Water and Roses

For the prompt “tea as magic.”

As in most cases, with human endeavor, it pays to be mindful of the details. I prefer glass for my instruments, so my teapot is clear glass decorated by a few golden stripes along the outside. My cups are small and round, in the Middle Eastern style, also made of glass. The whole set sits on a golden tray. Gold for life, for the sun, but also for softness and bending. Around my tea set in glass bowls sit my ingredients. Rosehips for the possibility of love. Dried petals of the hibiscus flower for dreams. Lemon peel (organic, there was a sale), for purification. Blackberry leaves, hawthorne, orange, mint. I wasn’t going to be using the mint today, but I took some out of its tin and put it in its bowl all the same, next to my favorite Assam. There had been a time or two when I had been happy to have mint close to hand, when dark things came calling.

I use a circular table made of maple wood that I got from my grandfather. The only fire I use is to heat the boiling water. Today my main ingredients are rose, hibiscus, lemon, blackberry. A few pinches of other things, well crumbled, go into the pot as well, and then I meditate as the water warms. Purification. An opening of hearts. Golden light sloshes within me in time with my heartbeat, like the tide on fast forward, out to my fingertips and back to my heart. I feel the pulsing steadiness of my center, as I let my intent encompass the room, feeling its boundaries. The doors through which my will does not pass, because I do not care for it to be so, the round window in one wall looking out over my garden.

My kettle, made of true iron, begins to steam. I hope the Senator likes his gift.