Starting over with Tea

I empty out the ruined Tea leaves, and start over.

Some days are like that.

When the multi-tasking becomes too greedy, when I get disturbed by turbid news, or when I am sitting with unrelenting cyclic, mixed-up feelings of pain and joy, it’s Tea who responds. 

Come back here, the excess tannins in her voice says.

Return to centre, return to quiet.

Rest your legs, and sit instead.

More is not always more.

Imagined safe futures are only imaginary.

The only thing that is known is that the potential configurations are both unruly and smooth, speculative and half baked.

The only thing you can really do is stay.

Stay with me, she says.

Close your eyes.

Follow my taste, my scent, let them guide you.

See how I have witness the events, the times, the places, the making and un-making. Follow the threads on my leaves, she instructs.

I return. I stay.