a coffee ceremony

I woke up this morning conscious. I watched the morning sunlight create patterns on the kitchen wall when it shone through the water I was pouring into the coffee pot. I was conscious this morning of the ritual I was taking part in. The thump, thump as I knock the old filter into the trash. I replace it with a fresh one, noticing the pleated ripples as I push them flush with the filter wall and the way that the white is gold with sunlight. The smell of freshly ground coffee fills the room as I scoop once, twice. I make coffee for just one here. As it brews, to the music of dripping and gurgling, I set out a mug. This morning it is one of my own, woodfired and steeped in memories of last summer. The final gurgling, louder than before, announces that the coffee is done brewing and in the morning stillness I take the pot and pour the liquid, glowing rich and exotic brown, into my mug. There is one spoon that is used for the morning coffee ceremony. Much like the Tea Master's bamboo whisk, the silver spoon, given to me by my mom is the only one I search for among the silverware. Partly because it is perfect for measuring the right amount of sugar for my coffee. I listen to the crystals make contact with the hot liquid and watch them disappear beneath the dark surface. Mostly, though, I use it because it is tradition. We use those spoons at home for our regular coffee ceremony, that event that creates pause in our day. My favorite part of this ritual is the cream. If you don't stir right off you can watch it turn and swirl creating the first art of the day. But it is not about the art this time, thank God. I don't have to make this piece. I only have to wake up conscious.