Eccentric Tea Woman

  First came the rain. Softly, swiftly, a rush of cold not caring of biology. No surprise to those who expected such emotion; changes in most things require further thought that is not implied. The water is cold -  ready to blister and condemn sins. A blessing falls upon us all, not discriminating through the baptism. The rains come with much to fear.  Try the blends of Viridian Tea Company today - Tea Blends for the Strange and Unusual! Click HERE for the VTC Etsy store link! Spider Witch Tea Blend - inspired by the works of J.L. Mulvihill 

  If one sits still long enough Mushrooms will grow on their skin like edible tattoos. Fungi of every colour, size, and smell sprouting in response to a thought, untouched dreams, and wishes gone away. Eating your own strengthens the resolve; not waste, taken and absorbed back into the collective. Cultivated and naked bodies create enough for the world, assisted in dark rooms,  stored away from the sun. Thinly sliced and savoured during parties of ill repute: women dressed in ebon coloured dresses, eyes distorted by mysterious kohl. The men stand to the side, watching like naive children; their purpose is not yet given to them. Samples of everyone lay about within an atmosphere of an opium den - Gothic tragedy creating such sexual frustrations and the removal of limitations. Those who linger beyond the normal, those who savour and taste such fungal pleasures mingled with blood drawn from their own veins, smile as only they can. Their bright violet eyes, their mouths painted wi...

  Too many shadows to catch And not enough patience; something completely regrettable. I am tired - let me fade and become a shadow To be caught by colours still unknown to humans. I was brought here to be a witness To the failings of the world And still I speak with an archaic tongue. I wish to prove to you That yes, it is possible to become something else. Something within your reach, something That the world has only dreamt of and will never create.  Listen to the winds across the sea and tell me that you still don't believe, For as long as you remain stuck within your mind That damage you complain of will never die.  Click HERE for the Viridian Tea Company Etsy Store! Tea Blends for the Strange and Unusual!

 (Golden Farmers Market - Golden, Colorado) Many years ago, my mother introduced me to the world of French pastries when we walked into La Baguette in Memphis, TN. Although the little shop had many items to choose from, my mom showed me the almond croissant . . . and I haven't been the same since. Their almond croissant was heaven to my mouth - the tastes of butter and sweet almond caressing my tastebuds. I ate their almond croissants once every six months because enjoying them meant not only a decadent treat but also a little bit of stomach pain afterward. It seemed that while I could appreciate the finer foods of the world, my acid reflux thought otherwise. Since that time, the almond croissant symbolized a moment of sheer selfish pleasure for myself, the one time in which I throw all gastro-caution to the wind and just give in. The almond croissant has become a bit like a World of Warcraft quest for me - seeking it out every chance I get and knowing that the reward will be just ...

  Plural of everything can exist, possibly in mental notes and images. Was this the result of our wishes becoming fulfilled from a lack of desires? We have become materialistic, trying everything until there is nothing left to duplicate. Surely, textbooks will write of us one day. Viridian Tea Company - Tea Blends for the Strange and Unusual!

(Rikki Don't Lose That Number - from YouTube)   My mother introduced me to all genres of music while I was growing up - Stevie Wonder, Deep Purple, ZZ Top, and above everything else . . . Steely Dan. Now, when I first listened to this group, I thought they sounded really cool. Like "I'm too young to get what they're singing about but I know it's cool" kind of cool. I sang along with them about Rikki not losing that number, or reeling in the years (with CHEESE and not tears), and so on. And, for the longest time, I thought they were black. I wasn't trying to be offensive or anything like that - it's just that to my young ears, they sounded like black guys. Imagine my surprise many years later, when I discovered that not only were they white but also Jewish! And you know what? My love for them has not changed one bit, even as I embrace my 47 years of life on this planet. I loved Steely Dan back then and I love them now. In fact, I even got to see them in...

  My tears will no longer come yet my eyes are heavy from anger and lack of sleep. A light - there is always a light - is far away yet I can still see it in the dense fog created by breaking of trust. Someone broke it carefully, like an egg. I want my tears to come, seducing me into a false hope that I can no longer deny but accept from within. The light comes painfully, ripping my skin apart, preparing me for the next level of bliss.

