Practising presence 5: centering eating

Years ago, I took an eight week mindfulness course. Every Tuesday evening we’d gather and practise together. Mostly we learnt how to be still, to observe our thoughts, to bring awareness to our inner life.

As well as teaching mindfulness, the instructor was a chocolatier, making artisan chocolates which he sold through a local deli. I’d tried these chocolates before but at £2 a pop they were out of my price range. When he announced that the following week we’d be sampling his chocolates and practising mindful eating, I was thrilled. Finally, an opportunity to gorge myself.

I was wrong. In the thirty minutes we practised mindful eating, I ate one chocolate.  

Our class began with a short presentation on the slow and highly involved chocolate making process.  Next, we passed a box of the handmade chocolates around the room so we could notice the shapes, the patterns, the subtle tonal differences. 

We patiently waited until we were allowed to choose a chocolate. I chose a dark chocolate caramel - domed and glossy, nestled in paper cup. I held it in my hand like precious treasure.  

We started with looking, then progressed to sniffing. Eventually, I was allowed to touch the tip of my tongue to the chocolate's shell. If we’d chosen a filled chocolate (which I had), we were invited to take a bite. Then, at last, we were told to carefully place our chocolates on our tongues and let them melt. 

It was the slowest I’d ever eaten a chocolate and I can still recall the contrast of flavour and texture between the crisp, bitter shell and sweet, syrupy centre. When it dissolved in my mouth I felt a strange mix of awe and grief. 

You’d think our foray into mindful eating would have ended with swallowing but, no, we continued to sit in silence, noticing the sensations in our mouths, gently releasing any urge to rush on (or locate the chocolate box).

I’ve tried to hold on to the lessons of this workshop. I’ve taught my children how to eat mindfully (see video below) and occasionally, if we’re gifted a really nice box of chocolates, we practise the whole thing as a family. But most of the time, our eating is anything but mindful. Instead of slowing down to savour, we’re eating in a hurry; grabbing lunch, compulsively eating crisps, demolishing our dinners. 

When I eat like this I rarely feel satisfied so over the past few years I’ve been playfully exploring how I can bring more slowness and awareness to my eating. It’s very much a work in progress but basically it goes like this:

Notice. Pause. Taste.

I notice when I’m becoming distracted and put down my cutlery (or the bag of crisps). If I’m reading my phone or composing an essay in my head, I gently put that down too. I breathe. Then, I take a bite and chew. Slowly.

I call this practice centering eating because of the way it echoes centering prayer - a practice of contemplative prayer that seeks to guide us into the deeps of silence where we rest in the divine Presence, beneath thoughts. There are, of course, (huge) differences between the practices of centering prayer and centering eating but when I eat in this slow and mindful way, I feel the echo throughout my being. Both practices draw me into the present where I am available to encounter and be encountered. 

Central to the practice of centering prayer is the use of the sacred word. This can be any word or short phrase and it doesn't have any magical property or role. In fact, teachers of centering prayer suggest choosing a neutral word that isn't connected with lots of thoughts or memories. Some people choose a single word like "still", others go for a short phrase like “let go” or "be loved". This word or phrase acts as a sign or reminder of our intention to be present. When we become aware of thoughts (or feelings or images - which are also considered to be thoughts), we gently release them by inwardly repeating the sacred word.  This isn’t because thoughts are bad but because during the “sit” of centering prayer, our intention is to simply be present. The sacred word helps to return us to that naked intent to be present so that we can drop deeper into the silent depths of our being where we are open to the activity and presence of the Divine.

In centering prayer, my sacred word is usually “peace” or “let go”. In centering eating, my sacred word is the flavour and texture of the food I’m eating. As I chew, I release the hurry and mental chatter and allow the food to draw me into the present.  

When I eat this way, I notice two things: I feel more satisfied and I feel more connected. Satisfied because I have really tasted what I’ve eaten, connected because I have fully embraced my embodied dependence on food, as well as the land, the animals, the hands that have helped bring this meal to my plate (or crisps to the bag). If I’ve been eating with others, I also feel more connected with them. It's as though my full presence has allowed the meal time to be truly shared. Satisfied and connected, I find that gratitude flows organically - a prayer of thanks that springs from both heart and gut.

For Christians, the centre of communal life is a shared meal of bread and wine. A meal that, depending on your theology, symbolises or embodies Jesus’ giving of himself. I know that some people prefer to keep the Eucharist as a uniquely sacred meal but my experience of centering eating has thinned the divide between ordinary eating and sacred eating.* When I honour my eating with presence, all mealtimes become an opportunity to receive nourishment as a gift lovingly given and encounter the sacred through taste. 

The recommended sit time for centering prayer is twenty minutes twice a day. I’m struck by the fact that twenty minutes is about how long it takes to eat a meal. This week I’m receiving all my mealtimes as opportunities to practise centering eating. Perhaps you might like to join me.

If, though, food feels complicated or triggering, please go gently. Perhaps there’s another, more manageable way you could bring awareness to your tasting. It could be as simple as closing your eyes when you take your first sip of water in the morning while you bring awareness to the particular taste of the water and how it feels on your tongue. It could even be the taste of air. No true spiritual practice cultivates shame. Do what works for you and just see what happens.

Jen x
 

* As Richard Rohr explains, this thinning of the distinction between formal sacrament and ordinary moment is exactly what is meant to happen. The mysterious Presence of Christ in the bread and wine of the Eucharist reveals at a microcosmic level what is true in the whole macrocosm: Christ is Present. The invitation is always and everywhere to taste and digest that Presence so that we may live wholly at one with it. To read more from Rohr on this click here.