Years ago, I spent a lot of time in an ashram. One of my jobs (besides less-glamorous stuff like cleaning toilets) was to cook in the kitchens. It was lovely. The food was simple, clean, pure; most of our meals were composed primarily of beans,rice and vegetables, but they tasted like the fare of five-star restaurants. I am convinced it was the serenity and open-heartedness of the people cooking, the melodic chants we sang as we stirred. The spirituality of the place entered the food – or maybe, we became more spiritual because of it.

In their well-known quote from Consuming Passions: The anthropology of eating, authors Peter Farb and George Armelagos note, “Food to a large extent is what holds a society together, and eating is closely linked to deep spiritual experiences.” Most religions and spiritual paths throughout history have some kind of ritual or rule related to food and eating. Fasting is one practice; in many spiritual traditions, the act of abstaining from food is thought to increase spiritual awareness, achieve the discipline necessary to resist temptations of the flesh, purify the body or atone for evil acts.

And when they do eat, devotees are mindful – even rigorous – in their choices. The Hindu dietary regimen, for example, thinks of food as belonging to one of three categories, depending upon its effect on the body and spirit. Tamasic food is overripe, spoiled, stale, processed or canned, and results in dullness, heaviness, sluggishness and lethargy. Rajasic food is spicy, pungent, hot or stimulating, and is related to overactivity, agitation and overstimulation. Sattvic foods – considered the most desirable – are pure, fresh and light, and leave us feeling refreshed, clear and alert. These (predictably enough) include fresh vegetables, fruits, whole grains, nuts, seeds and legumes. I think it’s moving and elegant that this ideal diet, the one mostly widely recommended for healing, was described in the Bhagavad Gita more than 2,000 years ago.

Other traditions have other rules. Buddhists aren’t necessarily vegetarians; Buddha was said to have instructed his disciples to accept whatever food was offered, and that to refuse an offering was to reject the giver (without helping the already-dead animal). Careful admonishments were given, however, to avoid eating carelessly: to eat mindlessly, or just for pleasure, is to be moved by selfish temptations.

In Judaism, kashrut is the set of laws defining appropriate foods (in English, it’s called kosher), but other, more subtle, spiritual rules also apply. Traditional Jewish teachings believe the body is a gift for which we are responsible; and on a very practical level, an early book of Jewish ethics writes, “It is not possible to understand and become wise in Torah and mitzvot when you are hungry or sickly or when one of your limbs hurts.”

So these are all interesting theories. But what exactly, as spiritual folk, do we eat? I asked two retreat centers on the Front Range to share some of their recipes with us, and they graciously agreed. So, for you, two renditions of true soul food.

Mediterranean Red Lentil and Spinach Stew

Serves 6 to 8

This lovely soup recipe exemplifies Shoshoni’s (www.shoshoni.org) simple but beautiful cooking. Reprinted with permission from their book, Yoga Kitchen: Vegetarian Recipes from the Shoshoni Yoga Retreat, by Faith Stone and Rachael Guidry (Summertown, TN: Book Publishing Company, 2004). Get the book for more inspiration!

2 tablespoons ghee
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 tablespoon ginger, minced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 teaspoons cumin, ground
2 teaspoons paprika
2 teaspoons coriander, ground
1 teaspoon cinnamon, ground
5 cups water
2 cups butternut squash, peeled and diced
1 cup dry red lentils
1 cup red bell pepper, diced
1 stalk celery, sliced
1 bunch spinach, washed, stemmed, and finely chopped
1/2 cup cilantro, chopped
1/4 cup currants or pitted dates, chopped
3 tablespoons Bragg liquid aminos or soy sauce
1 teaspoon balsamic vinegar
1 to 2 teaspoons salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne

1. Heat the ghee in a saucepan. Add the onion and saute until well browned and caramelized, about 10 minutes. Add the ginger and garlic and saute for 2 minutes. Stir in the cumin, paprika, coriander, and cinnamon. Add the water, squash, lentils, red bell peppers, and celery. Simmer uncovered until the lentils are tender, about 30 minutes.

2. Stir in the spinach, cilantro, currants, Bragg liquid aminos, vinegar, salt to taste, and cayenne. Simmer just long enough for the spinach to wilt. Serve hot.

Sunrise Ranch Winter Vegetable Soup

Serves 12

Joyce Karchere, executive chef at Sunrise Ranch (www.SunriseRanch.org), makes these from a combination of organic root vegetables grown on their farm; apple juice made from Sunrise Ranch apples adds a little sweetness that lifts the earthy blend. (All other ingredients are also organic, needless to say.)

3 to 4 tablespoons olive oil
7 1/2 cups combined equal amounts of carrots, winter squash, and yams (peeled and chopped)
3/4 cups onion, chopped
1 tablespoon peeled, sliced ginger-root
1 1/4 cups apple juice
2 tablespoons organic orange juice concentrate
1/2 tablespoon ground coriander
Pinch each of allspice and nutmeg
5 cups coconut milk (or 2.5 cups vegetable stock and 2.5 cups coconut milk)

1. Heat olive oil in a large pan. Saute carrots, squash, yams, onion and ginger for 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in juices and spices and enough coconut milk and/or stock to cover. Simmer until vegetables are soft, 25 to 30 minutes.

