take no thought for tomorrow: bread-baking and bass playing on a winter's day

Today is all about the bass - and bread baking, too. A young friend is applying to regional music schools and asked me to be a part of his audition recording. He'll be showcasing his chops on two essential jazz standards: "Billie's Bounce" by Charlie Parker and a swinging version of "Bye, Bye Blackbird." I need to settle in to a reggae groove later as well to get ready for this Friday's show at the Infinity Music Hall in Norfolk, CT. That means I'll be playing on and off throughout the day. What's more, we polished off the final crusts from my rustic white loaves yesterday, so now it is baking time again at Chez Jacques. I've wanted to revisit the first recipe I used from back in the San Francisco days in the incomparable Tassajara Bread Book so... we shall see. What a delight: a full day of practice, waiting, music, quiet and the staff of life.

Two hours later: my, my does this bread RISE! I have had to delay grooving on the bass until all the bread kneading is complete. And, as is always the case but never the same way twice, there was a bread-baking surprise: the "sponge" overflowed the bowl! I had a hunch it might happen and made preparations, but still...what a mess? Such is one of the gifts of this spiritual practice: it is the feminine - or at least the domestic - version of Robert Pirsig's zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. Please note that I say "feminine" reservedly, in much the manner that Gertrud Mueller-Nelson, Carl Jung and Gunila Norris use it, a reference to the inward arts of discernment. Ms Mueller-Nelson writes in To Dance with God:

As in a pregnancy, nothing of value comes into being without a period of quiet incubation: not a healthy baby, not a loving relationship, not a reconciliation, a new understanding, a work of art, never a transformation. Rather, a shortened period of incubation brings forth that which is not whole or strong or even alive. Brewing, baking, simmering, fermenting, ripening, germinating, gestating are the feminine processes of become and they are the symbolic states of being which belong in a live of value, necessary to real transformation. 

Things don't always go as the recipe indicates, right? You can count on this with every loaf of bread, you just never know what the surprise is going to be. Trusting that it will happen comes with practice. Ms. Norris puts it like this:

When the yeast is added

we will see in the honey water

the unpredictable, the alive...

which we can never own or

truly understand. We will see

how it bubbles and froths -

how it rises up - and we will know

that we don not have control...

When the yeast is added

to the sweet and the salty,

the skin-temperature,

warm-blooded water, we will sense

the irrepressible and how it moves

into the very cells of our bodies,

into the blood and marrow. We are

flesh and we are vulnerable...

When the yeast is added -

the impulsive, the unmanageable,

the free - we know we will be

moved. Every part of the mixture!

The inert l ump of dough will come alive,

will expand and yield. We will be lifted

out of ourselves, beyond ourselves,

We will be worked...

An hour later still: In the two months I've returned to baking, mostly I've been asked to practice and relearn the art of waiting: waiting for the yeast to rise (but sometimes not) - waiting to discover the right temperature for the water and the right process for adding salt and oil - waiting to discover the right temperature for the dough to rise (and failing at least as often as I win) - waiting to grasp how the very size of the bread pan can make a huge difference. In other words, learning how to wait long enough to see and trust the details of the recipe that have been time-tested rather than blustering forward without inadequate preparation. It is an earthy exercise in going slowly. And the more I practice doing just this, the more my anxiety rests. One of the genuinely learned souls of this disciple is Wendell Berry who gave shape and form to this wisdom in his small book of poems, A Small Porch.

The long cold drives life inward
into shelter, into the body, into
limits of strength and time.

Out of darkness day comes.
The earth now white, the trees bear
bright new foliage of snow,

beautiful, yes. "Beautiful, but hell!"
Junior Wright said, wading
in knee-deep snow to feed

the snowbound cattle. We were young
then and really didn't mind.
This morning, half a century

later, under the beautiful trees,
beautiful truly, repaying much,
I dig out the paths again,

renewing again the pattern of home
life grown old in this place
and many times renewed. Continuing

my difficult study, I remind myself
again: "Take no thought for tomorrow."

To my heart, this is Advent spirituality - trusting a mystery greater than self to be true - and quietly moving into its blessing. I've already relearned that you can not - or must not - rush the bread any more than a bass player can rush the groove.  "As in a pregnancy, nothing of value comes into being without a period of quiet incubation: not a healthy baby, not a loving relationship, not a reconciliation, a new understanding, a work of art, never a transformation."  

Nearly four hours after I started the baking process: I still haven't picked

up my instrument. So much for today being ALL about the bass. There's still loaves to shape. And bake. Maybe I'll get some music in before our recording, but maybe not. That's yet another truth this bread-baking spirituality of Advent prayer keeps asking me to honor: I really can't do two things at once. Hell, I can barely think of two things at the same time, let alone multi-task. So, as the loaves rise, I'm listening to the tunes we'll be playing tonight and later this week. And moving my fingers as if I were actually practicing the tune. Trusting that this will be sufficient. 

Listening to these tunes, a thought arises: should this bread come out well, I'll be able to share a loaf - and won't that be wonderful Like brother Berry said:
Continuing my difficult study, I remind myself again: "Take no thought for tomorrow." (NOTE: they're ALMOST done - looking great - but taking an extra 10 minutes to fully bake. And the road goes on forever...)