Eccentric Tea Woman

  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 wanted to be like him in so many ways. I wanted the arrogance, the pride of knowing that others looked up to me, the feeling that no one could touch me with their lower-class hands. I wanted to see my name splashed across book covers displayed in New York and Paris. I wanted to know that when I died, like he did several years ago, that I too would continue to be admired and feared. Instead, as I walked down the busy street and stopped in front of the small bookstore, I decided that I wanted something greater. I wanted to learn about the world and why people couldn't get along. I wanted to make a change with no expectation of getting a pat on the back. I wanted to be human and not a god. I peered at the display of his books behind the window and then walked in to purchase one of his books. As I checked out, the all-black-wearing bookseller asked me in a snobbish tone why I wanted to read an asshole, a person who had no concept of what it was like to live for yourself. I replied

  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 that

  Tell me something new about yourself, he asked her. Tell me something you'd never tell anyone else. She frowned as she tried to come up with something to tell him. What's wrong, he asked. Nothing, she replied, it's just that I can't come up with anything to tell you. You know everything about me. She leaned back in her chair and watched a small breeze play through the tree in his front yard. When we first met, he stated, you wanted to live a different life. One that wasn't filled with constant worrying. Now that you've grown up and taken control, you're no longer the timid woman I met. She ran a hand through her long red hair as she turned to face him. Well, she began, I'm no longer listening to idiots. I listen to myself and what's good for my well-being. He cocked an eyebrow while a smile appeared on his face. How's that going for you, he asked. You're the last one, she replied with a smile as she got up and walked away. 

  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.    

  For years, he placed a second pillow over his head to secure his comfort when he slept. That second pillow also protected him from the "ghosts" that flew over his head, or so he thought. He didn't want his head to be exposed against the unforgiving night and so buried himself to feel more at peace. But that was the problem - he didn't understand that his mind was his only enemy. It was his mind that told him that he was alone, that no one cared for him, and that things were "out to get him". He dreaded the quiet shadows stretching into his bedroom and waiting for him. He knew that once he closed his eyes, he would be vulnerable. One night, and I think it was a Thursday, he went to bed yet forgot his second pillow. He fell asleep and woke up the next day quite refreshed, only to fall deep into despair when he realized what he had done. How could I have forgotten that second pillow, he asked himself. He listened to his mind telling him that he wasn't saf

  Life isn't easy. I used to think that brochure was wrong in trying to sell me a life filled with much laughter, easy direction, and friends who will be around till the very end.  Life is wonderful, crazy, messy, horrible, inspiring, colourful. We come to this world to experience, love, deceive, make mistakes, get things wrong, apologize when we can, and hopefully die knowing that we did the best we could. I want to remember the walks I took through the forest, the times when I drank tea with friends, that moment when someone needed help and I said, "Of course." I want to remember when I failed to be there, the times when I gave away my right to be human. Those times when people told me what they thought was right for me. How it would be easier to exist in a giant bubble rather than accumulate scrapes and burns. There are so many who are hurting, angry with the world and themselves, wanting to numb themselves rather than face what is right in front of them. I want to tel

  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.

  He arrived first at their favourite Chinese restaurant. She told him that she wanted to talk with him about a very important matter and to wait for her at Red Lotus. He filled his first plate with food and then returned to the table to begin eating. He knew that she wouldn't mind if he started without her. Ten minutes later, he received a text from her - I can't do this in person. I'm ready to say goodbye to you. Take care and leave me alone. He read the message five times, then looked at his lunch with wooden chopsticks laid on the plate. He shrugged and resumed eating while thinking - now I can stay as long as I want. He pulled out his book and began to read and smiled when the waitress asked him if he wanted any oolong tea. He replied yes and then added - today is my first day of being free. The waitress looked at him in silence, then bowed her head and walked off. 

  Maybe it was the way he held his book in front of his face. Or perhaps, it was because he slurped his coffee. Whatever it was, she knew she had to talk with him before she left the cafe. She watched him as he continued to read while ignoring everything going on around him. Every time he raised the cup to his lips, she imagined what his lips felt like against hers. Every time he licked his finger to turn the page, she wondered if preferred the company of books over the company of women. Her eyes widened as he set the book down; it was now or never. She slowly got up from her chair and made her way toward him, her eyes never leaving his face. He watched her approach as he picked up his book, only to set it down again. When she reached his table, she said - you remind me of a French film . He glanced around, then focused on her again as he smiled. He pointed at the empty chair next to him and she sat down, then pulled out his journal and wrote - I read lips rather well and I love Elevat

  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.  

It finally dawned on her. For so long, she spent her energy in constant desperation to be liked and adored. She wanted everyone to know of her work and that she cared so much about their opinions - almost too much. However, in waking up to a rainy day, she realized that doing the work for the sake of the work was more important. She closed her eyes as she sat up in bed and meditated on the concept of letting go. Let go of imposter syndrome, let go of constantly filling a void that wasn't real, let go of waiting to see a Thumbs Up next to a post, let go of striving to be popular. She let go of it all until nothing was left except herself. Her multicoloured, messy, imperfect self.   And she was happy with that. 

  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. 

  She stared at her low bank account and sighed for the millionth time. Why did I do this, she asked herself. Why did I walk away from a stable job and small talk at a water cooler, and instead embrace my creative side? She felt tears forming in her eyes, yet she refused to let them fall down her cheeks. Always the same - never give up! You only live once! Make your dreams happen!  Yeah right. Bills continued to pile in, insomnia had become her best friend, and at times, screaming seemed like the perfect therapy. Yet, every time she thought of quitting, something would pull her back in. Mostly her stubborn side. She closed her eyes and whispered - I truly give up.  And then, a voice answered: now you can live.  

  The only truth we have is the one we give ourselves. It’s never pretty and when we do discover it, we sometimes wish we hadn’t. A long time ago, we were a species filled with ideas, imagination, and a desire to see more. Are we like that now, I wonder. Does the thrill of seeing the world in all its distasteful beauty still exist? Where are the philosophers, the creators, the thinkers? Are they still around, or have they given into the huddled masses? What do they even look like these days? A single book, bound with silk, pours forth the answers we weren’t expecting. It tells us - don’t give up. Open your eyes. Feel the world breathing. And remember that one day, you will die.

  I woke up to a new day. The sun filtered through the windows over our heads, casting a soft warmth across the bed. I felt my lover's arm draped across my waist as he lightly snored. I cracked open my eyes and rolled them around in their sockets, then closed them again. Five more minutes, I told myself. My eyes opened again and this time, I saw my lover's eyes staring at me. Good morning, he said with a smile as he bent down to kiss me. I could taste faint hints of his mouthwash that he used last night. I cupped his face with my hand and smiled while I thought - my god, I'm bored. 

  She stood in line at the gas station store, waiting for her turn to provide money in exchange for the large hazelnut coffee. Truth be told, she didn’t really enjoy the coffee that much. Rather, it was her silent interaction with the people who frequented such establishments. She found them simple and predictable, two traits she boldly claimed would never represent her. She adored her life of receiving fresh copies of The New Yorker on time, giving her enough of a reason to read them in her minimalist yet trendy apartment. She craved the conversations with her friends regarding the latest state of affairs, or which European cigarettes were hip enough to smoke. She wore black all the time because it was the only colour she allowed to brush against her skin. Yet, here she was, standing in line to pay $1 for gas station hazelnut coffee. She gave the young girl her money, walked out in silence, and got in her car. She set the coffee in her drink holder and drove off, suddenly craving a c