Tea Calls Me Home

Tea Calls Me Home

A warm cup of tea

two tea bags

a bit of milk

sugar

in the morning

in my mug

pressed against my face

to warm

and soothe

to remind me who I am

and chase the nightmares away

a cup of tea calls me home.

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Whether it is because of how softly I speak, or because of how closely I identify with the label “contemplative”, I regularly get asked about my morning routine(s). There is a curiosity that many express on how I structure my mornings. I presume that many consider time in the morning to have some heightened access to spirituality, some doorway to the nexus of contemplation and godliness. For me, my routine is extremely simple and revolves around my mug and usually a strong cup of tea.

While I have enjoyed the beauty of arising before the sun for the majority of my life, it has only been in the past 12-15 years that I discovered the joy of drinking tea. As someone who struggles with intense anxiety, there is something so grounding about having a routine that revolves around the certainty of preparing a warm beverage for myself in the morning. My day begins slowly as I drink a glass of water and look forward to sitting with a book and my tea. No matter how busy things may be for me, no matter how many health issues threaten to destabilize me, I start the day soft and slow.

Every cup of tea reminds me that I can begin again.

Every cup of tea reminds me that I am more than a thing to be commodified.

Every cup of tea reminds me that I am living for my highest good.

Every cup of tea reminds me that I don’t have to be addicted to the grind culture that inundates our society.

The slow pace that I commit to in the morning is as much for my mental health as it is for my spiritual nourishment. Tea beckons me to savor. Tea beckons me to reflect. Tea beckons me to chillllllll out. Most mornings you can find me taking things slowly, crying over a cup of tea…and for that I am grateful.