Tea-time

A cup of tea. Sometimes a steel tumbler. Sometimes a china with blue prints and a nice saucer -  La Opala. Several flavors to savor for different moods and different occasions. With someone or a group of someones or alone. There is a dialogue that happens between the cup and the drinker, between the tea and the taster - quiet, profound somuchso that volumes may be written on what transpires between the ingredients from their different origins in the liquid that it got brewed in by the hands in its different moods that gave just that amount of tea leaf and just that many grains of sweetness, between the range of tastes as the temperature cools down between the time it got off the stove to the last sip, and the umpteen things that goes on inside the drinker-taster before, while and after drinking. A cup of tea. Sometimes I think the real companion at tea-time is just the tea in the cup and that all other details are over and above that companionship, and oftentimes that is the one least appreciated except as a taste that remains as a reminder of the fact of tea-drinking. It is the little things.

To hold the sacred flame of madness mindfully

Alone in a space - a loft perhaps - a thought raised its head wanting to think it's way through the humdrum around that seems pretty meaningless unless made sense of, and how else to do that than to put 2 n 2 together? If it holds any water and it makes sense, then put another few Lego pieces together and see if it makes sense. Burning somewhere is a topic that knows no beginning or end but burn it does; like there cannot be smoke without fire, wherefrom this fire. Now that it is here, that which fans this alive must tell of its nature, ay? A toss, a turn, a skip, a churn, in search of its lyre, I find a little cove that might as well be the kind of rabbit hole that Mr.Rabbit went into at the start of Alice's journey into Wonderland. Rest is herstory.