Stillness calls like ravens in the morning,
with voice that cuts through babbling mind,
bending as water round hard stones of habit,
and carrying clear above the froth.
It’s 6 am, the water’s boiled,
poured hot and steeped
over old dry leaves.
Tea slides soft down tongue and throat
and pools in the warming belly.
Between hot sips and soft exhales,
that raven stillness calls.
Cup runs over, mind is clear,
and steam blurs self and other.
In this liminal realm between the breaths,
with steam and silence co-arising,
all the answers, secrets, and Gods can be found,
quietly drinking their tea.
with voice that cuts through babbling mind,
bending as water round hard stones of habit,
and carrying clear above the froth.
It’s 6 am, the water’s boiled,
poured hot and steeped
over old dry leaves.
Tea slides soft down tongue and throat
and pools in the warming belly.
Between hot sips and soft exhales,
that raven stillness calls.
Cup runs over, mind is clear,
and steam blurs self and other.
In this liminal realm between the breaths,
with steam and silence co-arising,
all the answers, secrets, and Gods can be found,
quietly drinking their tea.