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The tea and me

Updated: Sep 6, 2023

When the storm within me is too strong for me, I like to sit with my best friend, tea.

It always knows exactly how to talk to me.

In a cup, embracing me fully.

I'm sitting with my first cup of tea.

"I love you, I am here with you, I will stay until the storm has passed because it always passes in one way or another," it whispers.

"I love you, I am here with you, I am staying with you," is the magic formula that enables me to sit with the storm.

There I feel its strong wind breaking me in pieces from inside and its rain rolling in torrents over my cheeks.

When no words can tame the storm, neither heal the pain, the delicate smell of tea, its subtle colours and its soft flavour are my words.

Its energy within me reminds me that, inside me, there is always an old strong tree that will remain tall and stable in the eye of the storm.

With the help of tea, I tighten myself on this tree and drink my tea waiting for the storm to pass.

From there only I can enjoy the beauty of the storm, feeling its wind and water cleaning me up, rubbing my inside out, revitalizing my being.

I stay.

I pause.

I breathe.

I drink.

It is my second cup of tea. I remember that I am alive, that I can feel a storm.

The tea awakens in me, its energy swirling within. We are having a dance, a dance that allows me to see that the storm outside is only mirroring the one within me. Making me see clearly that the cause of the storm that I was pointing at with my finger was disappearing to let the other four fingers point in one direction only: me.

I can finally look at my own restlessness, at my own tiredness, at my own inner storm.

I stay.

I pause.

I breathe.

I drink.

I am drinking my third cup.

The taste is stronger now, like me.

I feel gratitude towards my love partner who, when I was asking him to stop the storm, brought me to my meditation pillow.

How often do we look to the outside to fix something that can only be healed from the inside?

I realized that it had been such a long time that I didn't sit and write.

The tea is asking me: "What have you been busy with?"

"Building stuff," I answer.

"Does it make you happy?" the tea asks.

"Not always," I say.

"Does it bring you somewhere?" it continues.

"Yes, far from me..."

"Stay close then," says the tea before asking: "How does it feel?"

"Quiet," I answer.

"Quiet is good," says the tea, "from quietness only we can see the beauty of a storm."

"I never saw one from there," I say, "when the storm comes, I usually become the storm."

"I see," says the tea, "well storms are strong, it requires some practice to stay rooted in their presence. I am here to remind you of this by experiencing it. In nature, it is the same for young plants. They become the storm when the storm is passing by while the big trees dance with their leaves and branches but rarely with their roots. The young trees learn from the old ones through their roots, through the mycelium, that's what I am doing for you here. I remind you to root in times of a storm."

I pause.

I breathe.

I drink.

I stay.

I am having my fourth cup of tea.

The taste and colour of the tea start to fade away.

I start to feel that the encounter with tea is about to finish.

Now that I remember how to root, I feel once again aligned within me and see the storm passing by with clarity.

The tea asks me:

"What do you see?"

"That I want to write! I forgot to write in the past months."

The tea smiles at me in its little cup:

"For a writer that must be something to forget to write. Did you at least remember to breathe?"

"Sometimes yes, but I mostly felt I was on a run, with a short high breath and no time to pause. Now I see that I can pause, breathe and write. It feels better."

"Then this storm was a friend, it shook out the layers of your mind that did not allow you to see your essence anymore, depriving you. Now we can thank the storm."

I felt it in my heart and said:

"Thank you, storm and thank you, tea."

And you, what are the practices or tools you use in case of inner, stormy weather?

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