what we do before the water boils

how busy, or still, do you keep your hands?

By Temple Moore

One rainy autumn morning, I yearned for nothing more than to savor a freshly brewed cup of herbal tea. I would be indulging in a blend that I had not yet tried: a green tea infused with rose petals and mint.

My morning tea time is a sacred and simple luxury that is, at best, unhurried. This ancient ritual brings with it lessons in patience, in slowing down. Attempt to rush and it will scorch you without apology. Each cup invites stillness, reflection, ease. Urgency has no place here.

The tea making process, of course, begins with boiling the water. Ironically, I could not bear the duration of the wait on this particular morning. I wanted to jump straight to the reward, to taste what I imagined would be a delightfully aromatic blend that would awaken my senses and calm my restless energy.

I waited and waited, paced around the kitchen, kept my hands busy with meager tasks. There was an odd need to be in constant, aimless motion before the water boiled.

As I finally poured the hot water into my mug, it seemed to me that a substantial aspect of my cherished tea time was lost in my impatience to arrive at this moment. How could I truly appreciate this gift and all its sweetness when I desperately wanted to expedite an essential part of its creation?

This experience mirrors the chapter of life that I find myself in. There is something brewing, elements that are working together in the unseen realms, and I am eager to revel in what I sense is coming.

I cannot see what state the water is currently in, and I am heavily in the grasp of the unknown. In this liminal space, I have been waiting for my life to expand into something fruitful, for the water to boil, and I have spent far too long distracting myself from the discomfort of this waiting.

But I have waited enough. It is time to make myself useful and prepare for the inevitable arrival of this specially crafted tea blend of my deepest desires. In what space do I wish to welcome this gift when it shows up at my door?

There is a need to declutter and renovate. I will purchase a vibrant rug, a cozy chair, and decorate the room with paintings that make my heart sing. I’ll paint the walls yellow for the joy of it. Flourishing plants will live in every sunlit corner. I will burn my favorite scent, eucalyptus, and play gentle high frequency music in the background. I’ll open the windows, let the breeze in, the light.

Let me do what I can to allow my hands to get to work, and remember how to bask in the beauty of this present moment. And then, only when the space is ready, the kettle will whistle.

“Don't wait for it. Create a world, your world. Alone. Stand alone. Create. And then the love will come to you, then it comes to you.” —Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anais Nin Vol. 1

Dogfish by Mary Oliver (excerpt)

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted 
my life to close, and open 
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,

whoever I was, I was

alive 
for a little while.

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𖤓 How do you approach the in-between cycles in your life? The unknown?

𖤓 What are you currently waiting on to arrive in your life? What emotions have you experienced through this process?

𖤓 Figuratively and literally, what do you do while waiting for the water to boil?

𖤓 Is your energetic space prepared to receive what you desire? Reflect on why or why not.

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If you enjoyed the themes of this essay, you may also resonate with:

• on matters of the heart

• re-entering the garden of delights

• in preparation for a new life

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Thank you for being here. My essays are free, but if you appreciate my work and feel called to buy me a coffee, I am so grateful for your generosity! Find me on Instagram at Soulremedies. I also run a book account, which you can follow here: Blooming Literature.