Ritual Tea with Chris
Opening the door, we feel the hot air rush past us and into the hallway.
At first, it feels good after the cold, night air. Then it is too hot.
As she opens the windows, I light candles and prepare the tea. This has become our nightly ritual.
After serving her tea, I pour myself a glass of wine. I usually reserve this ancient ritual for solitude, but the night is much too warm for hot tea.
Filling my favorite pipe with flower tops, I relax in a chair and wait patiently for the soothing effects of marijuana to take over.
The room is slowly filling with cool night air that makes the candles dance and the leaves of the plants prance softly on the gentle breeze.
Figures emerge from light and non-light and play gaily on the walls and ceiling.
Good little spirits transcend dimension after dimension, being and not being, seeing and not seeing, feeling and not feeling…they transcend all.
It is an unusual time, a different time…than any other time before. We all know it, see it, feel it…but we can’t say it, even though it needs to be said.
I stare out of the window and try to pretend that it isn’t so. There is no right time, no knowing time, no time that when things unborn or unheard of emerge from the depths of infinity never to be hidden again. And yet…I know that it is so and can never be otherwise…for it is now, and not yesterday or tomorrow, that I realize the difference her presence makes.
I sit next to her and we talk of things neither to be taken seriously nor to be regarded as mere idle conversation.
I want to tell her…but I want to be sure; for there is no room for half truths.
I look into her eyes and the desire to speak is replaced by the desire to feel…and I know…I truly know that I care for her.
The candles dance and the images prance around the tiny room, while the leaves of the plants sway in the breeze and I lie staring into a beautiful dream of future nights…and ritual tea.
Written by: Sondra Lee Y… 1974