Ode to a Swedish Bakery…

… and ‘Boulangerie—Patisserie’

I have enjoyed the ubiquitous coffee shops of Stockholm for almost 23 years. There are many varieties and owners, local and national (the only Starbucks I’m aware of is in Stockholm’s central railway station).

Typically, such ‘shops’ are much more than a place to get my cafe latte. There will always be kanelbullar (cinnamon buns) and kardemummabullar (cardamom) and pastries and cookies of all types. One of my favorites is morotskaka, carrot cake.

Recently I have become enamored of a bageri in a neighborhood which requires a bus ride and tram ride to reach from home—around 25 minutes, if the timing is right.

So I arrive after noon for my private fika, equipped with my latest book, (Braiding Sweetgrass), and a notepad.

This bageri offers much more than many other cafés. It is, in fact, a bakery. Eva and I enjoy the real sourdough loafs they offer, both white and rye.

Having finished my bulle and latte, and having read as much as I cared to, I sat back and basked in the lovely Swedish ambiance. The place was packed, with more in line (this is a Sunday winter afternoon).

Close by my right were a young a couple, lovingly spooning food to each other. Across a narrow isle to my left were a young couple with two small children. Across the main room, sitting in a window seat facing me was a wonderfully gray-bearded and -headed older man, the noon light reflecting brightly from his grayness. Midway between us were three young men together, full of quiet male energy. There were others further to my right near the window, and behind me in the smaller room. And, across the aisle from the graybeard, the quickly moving line of customers in front of the order counter midway between the two glass cabinets containing pastries and lunch items, freshly-made sandwiches and salads.

From my position I could clearly see the personnel, all young women, taking orders and delivering the coffee drinks which take time to prepare at the espresso machine behind the counter. They were beautiful in their youth and energy, erect and confident, their beauty unmarred by piercings or enhancements, tattoos or layers of makeup. I felt like I was in a field of flowers as I unobtrusively watched them.

No-time passed as I relaxed into this atmosphere.

I became aware that I was occupying a small table that could accommodate two people, and the line at the order counter was still accumulating, so I gave over to the needs of the establishment to serve their customers. I bussed my dishes, gathered and donned my outer clothing and side-carry pouch (purse?) to then walk a short distance to the tram station.

Life is good.

 

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Satori at Age Eight?

(Posted November 6, 2018 in my ‘Being Old’ weblog, now shut down)

At age seven or eight I had an experience which I ever-more perceive as a satori.

“Satori (Chinese kāi wù) may be defined as an intuitive looking into the nature of things in contradistinction to the analytical or logical understanding of it. Practically it means the unfolding of a new world hitherto unperceived in the confusion of a dualistically-trained mind…” (Source)

My world changed almost entirely beginning, abruptly, upon my reaching age five and one-half. My first memories were of living with my father and mother and four others–my mother’s three siblings and their father–in the upper flat of a small Victorian house in San Francisco, just prior the USA’s entry into the Second World War. Soon after the war began, my parents moved me away from this large, loving, doting family, having garnered an apartment in a new government housing project on the south edge of San Francisco. Dad had gotten a job as a war worker in the Kaiser Shipyard across San Francisco Bay in Richmond. Soon after this move, my sister was born, my only sibling. Simultaneously, Dad became active in the Socialist Labor Party of San Francisco. Our small apartment often had loud and boisterous conversations when party members met there. And I contracted an inner ear infection from which I almost died. All these things were a sudden break from all that I known before.

I had my satori during the recovery period of my surgery.

It is in my nature to be intuitive, verified by my Myers-Briggs personality type, INTJ: “Quickly sees patterns in external events and develop long-range explanatory perspectives.” All these events  (including associating with other children for the first time) destroyed my first impressions of the universe; I had to make sense of it all, another characteristic of my “type.”

Here is what I remember, vividly, from my satori: I suddenly “saw” everything, whole. Things suddenly made sense. It startled me, and the vision/impression quickly dissipated. I remember the feeling of being unworthy of this vision, that I was too small to carry it.

Around the same time, I don’t remember if before or after my satori, but, certainly after my recovery from ear surgery, I had a singular experience. I was walking to school, alone, on a cool morning, beside a culvert bordering our housing project, when “I” shot straight up into the sky, looked down, saw my body below, then instantaneously returned. I have no intuitive or logical explanation for this. Both these events have stayed with me during the ensuing decades to this time, now at age eighty-one.

“… Or we may say that with satori our entire surroundings are viewed from quite an unexpected angle of perception. Whatever this is, the world for those who have gained a satori is no more the old world as it used to be, even with all its flowing streams and burning fires, it is never the same one again. Logically stated, all its (the world’s) opposites and contradictions are united and harmonized into a consistent organic whole. This is a mystery and a miracle, but according to the Zen masters such is being performed every day. Satori can thus be had only through our once personally experiencing it.” (Source)

I am now reading two books which seem to be leading me back toward my earlier ‘realization’:

I feel I am ready to understand what these books contain, through my many life experiences and through my readings.

It is almost painful to expose myself in this manner: I ask, “whence arises this need to communicate to others these inner, intimate thoughts and impressions?” The only answer I have, outside of my having an as-yet untamed ego, is that it is in my nature to say to others, “look what I found!” This is a major reason for my having initiated this personal magazine, or “blog.”

Here is a selection of books and authors which and who have helped prepare me:

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