Chaji

The Japanese make a ceremony out of tea.

But I think in a lot of ways we do the same with coffee. Not so much in how the cup is held, or how it is turned slowly while supported underneath.. but in the way we stir, the way we swirl the cup as we get to the bottom and want to get just a little more flavor out of it. Some people will work a tall travel mug long after the warmth has gone out of the brew. Almost as if finishing the cup is the ceremony and the liquid is just a catalyst. There are those who prefer the handiwork of a barista, the machinations of froth and steam. It's as if people find their comfort in the cardboard they put around the cup to shield you from the heat. Gotten used to the push-top pump dispensers. The different-flavored syrups poured carefully before the mixing begins.

But more than that, these changes have changed us. In accepting the socialization of coffee, we've drawn ourselves more and more into the unwritten ceremony of it all. The sippy-cup tops are put there to help you avoid spills, but they change the way your mouth anticipates the taste. We don't sip anymore, we tilt.

It's not a bad thing; it's
just the way we've become.

It's not like it used to be. Thousand-hour old carafes at gas stations, waitresses like gate sentries armed with steaming pots waiting to "freshen you up." Of course there are flavors and textures now that one could never dream of in the past, along with the impression of gourmet worldliness distilled and reduced to mall and airport corner stores. Like the Romans retelling the Greeks; our ceremonies cannot be the same - but I'd like to think that they come from the same spirit. The same celebration. The same need.

That being said, I sometimes miss the sensation of holding both hands around a porcelain cup, risking what feels like the burning of skin as you let the warmth spread from your fingers to your wrists, deep into your arms and then silently into your chest. I miss having the time and opportunity to stir cream slowly and watch it storm just under the surface, density pushing against destiny.

There is a world of sky under the surface of your mug that
becomes part of your smile as it pours into your soul.

Maybe that's why I always liked to watch when you drank.

I like to gaze. To watch, to stare. I don't know why. It's like breathing in a scent, or taking a nap. It's a pleasure that maybe doesn't need an explanation. Something simply to be savored and enjoyed, without an eye for a clock.

The motion of coffee these days seems so much centered around drinking it on the go. Being able to hold and sip as you move from one point of interest to the other. Not having to miss out on a certain standard of flavor just because you don't have the time. I can understand it. Even smirk a little at its cleverness.

But perhaps that's where the link breaks the worst. The Japanese ceremony has a basis in time. It's about making something go slowly. It's about seeding the ground to grow moments to be shared. Forcing seconds to linger by making the most of every turn of the gear behind the watch face. The meal in three courses. The bell sounding the need to return. The passing and accepting of the cup. These things are all done deliberately, carefully, slowly. Time is taken, time is given. Time is accepted, savored for what it is.

The moments of the past cooling like liquid in a cup
A Sunday afternoon as delicious as it was timeless

...both long goodbyes.

And yet, so different.

[Listening to: Shirley Horn, "Why Don't You Do Right?"]