Inspiration

[tourbi]

What Is Your Brown Rice
Kristy Iris


I like sushi. Nay, I love sushi. On a cold, dreary day in April, I went to the market around the corner from me to get some sushi for lunch.

I looked at the offerings and asked the sushi chef, “Do you have sushi with brown rice?”


He looked at me, annoyed, and then barked, “No brown rice. White rice.” Hmmm. He seemed a little cranky. I felt a challenge in that crankiness. There was something more. There was something stirring within me. I felt a deep call of service to help my newfound friend in finding joy in the lack of brown rice. There was some connection there.

I replied, “Okay, well, maybe tomorrow—brown rice.”

He barked back, “No brown rice. White rice.”

I shrugged, smiled, and replied, “Okay. One can hope, so maybe tomorrow, brown rice!” I bounced off, intrigued by where this was going. There was something deeper brewing.

A couple of days later, “Any brown rice? I mean today—brown rice?”

“No brown rice.”

“Okay—maybe tomorrow—brown rice?”

As the cool spring breezes turned warm, could that be a smile cracking? “No brown rice.”

“Okay, but just maybe tomorrow—brown rice.”

And then, the next week, still: “No brown rice.”

And the next week, we were well into June, and the flowers were blooming and a little laugh bloomed with the “No brown rice.”

I laughed back, “Okay, well, tomorrow, brown rice.” And I let my attachment to the brown rice go.

Our repartee went on through May and June and July. At one point, he took the time to explain that he has one rice pot to make the rice and just cannot make two kinds of rice. My response: I felt that I might not be the only one in my bohemian West Village neighborhood of New York City to like brown rice. I noticed a woman eavesdropping on our impassioned conversation. I immediately involved her in the debate and asked if she would like brown rice sushi. Suddenly engaged, she shyly nodded and slid off into the soda aisle. I looked at my buddy, smirked, and replied, “Tomorrow—maybe brown rice.”

Finally, he laughed and shrugged. “No brown rice.”

I laughed back and skipped off with my white rice sushi for lunch. I had no attachments to brown rice. Would I like it? Yes. Would I continue to buy my friend’s white rice sushi? Yes, of course.

Then, in the relief of July’s air conditioning, just as I was about to begin, “Do you have brown rice . . .” Wait! Yep, you guessed it—there, in all its beige glory, were trays of brown rice sushi! I jumped up and yelled, “Brown rice!” My friend looked at me with a sheepish grin and admitted, “Brown rice. Yesterday, first time for brown rice, and I sold out.”

In the moment I saw the brown rice, I knew in every cell of my being that everything I desire, everything that you desire, is really as simple as the fixed attention of wanting brown rice wrapped around a piece of raw salmon and avocado, but with no attachment to the results. Focused unwavering desire can manifest anything. This was four months in the making—every week. And now, brown rice—the fulfillment of my desire, with better sales for my friend to boot!

What is your brown rice? What do you want? Speak of it, think of it, and then let it go. Let nature give you your brown rice. You deserve it!