Do you think if you woke up in a cabin across a lake from Mt. Fuji and made a bowl of matcha in the morning you would become enlightened?
If I sip a slightly bitter cha as I look over the river and the bay, will my eyes be cleared of illusion?
Sometimes when I pour a golden brown tea from one container to another I get a little sad. Or some unnamed emotion, the emotion you get when you see a color that holds the things you care about. All is forgiven if you are bitter, tea. Everyone is bitter some days.
I used to think Alex’s eyes were the color of tea and coffee—wow, I get lost in that color. But now I think the tea and the coffee are the color of Alex eyes. Patina golden brown, a hidden wholeness. And when I pour the tea and it thins out in a hundred shades toward the edge I think of every moment she said something to me with her eyes.
I have no structure to give you, no story to tell today. Just someone sitting at a desk, trying to listen for wisdom.