It’s poetic.
An art form.
A practice that serves both.
A fleeting treasure captured through all of one’s senses, when you’ve the presence.
The experience, is an art form in itself. With each serving carrying your spirit a bit further.
Further to your own unique stillness, your own being.
Find it next to a potters wheel, a calligraphers inkwell, a scholars study
or cupped within warm hands of good friends lost in conversation.
Life seems to know when to make space. How synchronistic and accomadating life can be.
The outside world seems to join in ceremony.
What treasure is revealed within servings of tea, that can’t be revealed in our own presence?
First cup filters the expectant unaccustomed.
If you stay for a second, you begin to hear its whisper; not enough to understand its language.
A third cup is an unspoken agreement to four or more. Earned trust, you’re here to listen.
Listen to a tale of its roots; a journey explored through your palate.
It stems from a wise seed after all, yielding gifts for those who partake.
Suspended moments of virtue pour over you and crystalize. Our gift.