  Throwing a stone across a pond, causing ripples - each linked to one another in the grand scheme of things. The stone represents changes and what one looks forward to in life when boredom and ennui are rampant. Lakes, rivers, ponds, all: the source of breathing and a feeling of existing, of simply existing , moving beyond what we know as trivial. Too often, people expect too much and receive too little, their stones creating ripples too messy and fractured to take in with any sense of responsibility. Shall a painted stone bring any relief to the mundane? Shall a feather? Whispered words taken directly from direct meanings? Are the ripples meant to be more than life: the universe tapered in a single act, condensed and wrapped strictly for those with limited depth? Pity felt - ripples more in a movement to ease, no longer suffering. Looking for tea and books outside of the norm? Check out Viridian Tea Company ! Tea Blends for the Strange and Unusual! (Spider Witch Tea Blend - inspi...

  I know nothing about lilacs, except that their smell is heavenly. Apparently, a large bush grows in my boyfriend's backyard; I had to see the blossoms up close. One sniff and I smiled. . . and then I wanted to know more about it. The Latin name is Syringa vulgaris and they are a part of the olive family. When people want to calm down, lavender seems to be such the usual go-to (I love lavender too!), yet smelling those lilacs brought about a sense of calm within me as well. How many people smelled lilacs for the first time in their lives and suddenly felt inspired to capture that scent or the colour? I will also admit that when I smelled the bush, I thought about Squidward in the SpongeBob Squarepants cartoon who apparently loves lilac soaps LOL! Why am I finally taking notice of the natural beauty around me, after years of enjoying walks through Overton Park and the botanical gardens in Memphis, or City Park in New Orleans? What has changed for me, if anything? Am I now mature e...

  Celebrating Shabbat can come in a myriad of ways - going to a synagogue, spending time with friends, enjoying a cup of kosher wine on a Friday evening, or pulling up weeds. This past Friday, my boyfriend and I did just that. Now that Spring has (somewhat) arrived in Denver, the time to exercise the green thumb comes at you like a very good itch. For the longest time, I had much respect for all things green and growing, yet never really took the time to do anything about it. That all changed when I moved to Colorado. If you're not into Nature and being a part of it, then Colorado may not be for you. But, I digress. Last Friday held nice temperatures with a bare hint of cool breezes - the perfect time to pull up weeds. After enjoying some local beer consumption time, James started to pull up weeds in the backyard. I soon joined him. At first, I was the official bag holder as he dumped weeds into it, only to change as I sat down on the pebbles to get good and dirty. I would grab a s...

  To be fair, I never knew the name of these plants for the longest time. I just knew that they were pretty and that they seemed to appear around the beginning of Spring. However, after taking my regular lunch walk, I noticed a huge patch growing in front of my house. Curiosity got the better of me, and so I began doing research - turns out these plants are called grape hyacinths or Muscari. These plants are planted in the fall so they can grow and bloom in Spring. They DO have a scent that is reminiscent of grape bubblegum, so sniff away! Grape hyacinths are part of the asparagus family and are native to Europe and Asia. Although they are known for that beautiful blue colour, grape hyacinths do come in a wide variety of colours. If you'd like to learn more, please check out the websites TheSpruce.com or Better Homes and Gardens!

When some people hear the word dandelion, they immediately think WEED. And while that may be true, there's so much more to the dandelion! When I was interested in  adding it to several of my tea blends , I knew very little about the dandelion except that there was more to it than meets the eye. Dandelions, or taraxacum officinale, are good in salads (either the leaves or the buds). The leaves are also good for tea blends as well - I find that they add an earthy yet faint sweet taste to my tea blends. According to the website The Spruce Eats , the roots are good as an addition to coffee! I think it's neat to see them suddenly appear in a grassy area. Seeing them in a yard or in a park is a reminder that Spring is coming or already here, as each blossom looks like the face of the sun smiling at you. And of course, there's the wine, although I will admit that I've never had it before. I might need to change that really soon! According to a recipe on allrecipes.com , you ne...

  Among the blue and green She flies Caring not where she goes Only to feel her body Slick Glide on Through the blue and green. She sings A mournful song About a love She knew of before. Her salty tears Flow and become one With the blue and green She swims on Her tail, majestic, scales gleaming Through the blue and green.

