Soup
We would gather in the kitchen,
my mother and I to make soup.
She always made chicken noodle soup from scratch.
Making soup was more than a time together.
It was a time when she taught me life lessons,
a time we connected, and
a time of meditation and focus.
Serving the soup,
or being served a bowl
was healing.
I could taste my mother’s love in each spoonful.
It carried with it memories.
Memories of patience,
memories of love,
memories of faith and
memories of compassion.
Making soup,
my mother would say,
is a form of prayer.
It is a time when we focus
on the experience,
the sights,
the sounds,
the smells,
which ushered us into prayer
and gratitude for the blessings.
Making soup,
she would say,
is about trusting the process,
as we trust in the Ultimate.
Making soup,
she would say,
is more then a bowl of soup,
it is a time to connect with the Sacred
to no that each spoon was a reminder
of how we are fed each day
and where our food comes from.
It is a reminder of how everything works out
as it should
and we are to savor each spoonful
and know that soup is
more then just eating a meal,
it is about deepening our relationship
with the Ultimate,
being filled with holy warmth,
and remembering there is more
in the bowl then just soup.
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