Because being suspended in liquid honey is the closest I could so far describe the feeling of being absolutely in love with something or someone.
Because every time I see a real flower (not the ones produced on a massive scale, with their DNA messed up, so they stay in perfect shape for longer, but with little to no smell at all left), I think to myself: as long as flowers still blossom, there can be no question on the existence of Love.
Because anytime I feel pain, physical or spiritual, I remember that it’s nothing more than evidence of the lack of love, or scarcity of it. Even the pain inflicted by others, because that’s nothing more than a request for attention from those who do it.
Because tea is a form of liquid love which you pour inside your body, with hours and hours of good “side effects”. Tea is the story of the planet, encapsulated in the pores of leaves, that starts to unfold once again under hot water, being brought back to life, for enough time to whisper to our souls about the magic of life. And it is the echo which reverberates inside our organs and veins, getting us back to our primary rhythm. Connecting our mind, heart and root energies in a stronger bond, while washing away the traces of dis-ease and the inevitable frustration built up over time, from the walls of inner landscapes.
I’m talking about the tea made from the plants grown on chemical-free soil, hand-picked and sun-dried, you know, the right kind, that keeps the sun and the wind in them, after the water has evaporated. Not those things with 7 labels on the package to convince us that they are natural, when in fact no memory of how they’re supposed to smell or taste remains in those tea bags. Evidence of desperate attempts of men in white robes debating on how to imitate nature, and multiply something which just looks like it, for the bigger profit.
Because it’s the air that keeps us alive, and the air which eventually oxides and erodes the appearances of the body and the material into oblivion, so that the new could emerge.
All those little love makings triggered by each breath in and out feed little rivers of new life throughout my internal universe. And so I know I am being loved as long as I am the recipient of this exchange of new and old.
Because I am water. We are more like water than like any other thing. We are more like water, air, and thought, than we like to admit at this point in time. Water is synonym to magic. It heals, clears, nurtures and transforms. It can transform in anything it needs: patience, impatience, nurture or destruction. It holds the knowledge of the Earth. Life could not begin unless we were fully immersed in the sacred communion liquid first. While humans barely communicate trough words and actions, the Earth communicates through the wind, the water, us, and everything else.
7. The Sun
Because most things follow the Sun, and I feel them all a part of me. Because me and the trees miss it badly in the winter. Because few things can escape the secret agreement it has with the other things that remind me of Love, and also with every cell of my being, such as it is perceived within the boundaries made by men.