Quiet, understated, and refined, the humble teapot contains myriad microcosmic worlds of tastes and medicinal mysteries. The elements of water, fire, metal, earth and wind converge into the quintessence of the most ancient form of elixir alchemy. The soul abides in the splendor of aromas, the effervescence of vegetal liquors dance in the sunlight, and we commune with plant spirits and ancestors in the quiet, humid glow of a tea kettle. Reading the leaves, we infuse ourselves with the softly poured brewed friends of gardens, forests and fields. Discouraging thoughts yield to inspired whispers of hope that saturate with every sip. We taste of creation in the crucible equipped with spout and handle. We savor terrains and jungles in tiny cups and garnished carafes.
We learn wisdom from teapots. We learn the subtle tempo of nature, of time experienced through seeds, leaves and flowers. We learn of patience, of stewardship, of divine signatures written in the botanical script of herbs. We learn of gardens, of elders, of ancestors and understand their notions of paradise. We learn of the need for clean water and clean living, of a consciousness that follows every choice we make. We learn to control the fires of our boil as we do the heat of our passions. We learn the balance of proportions, of interactions, of harmonies. We learn of flavors, of scents, of textures and effects. We learn to sip, we learn to savor, we learn to enjoy. We learn friendship, we learn health, we learn family and the forethought that future generations deserve and the respect of generations past. We learn the land, we learn the artisans, the craftsman, the barefooted women of the fields. We learn hospitality, we learn respect, and we finally learn that we are always just beginning, we learn humanity, we learn humility, we learn peace.
In the tempest outside the teapot, the trials of life can make the internal systems nervous, essence escapes, the heaviness presses vitality and health fades. We need a respite, an oasis in the wilderness, a refreshment of mind and body that gives a gentle warmth to the bones and opens the channels of vital energies. We retreat to the quiet world of teapots, alone with apothecary texts and in wafting herbal scents perfuming the air. Pouring with the skill of immortals, we can bend time with our teacups, we can transmute hours and illness, we can render water philosophic with our brews. We can travel the world without leaving our chambers. We can taste the flowers of unknown vistas, the leaves of distant forests, the roots of mythical mountains, and ingest their absorbed light spectrums into our soul. Ours is a perfect hour’s ritual, the highest art and science of health and meditation. It is the open secret of nature’s glory, the path of sages, the goal of the wise, and the treasure passed on from grandmothers and saints, if there be any difference. Together we can drink sunbeams and moonlight expressed through roots, stems, leaves and buds.