Black Tea.

August 5, 2013 § Leave a comment

Black Tea

I’m hanging out this Monday listening to music by Marina Kanavaki.  I’ve been moody all morning from mourning all night. Sunday’s left me dry trying to figure out what’s forever undefined.  Time for some black tea, I think.

I walk the floor and pour water into the pot.  Seems all I do is pour but this empty vessel is never filled up.  Plugging in the kettle I reach into the pantry and take out some baked clay someone formed into a cup.  It is the space within that makes it useful, said Lao Tsu.  Into that space I place the tea bag and wait.

How slow the moments go as I wait for the kettle to boil.

Ready at last I pour, better stop short than fill it to the brim.  Add honey and let the tea steep… something mysteriously formed.

As the steam rises I wonder which has the form.  Is it the tea, or is it the cup alone?

I take a sip.  It doesn’t feel “cuplike” on my lips.  Is the tea beyond form?  Or is this what Hakuin meant when he wrote, “Form, is the form of emptiness.”

I drink my tea, savoring every drop until the cup sits empty.  Lao Tsu’s words rise up in my thoughts again, “Though the body dies, the Tao will never pass away.”


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