  This is the time when we must stop what we are doing and listen, listen, listen To what our ears no longer pick up. To what we have denied ourselves for the longest time. This is the time to rise, phoenix, sending flames to everyone, a fire baptism . Reach deep within ourselves and pull out the dream. One impossibly long, aching dream, escaping sighs from our lips Trying desperately hard not to scream when the knowing ends A nd the forgetting  g oes finally away. This is old, very old, our dreams, primitive and brown and black Rough edges, smoothed over by time and wants that increase with speed and haste. This is not what I had hoped for. As a witch, I dreamt of flying over little towns, Like a bird of prey, silence my guide, my dream of dreams And still it comes to this never-ending cycle of my questions From which there is no answer, only my dreams and my stained soul have to offer (not much) I want to finally see again, like so many others, those with the eyes that spark...

                                                                      “This is what happens,” she said “When love has been given and thrown away.” Her face, something I want to forget . So many lines, each a sad tale , Each one a reminder of how weak she used to be. Eyes dull yet  still have the occasional spark Created from defiance from rejection given. Not too late - her mouth says although her lips Do not move, only I can hear her thoughts ; Such anger caused her to deny movement To any other part of her body. Bitter, hat eful , the cycle played out over and over Till she is dead, her body becoming organic  - Dreams fading away.  

  Tonight, she wore the red dress That makes her skin glow; you Know, the one we all wished we had. I probably should have realized That underneath it all was pure jealousy And that she was better off when she Wore her standard black. The dress came from a small store Now closed and covered in dust. I never went there; never wanted My own moment of godlike status. My glow is darker than most Due to my sinful thoughts and Exploration of sensual foods. I Made it clear for them to pass me By and forget my name.

  She placed a leaf from the dying oak tree On her desk to remind her of the world Outside the cubicles. No one asked her why she had such a thing But only stared in silence Laced with misunderstandings. She never told them why N or did she care to. Her leaf swayed to a tune that only she could hear.

  One drop of blood Is more than sufficient As a sacrifice among sinners And pagan saints. Purging all that is holy Gives up more room to defy the order And begin something new. Those that hold the ropes Claim they never wanted it to happen; Foolish mortals were never quiet. Inside of this In spite of this Denial of this, never that Under frightful eyes With glass sharp tongues. Revenge is a cup of warm jasmine tea, sipped slowly, In case if there was something missed. Forget all that has been learned And focus on what is here For there can never be another Time.  

  I wonder what it will be like When it is all over. She asked me to comb her hair Yet I refused; at least, I still Have that choice. Promise, my love, That you will not waste such Freedoms on me. Pain is merely art, One that comes with tongues wagging. It’s not her, but I wish it was Me.

  I am not the average Tea drinker. Although I do enjoy a cup of sencha green in the morning, or perhaps a chamomile tisane blend at night, Tea is more to me than just leaves in water to enjoy on a cold day or night. Several years ago, I attended my first Japanese Tea ceremony and it changed my life. Every move and every utensil had meaning, taking the act of drinking Tea to a higher level, yet I knew that there was more to discover. Chado was the answer - translated to The Way of Tea. In the study of Chado, one learns to incorporate Tea into their life, giving the person time to pause and reflect as they sip on their cup no matter the time of day. To sip your cup of Tea in silence is to breathe. To smell the Tea allows us to appreciate the process of bringing the Tea to us. Every sip is a chance to strip away all of the unnecessary noise and junk and instead focus on what matters most to us. Whenever I enjoy a cup of Tea, I enjoy that moment in my Life. It is of the here and now t...

  Gracefully upon the word sea, the figure dances. Darling sailor come closer and see, see What the sea of ink that came from squid Shall tell me today. Shall it be a song of loss or a song of revenge? Give me your ears, darling sailor, and listen to the winds That carry such smells, old and forgotten by those Who refuse to see with metal eyes. Darling sailor, read to me, read to me What the word sea says. I place my hand into the ink that flows So slowly and pull out a single word - Love. Grace. Anguish. Delight. Salt. Tears. Darling sailor, take care upon the ink of squid That festers and boils when not used by silver tongues Slip downward into the murk and free me, free me. Here in the prison that no one can see. Do you not hear my pleas, my darling sailor? That which is never used, that which is overlooked. Gracefully, gracefully, upon the word sea Tell me a story, darling sailor, and let it be free.    

