Break bread

When I feel stupid, which is very often, I read. Its a perfect cure for an ever present malaise. 

But anxiety and loneliness is a bit more of a struggle. Its only in fleeting moments and glimpses, but it often feels crushing. 

The cure, is ancient. 

Bread, lavash, pita, tortilla, dosa, bao - it comes in many names, grains and forms. 

Making it usually involves effort. And time. It will not be hurried. 

When cooked, its evidence of transformation. Of grain, into food. Of fermentation, into health. Of chaos, into nourishment. 

Standing in the kitchen, ensconced by the aroma of freshly made bread, you feel ancestral hands and voices soothe you.

Science can handily explain how bread relieves stress and makes one happy. 

I much prefer the notion that if it was made with love and care, then it will nourish more than one soul. 

And that is the root of my happiness.