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| The best gluten-free apple crisp I've made. In this lifetime anyway. |
I've been pondering identity lately. As in, am I the I writing this as Gluten-Free Goddess, or am I a word-free, less defined kind of I that isn't actually I at all but merely a spark in the collective energy source that is the great Mystery? Or Universe. Or Divine. Or whatever conceptual nomenclature you prefer. Am I my thinking mind- or am I more of an essence, what we call soul, a truth beyond the assumed collection of thought patterns and personal history framed by a set of beliefs and separation known as the ego?
I do know I am not my disease.
One of the reasons I chose not to use the word celiac in my blog title was for just this very reason. I do not define myself as celiac. In an identity sense. Yes, it says so on my medical records somewhere (in full disclosure, I think it actually says "possible sprue, resolved by the patient going gluten-free"). But I do not identify with my disease. That would be identifying with my limitations.
Hello, my name is Karina. And I have screwed up villi.
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Bisquick mix I bought this week. I imagined a golden topped biscuity crust you could sink your teeth into, a melt-in-your-mouth forkful of shortcake, dripping with warm and sticky-sweet juice. 
) baked into what can only be described as yesterday's mashed potatoes. It didn't even try to turn golden. And it didn't melt in your mouth like a biscuit. It just sat there on your tongue. Flavorless. Bored. Expecting to be admired without effort. Like those fame junkies
who are famous for simply being famous. They haven't actually accomplished anything to garner their celebrity status. They just nurture a deeper narcissistic ambition than your average high school beauty queen. They expect adulation because they exist.
entities.