  A dead leaf Reminded me of when You said you loved me. Autumn, a season of Changes and the Fae, Came upon us like a Bear searching for trout. We both had a cup of Tea – me oolong and you Earl Grey – when you told Me you loved no one else. I thought you were lying Then and still do now. The dead and dried leaf Can never return to its Previous state; all I ask Is that it can.

  The dragonfly died last night And I wonder if that was a sign That things may get better. My body is covered in bites - Signs that mosquitoes like my flesh. The good feeling music continues To play While I’m crying my eyes out. A stronger dosage of giving a care Is needed. I don’t seem to recall Whether or not you still remember But I’m slowly disappearing.

(Elmwood Cemetery - Memphis, Tennessee) When we see ourselves truthfully, a little bit of our shadow selves begin to die. Crumbling like a lost book, the information dead and long forgotten. We must be ready and willing to shed our dead skin - wake up refreshed and sensitive, our new skin glowing without the aid of glorified lies and stories not researched well enough. We have lost, I think, a little bit of what it means to be human, but still it is a small sacrifice to weigh – the shedding is painful and long-lasting.  

  We are in an ever-growing state of change. We thrive, we die, we live again. Suppose, then, if the cycle were to stop? What would become of us then? Are we timid animals, seeking only out next crumb? Or shall we rise beyond said crumb to become what we are truly meant to be? We can seek solace and comfort within ourselves, yet how far will that take us? Do we fall to the ground or stand and fight? Do we love with every fiber of our being or do we fade? Choices, none of them ours. We breathe and desire in that one moment. That one space where nothing is held accountable. I treasure that space. It fills me with something beyond hope, something beyond a good night of sex. I listen. And understand. The words are not enough. The symbols are not enough. To become what we can not fathom, we must become more. We must delve into that which does not kill us. Here. Never. Being. Sacred. Together. Alone. 

  They sat together at the counter in the diner. Him - slightly hungover yet in a good mood. Her - fully sober and pissed off. He reached for his crumpled pack of cigarettes, only to recoil when she slapped his hand. She sipped her coffee and wondered how long it would take to toast a damn bagel. He gently placed his hand on her knee and this time, she didn’t slap it. A single night turned into a vast crevice that could never be repaired. He wanted forgiveness. She wanted his nuts in her hand. They knew they had to leave the diner sooner or later, yet neither one wanted to make the initial move. That move would mean that it was truly over. She glanced at him over the rim of her coffee cup. He tightened his grip on her knee. She wanted him to ask for forgiveness. He wanted to brush his teeth. He finished off his Tea and sighed as he released her knee. They both froze - was this it? He looked at her. She looked at him. Hey - he said. Hey back - she replied. Five minutes later, the di...

  The wandering poet knows no home. The world is her bed with thick pillows. She drinks the ink and studies leaves on trees, knowing that the inspiration is right in front of her. Her eyes aren’t real. They are two violet coloured orbs that look into the future and turns it into a wild wave. She makes friends with strangers because they live one second to the next. She writes her poetry on the beach, above the mountains, and under the oceans. She is not afraid of losing them, only that they will last beyond time. Her wide brim hat shields her from the sun’s affection while her cloak was made from the tears of the moon. She thinks. She writes. She loves. All given freely. She wanders because her feet must move. She knows that no grass will follow her. The moss will find another home. The wandering poet sighs as the rivers wave to her. She knows that she is loved. Come, she says. Let me feed you with my words. Let me show you what the world can do. I accept her invitation and then co...

(photo by me - prints for sale) We were told to stand up and fly right. We were told that family always came first. We were told that we weren’t good enough, pretty enough, capable enough. These words from those who were called family. Those who loved us and wanted what was best for us. We were stepped on, pushed out of the way, learned that we would never be good enough. We would cry in the dark yet come out smiling because we had to. Always a pain in the ass. Why can’t you listen to me? Don’t go against what we have planned for your miserable life. And then....one day.... We woke up. Learned that the world is bigger than their house. We viewed colours for the first time and dared to live because they were afraid to do so. They saw our wings and tried to clip them off. They saw the light in our eyes and yelled even louder. You won’t make it, they would scream. You can’t make it without us. You’re nothing. The wings were heavy because we were getting used to them. We tried to fly, only...