“The Tale of the Instant Coffee …

... or Confessions of a Seattleite”

Once upon a time there was a young woman who we will call Lucy. Lucy was a person who learned to drink coffee during those formidable college years when the balancing act was a challenge between happy hours and study time. Coffee became an essential tool for Lucy once she discovered it’s magical abilities to induce alertness after a few nights of minimal sleep.

Lucy’s love of coffee followed her into her career as a public accountant and she drank cup after cup of coffee throughout the day and evening without effect. Time went by and Lucy moved from career woman to stay-at-home motherhood—her love of coffee only waning during the first trimester of pregnancy when the smell of almost anything except orange soda pop was repugnant.

During this time a wonderful thing occurred. Lucy moved to the coffee capital of the world—Seattle. There she was soon introduced to a variety of coffee concoctions and ultimately landed upon her regular—the tall nonfat latte. Still, nothing could beat a fresh cup of coffee (or several) so Lucy’s coffee chugging days continued—until…

photo by bill hughlett

Aak! Bladder problems!! By this time Lucy had already made the move from regular coffee to decaf since she found that there might have been a slight addiction problem (e.g. screaming headaches when coffee was withheld). Decaf or no, Lucy continued to love her coffee and faithfully awoke to the aroma of a fresh-brewed pot each morning. Alas, the urologist said no more. Or at least no more than one cup a day if Lucy wanted to divert wearing Depends for a while longer.

Lucy discovered that it is next to impossible to brew one cup of really good coffee. Oh, she tried the coffee press. She tried drinking only one cup out of the pot, but each left her lacking. One thing Lucy found that she loved almost more than the taste was the actual warmth of the drink. So, while visiting her sister (not a Seattleite), Lucy stumbled upon her sister’s “fix” of (I dare say it)…instant coffee.

Once again, Lucy was hooked. She found that she could control the strength and, of course, the size of the “cup”, and soon the whistling teapot began to take the place of the dripping of the coffee maker. The aroma was always fresh and the steam was more satisfying than any lukewarm concoction. Now, you must realize that Lucy is only able to admit this shame to her closest friends and just to keep up appearances, she often orders in public her favorite “Seattle” drink—a decaf tall nonfat latte—extra hot, of course!

Thus, concludes the tale of the instant coffee aka the confession of a Seattleite. (Names have been changed to protect reputations.)

Hope that you never find yourself likened to a bad cup of coffee--cold and bitter!!

The Edge

Come to the edge, He said. Come to the edge.
She smiled, lifted off the ground and did a cannonball into the unknown.

The unknown exploded and burst into a million miracles—glistening in the sky for all the world to see.
They floated through the sky, touching corners of the universe that had never known such brightness.

Come to the edge, She said. Come fly with me through the crystal atmosphere.
It is glorious. It is dangerous. It is life.

Ocean of Desire

jelly photo from public domain

I see you. I am happy. I start swimming toward you, but the current is hard.
Danger. There are beautiful glistening orbs. Jellyfish flash in the sunlight. Danger. Danger.
But I want to be with you. To celebrate with you.
My desire is for you. Is it in vain? Will it be answered?

I keep swimming toward you. Deterred by the sting of the jellyfish—the man ‘o war.
I can’t get to you. The current is strong—causing me to tire. My arms give out, then my legs and finally my heart. It is too hard. The pain is excruciating.

I can see you. I am quite near, but I cannot touch you.
The tears come. Tears of frustration and tears of sorrow.
I do not want to shed tears to be with you. I want to spread my light.
I want you to see my brilliance, my overflowing joy.

Yet the ocean is filled with my tears and a cloud descends to hide my brilliance.
I cannot reach you. The cloud is in the way.
It is an old and far-reaching cloud. One that existed before my time and now creeps into our time.

Occasionally my brilliance—my light—peeks through the cloud and casts a beam of light across your face.
It is the face that I love.
But something about the light is too much and the cloud closes back in and shuts out the light.

The barrier is in tact. The jellyfish are invisible in the dark sea. Their sting is strong but not fatal.

Can the sting be fatal or will I continue to swim the current again and again—seeking your face in the darkness-
Wanting to dance. To celebrate. To leap across the waves with you.
That is my desire. To rise above the waves and the clouds. To be out of reach of the man ‘o war.

I am not your enemy. I am your love. Swim to meet me before my arms fail me and I sink to the ocean floor.
Dance with me. Celebrate with me. That is my desire.

Orchard

My branches are weary. They are heavy with fruit that has not ripened--
Like berries that grow to mammoth size yet have no taste.

My burden feels like it will never let go—never ripen. It is hard to see the sweetness of the fruit when the weight is so heavy.

Is the goodness I feel in these days, the pruning of the Lord? Is it the lightening of my load? The tension is heavy and hard. The weight bears down but just before the branch breaks under the weight, I am pruned and the heaviness lifts for a moment.

Is this ‘lifting’ the sweet fruit that is shared with others—my burden raised, as they taste the fruit of harvest?

What does it mean to bear fruit? I don’t want to have the largest crop. The cost is too high. Yet the harvest is great and lives are touched through my bounty. It is bounty born on the tides of pain and suffering.

The storms and winds have pounded the orchard and yet the trees and branches hold firm.
Today, the sun shines, pulling moisture from the ground to bring back balance after the relentless days of rain and darkness.

The Lord is my master gardener. He knows when I need to be tended and when I need to be left alone. He knows when the fruit is ripe and ready to eat. And he knows when it will be nourishing even though I try to eat or share it before it is sweet.
Sometimes I must taste the tartness.

My branches are strong. They will continue to grow and bear much fruit. Relish the rain and the sunshine for both are needed to nurture the orchard.

If I Bring Myself

If I bring myself to you will you rise to meet me or will you flee in fear?
Worse yet, will you advance with attack and retaliation—flinging harm into my face & heart,
using my truth & beauty as weapons against my soul?

“Stand firm,” my heart speaks out. The truth is real.
Stand firm & gently in your beauty.
It will terrify some. They will seek to harm—lashing out with tongues dipped in poison.
But, the poison will turn back to them to be ingested.

You are strong and pure—able to metabolize the poison. Your beauty is not too much.
The truth in your soul is yours and yours alone. Perfectly created & designed; snug inside its cocoon, metamorphosing daily, renewed in the Spirit.

A snake’s venom cannot reach the floating butterfly. Therefore,
Fly away for a time. Rest and feel the wind beneath your wings. Soar.
Remembering the return will be necessary—crucial.
A cocoon is needed for a season not a lifetime.

Spread your wings and share your beauty. It is not too much.

photo by bill hughlett