We spend so much time and energy grappling with our emotions, trying to make sense of them, coerce them into order, justify them, explain them, deny them, cleanse them. And yet, how amazing to stop and notice that this exists at all - this heart feeling. What a strange sense.
It's like we have a flute song playing through us, high and low, hoarse and smooth, and we are so engrossed in trying to get the melody just right that we fail to appreciate the sheer wonder of this sound at all.
And then the wind picks up outside in the trees and the wildflowers soak up the summer rain and the cockatoo takes flight. I can taste the sourness of tea still on my tongue. Hear the creak of the fence. Feel the pressure of the cushion. Sense the river of emotion, quiet now but still always there. just as all this is. An endless river of song. ()
A deep deep bow to that endless river. And to tea in all it's forms ( )