Ten thousand threads of cellular memories stream to one point here
In this bowl of Tea.
The moment I lifted the bowl of Tea in ceremony
I was transported to the bowls and bowls of herbal soups
My grandmother would so painstakingly make.
Their life's work was to care
Where love is expressed in food
Sitting in the kitchen for hours on end
Next to the simmering cauldron
Making sure the flavour and body of the herbal medicine was just right
All the sweat and love poured into the making.
The kind of love I had not understood in my young mind
The kind of love I had not even begun to identify as a kind of love.
Perhaps that was why I had tried to escape it all by stopping myself from eating, going for years starving and cutting off myself from pleasure and comfort.
My grandfather's hands
Deftly melding and moulding
Jewels and rocks and shapes crafted out of his imagination and hands
His spirit is always with me when I put my chaxi (Tea Stage) together
When I admire my teaware.
And now I find it in this bowl of Tea
Steeped in Dao
That which cannot be named
That which is still and unwavering.
Tendrils of steam rising up in a dance of spirits
I am home.
I am free.
I am love.
Be you, be free, it's all available for you, 💋