How to Drink Tea

1. Earth
Plant a seed on a misty mountainside
then meditate for a long time
until the plant that grows from the soil
tells you it is ready.

2. Air
Take your basket of leaves to a good breathing place,
spread them beneath the sky,
and touch them with your palms
until they tell you they are warm.

3. Fire
Watch lightning bloom an ancient tree into a blazing pyre
and see beauty instead of death.
Collect the fire in your trembling hands
and carry it to safer ground.
Feed it slowly until it tells you it is full.

4. Water
Gather rain from a clean and shivering riverbed
in a pot that knows how to remain still.
Lay your warm and ready leaves inside the pot,
and lay the pot inside the flames.
Listen to the water
until it tells you it is laughing.

5. Soul
Drink until you become more earth than bone,
more air than breath,
more fire than ash,
more water than blood.
When your cup is empty, fill it
until it tells you it is no longer thirsty.

About This Blog

"Lolly" is a person, me. Also, it is a word for a candy, a small sweet.

"On the Margin" is the place where change occurs, where the significance of differences are determined, where decisions are made and actions are taken. It is the place where the unusual is essential, where the exception makes the rule, where the commonplace has no refuge, where the glare diffuses into a tender twilight in the borders between known things. The margin is the home of "why" and "how", and more importantly, "wow" and "now."

We all live on the margin, whether or not we choose it. Choosing to know that this is true allows us to live deliberately. The only option for existing authentically is to face reality, exactly as it is, moment by moment, and to confront what you find on the margin, whether in yourself or in the world, with bravery, hope, and love.

I would like to be lolly on the margin, to interact sweetly with the world when I touch it lightly, when I bump into strangers, when I leave a first impression. Deeper, though, I want to have substance. When you venture past my margins, I want you to find a richness, not something sugary that melts and crumbles, but something dense, strong, and lasting.

I am a tree watching you.

You are a small red ant
carrying your dead brother
to someplace else
I don’t know where.

You are a nervous finch
moving quickly and suddenly
or perhaps you are just very happy
I hope you are happy.

You are a man
with a heavy burden
whose feet say "back-pack back-pack"
I am glad my feet are silent.