2. Transfer soup to a food processor and puree until smooth. Return to the pot, add the coconut milk and gently reheat. Season to taste with sea salt. Serve immediately, with millet patties, or hummus and pita.

Lisa Turner is a food writer, intuitive eating coach, and cooking and nutrition instructor at Bauman College of Nutrition and Culinary Arts in Boulder. Visit her websites at www.TheHealthyGourmet.net and www.InspiredEating.com.

Check out Lisa’s New Inspired Eats iPhone app featuring hundreds of original recipes–from creative appetizers and salads to clean, beautiful desserts–for every dietary choice.

I have a yoga mat made by a company called “holding.” It’s short for “holding the edge”– a phrase that describes a key concept in yoga. When we arrive at a difficult posture, one that causes discomfort, we stop carefully and notice it. We don’t react by flinching or jerking back, but we don’t shove forward either. We bring awareness to the physical (and mental, and emotional) sensations we’re experiencing in that posture. If there is physical pain, we carefully back out of the posture. Otherwise, we relax into it.

It’s also called “riding the edge” in surfing and some other sports, or “dancing on the edge,” which accurately portrays the practice of moving forward and back along the rim of discomfort. And there is great wisdom at the edge. It teaches us not only what we’re capable of physically, but also what our patterns of reactions are, mentally and emotionally.

In the face of discomfort, what arises? Fear, anger, judgment? And what’s our natural tendency–to ignore the sensations and shove blindly forward, thus risking pain and injury? Or do we run away from the difficulty, missing an opportunity to grow and advance?

This concept of holding the edge–neither forcing through nor shrinking back–applies to most other areas of our lives. Relationships are best served if we show up fully and completely, not holding back but not forcing what can’t be forced. Successful careers are built on the concept of giving it your all, while not shoving forward into uncontrollable circumstances. And it applies to our food lives.

If you struggle with mindless, emotional or stress-based eating, holding the edge will serve you well. Let’s imagine a scenario, one that happened to one of my clients who wrestled mightily with mindless eating. She worked as a house-sitter for a battery of wealthy clients who regularly traveled to exotic locales. Her regular dietary habits were stellar, but when she was staying at a client’s house, the gloves came off.

Around sundown, she would start to get uncomfortable–bored, lonely, out of sorts; sometimes, she found herself inexplicably stricken with grief. By 9 p.m., she would find herself alone in an unfamiliar house, standing at her client’s kitchen counter, elbow-deep in a bag of chips. And she couldn’t stop, until she had devoured most of the chips, cookies, cartons of ice cream in the pantry and freezer. Afterward, she felt shame, disgust, powerlessness. It was exactly the same pattern as an addiction.

Was it because she felt lonely and vulnerable in an unfamiliar home? Was she grieving her modest life in comparison with the spectacular lives of her clients? Was it just the novelty of a pantry filled with forbidden foods? Doesn’t matter. What’s important is that somewhere along the line, she checked out. Emotional discomfort arose, and she yanked back from that edge.

What does holding the edge look like in this instance? The urge to eat arises. You stop, and just notice the sensation. Eating some chips, cookies or ice cream will create a pleasing cascade of happy brain chemicals that will relieve the sensation for a bit. But you don’t do it. Instead, you stay there at the edge of discomfort. It gets stronger, worse, even painful. Maybe you get mad. Maybe you sob. Either way, you stay with it, noticing what arises without reacting to it. Something lies just beyond the craving. Something is there at the edge, some great wisdom and the potential for mental, emotional and spiritual growth.

As it turns out, she did all of the above. One night, alone at the home of a family who was taking some fabulous, pricey vacation, and overcome by the desire to eat, she held her edge. She grieved for being alone, unmarried and childless, for living in a modest home, for being heavier than she wanted to be, for her heartbreaking childhood, for feeling helpless and vulnerable, for the sheer passage of time. She went into the expansive yard, lay facedown under the stars, and pounded on the manicured lawn with both fists. She sobbed for the better part of an hour. At the end of it, she felt renewed, and honest, with a deeper clarity toward her life.

That’s the power and wisdom any of us can find at the edge. The process may look something like this:

1. When a craving strikes, and your first impulse is to head to the kitchen, stop. Do nothing. Close your eyes and breathe, deeply in, deeply out, 50 times. Feel the cells of your body softening and relaxing. Sometimes, this is enough.

2. What’s the level of your discomfort? If 1 is barely noticeable and 10 is unbearable, is it a 2 or an 8? Having a somewhat objective measure puts your feelings into perspective. If your discomfort meter reads “3,” perhaps you can allow it to be there; it may subside after a few minutes.

3. If your discomfort is substantial, find a quiet place and space to let the feelings come up. If you’re in a work situation–a meeting, a cubicle–change your surroundings. Go for a walk, find an empty conference room, take a bathroom break and go sit in your car.

4. Sit there with your feelings. Imagine having them in for a visit and a cup of tea. Let them talk, and listen attentively, as you would to a trusted friend.

5. Allow some space for whatever arises. It’s not necessary to label or judge it. Just let it be there. Envision being in a difficult yoga posture, or catching a tricky wave in surfing. See what happens when you find your edge and take it for a ride.

In what areas of your life do you experience the edge of discomfort? And how do you hold the edge? Think about it, and add your comments here ~