on coffee as mentioned above, or hibiscus tea or green tea instead of black tea as I also do, and with maple syrup instead of sugar, doesn't violate this concept: the kombucha culture needs some sort of simple sugar and a tannin-rich tea medium. Coffee, hibiscus, and other grades of tea all have plenty of tannins; maple or even coconut sugar are simple enough.

Would that it were so simple to figure out the correct fuel mix for the SCOBY that is each unique human, to keep the good bugs happy and keep the detrimental or composter bugs from taking over.

More on that, and on those words up top (symbiotic, commensal, parasite), next time.

• Whatever I am doing at any moment is practice.
• Whatever I practice I get better at.
• What am I practicing now?

You, in My Arm; I, in You, Not As Robin Williams (Post-MFA Edition)

I'm back from my final residency at Pacific Lutheran University's Rainier Writing Workshop, MFA in hand. "So am I a real writer now?"

Actually, those ten days were tremendously validating. Those of us graduating discussed one another's work. We each gave a public reading. Eight minutes isn't much, but we made it count, all of us! The readings are always one of the highlights of residency, and our class set the bar high. I got to visit with my trinity of mentors--incredible writers, dear spirits, inspiring human beings all three of them. Wordcrafter though I am, I can only put my hand on my heart to express the depth of love, affection, respect I feel for them all: Lia Purpura, Fleda Brown, and Stephen Corey. I'm honored to know all my classmates and many from other cohorts in the program--great writers, special people, several friends for life.
I left the residency with a new mandate to honor my writing, and new possible contacts in my new home. (And yes, it does feel like home here in Tucson!)

But something else happened during that time. We were at residency when Robin Williams passed. Although I'm not a huge movie watcher, his was definitely one of the most ubiquitous and beloved names of my growing up. I've written a little on here fairly recently about some of my own experience with suicide, and even though I shielded myself from the media around his passing, it triggered a lot in me. I relived my own periods at and over that edge. I asked myself all over again why am I still here. I felt like a failure because I never "succeeded." 

A few nights ago I dreamed. I was with a beloved, close friend. We were so close, we could energetically enter one another's bodies and feel one another's physical sensations. Then I cut my arm--my left forearm (as y'all know, I'm left handed, so that's quite a castration) -- I cut it from wrist to elbow, deep and wide. And the instant after I'd done it, I realized my dear friend was "in" my arm at that time. She could feel the cutting and the cut, the pulsing of broken veins, the warmth of spillage. I could feel her feeling it. I was horrified.

When I woke, that moment was with me. Going forward, how can I allow myself to get back to that deceiving place of believing my actions don't affect anyone else?

You are in the veins of my arm. And I'll use that arm for writing now.