I traveled to Tampa last week and was immediately accused by its citizens of bringing Indiana weather with me. Who would have expected 30 degree temps in Florida, even in January?
Well, I should have, because I actually looked at the weather report before I left. But some part of my brain rebelled and wouldn't believe that I needed to pack the same winter gear I was currently wearing. I threw in capris and sandals and tee shirts and of course regretted them all upon my arrival. In fact, I spent much of the weekend in my coat.
But one afternoon, seeing the sun shining brightly again, I stepped outside, my still rebellious brain still expecting warmth. No such luck.
As I shivered, as I felt the chill on my skin, it occurred to me how much I live within the confines of my own mind. Sitting inside the house, I write, I email, I research, I make calls, I check social media. Often, I have three active screens in front of me as I work, living my life in what's essentially a virtual world.
So, as I stood in that cold, I tried to tune into the good fortune of having a physical body that's able to feel, see, and enjoy what the physical world was offering me in the moment. I asked myself, why am I fighting this? This is what my world feels like right now. And it's okay to be cold. Really.
And then I went back inside. Though I'd accepted that it's okay to be cold, I also knew it was okay to warm up. So, on that brisk day in Tampa, I made myself a cup of tea, and it felt like the first cup of tea ever made. Sip by sip, it warmed me, inside and out.
I have always loved tea, particularly masala chai, because every time I drink it, I feel as though the earth is handing me gift after gift for my own health and healing and nourishment and, of course, pleasure—not only those black tea leaves, but also the spices, the seeds, the roots of the physical world, all being ingested by me, as a physical being.
As I drank, there were no screens, no spinning thoughts, no information crashing down and around me. I was just a human being having a tangible, visceral experience of the world.
I'd like to share a poem about that sheer pleasure, published a few years ago in Tweetspeak Poetry.
Ingesting Earth
In my mortar,
I broke cardamom,
released the piney
scent from its pods.
I crushed cloves
till they sliced the air
bitter-bright.
I ground peppercorns
for their quick kindle;
I snapped cinnamon
for its slow burn.
Into the mixture,
I crumbled fennel
to kiss me with
licorice sweetness.
I made this masala
from Earth’s bounty—
seed and root
bark and berry
herb and flower—
and swept it all
into water.
I grated ginger-heat
into the roil, then
swirled in tea leaves,
watched them unfurl,
watched their dance.
At last,
I drank Earth down—
with no milk to obscure
Her clarity,
with no sugar to distract
from my whole tongue,
alight.
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-Dheepa
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