Satipanya Porridge
Original source: satipanya.org.uk
This intimate essay by Noirin Sheahan transforms the simple act of eating porridge into a profound meditation on the nature of existence. Beginning with mindful attention to the sensory experience of breakfast, the narrative unfolds into deep contemplation of predator and prey dynamics, both literally in the eating process and metaphorically in human nature. The author skillfully weaves together personal reflection with fundamental Buddhist insights, particularly anicca (impermanence) and the reality of dukkha (suffering and unsatisfactoriness). Through honest observation of her own reactions—from enjoyment to revulsion to acceptance—she demonstrates how mindfulness practice reveals the transient nature of all experiences, including our attachments to them. The essay continues through the washing up, showing how sustained awareness transforms ordinary activities into opportunities for loving-kindness and appreciation. This piece exemplifies how Vipassanā meditation extends beyond formal sitting practice into every moment of daily life, revealing the 'simple abundance of the present moment' and the profound teaching that 'just this is enough.'
The spoon is raised, the head leans forward, mouth opens and warm, velvety porridge pours
onto the tongue, eclipsing all other experience. After a while the jaws start moving and
raisins are torn open and nudged around the mouth. A smile settles into my face as I relax
and enjoy the first spoonful of porridge.
Savouring a raisin I am struck by the contrast between its soft juiciness and the hard
sharpness of the teeth tearing into its flesh, destroying it. A TV image of an old bull being
eaten by lions comes to mind. The bull moaning, the lions feasting. My sympathies were all
for the bull when I watched the TV program, but now, although I feel for the vulnerability
of the raisin, my tongue demands its sweetness and my teeth tear into it without mercy.
I recognise in myself both bull and lion, predator and prey. Revulsion follows, not wanting
any part in this contorted human nature, and pinching, bitter sensations fill my head and
chest. After a while, although Im writhing inwardly, I am not above noticing that the fairly
neutral sensations of porridge feel much, much nicer than the bitterness in my own flesh.
There is some humiliation that the uninteresting taste of porridge (by now its even cold)
calls attention more than my anguish at the dilemma of suffering! In dismay I try to resist
the comfort of cold porridge, but luckily I dont seem to be in charge of this show! After
another few spoons there is only gratitude for the kindness of anicca (the transience of all
experience) which brings all suffering to an end. I notice again the sweetness of raisins
and there is a sad appreciation of their ready giving way to the reality of sharp teeth and
grinding jaws. I dedicate the merit of breakfast to the welfare of the moaning bull and of all
suffering beings.
Now another bowl of porridge is almost empty, and I notice I have become disinterested in
the business of eating. My mind recedes from the situation. I also notice however that the
porridge feels just as velvety as at the first spoonful, the raisins taste just as sweet, the jaw
and tongue movements are as vivid as ever. Its only my attachment to the activity which is
dying away. This gives me a foretaste of my own death, and the knowledge that everything
except myself will survive this unscathed. I shiver with fear and excitement at my growing
acquaintance with a consciousness which does not mourn my passing. But this notion seems
too much for me to handle, and instead a bitter-sweet acknowledgement of my share in the
cycle of life and death settles into my heart.
After breakfast, washing the bowl and spoon, the mood changes to appreciation for warm
water, the colours of suds and hands and sleeves and bowl and sink, the gentle movements
of lifting and rubbing. I am relieved at the mood change, but sense something missing,
something being held back, dammed up. For a moment Im puzzled but then the dam busts
and goodwill quietly floods the scene, loving each moment of the immensely rich interaction
process we call washing the dishes. Another smile settles on my face and I am thankful
again for this meditation practice which has no favourites, finding each experience equally
worthy of full attention.
And so the day evolves from moment to moment, each self-made drama succumbing to
the simple abundance of the present moment. Just this is enough I hear myself say, feeling
the softness of the dish-cloth, the weight of the bowl, a sigh of contentment. Just this is
enough.