Enjoying a cup of morning tea with fresh lemongrass and vanilla.
Oh, how it enlivens the soul!
Each sip, and I nod approvingly between intermissions of laughter and smiles.
In my tiny room, a brief chill quickly abrupts the air, uninvited, and I sink deeply into my cup.
Ah! Infiltrates the thought:
”This is a chalice of pleasure, I declare,” raising my cup above in a toast to The Divine, imparting my thanks of communion with Heaven.
What an idyllic moment, although I shiver.
Thoughts linger momentarily,
But I am uninclined, and so they depart.
Still, the highlight of moments awaits. I want to stop time.
The anticipation of the next sip looms impatiently with persuasive delight, as the smell of fresh lemongrass and vanilla perfumes the air.
Om. Mum-mm, my tongue, and belly pulsate with mantras of warmth and soothing joy.
I look for something inviting to read; to touch, to listen, to invite all of the senses in this welcoming of morning ritual with heaven’s tea, an elixir for the soul, once known only to gods.
Mum-mm, delightful! I sip yet another taste of tea.
How infused with conscious bliss, though absent in thought, I remain;
My cup perhaps half full, or empty, yet I think of Spring!
My body slips slowly into oblivion’s past, but I am awake, and conscious of now.
In the background, music plays an enchanting sound:
Om, I listen, I hear; I want to sing!
I want to hum what is heard, to dance what is felt.
I want to taste, to know, to be this familiar tune; a tone, unfamiliar to me would easily be forgotten.
Om, it rings a name, a thought, a whisper!
Om, I listen in rapture to an overture played with colorful intentions:
The sound of a trumpeter suddenly mitigates.
Jazz permeates the atmosphere as in divine presence.
Om is divine, interposing as Marsalis played in key, G, C, and D.
Om, I listen to the sound, while sipping yet another taste of tea.
Now, I am comforted and enveloped in bliss.
But, it is not “Wynton,” but “I,” that blows.
My cup is now empty.
Spring will be a little late this year.