The first taste is different.
Preparation is part of the practice. The morning custom of grinding beans, filling water, turning on the heat, all take time, and add to the suspense. I’m sure part of my anticipation is fueled by a low-grade addiction, my psyche craving the familiar comfort that is coming. Whether habit or chemical stimulation, I want it.
And when the grounds have steeped, the alchemy complete, I pick up the pot and pour. The bottom of the cup receives the steam and splash, stopping at the proper fill. I set down the pot and reach over, my fingers take the handle, tighten, feel the small but precious weight, and lift. The ancient aroma of the Americas rises up to greet me. I draw a cooling breath across the surface of the liquid, touch my lips to the rim, and sip. A smile inside me settles as I lower the cup, the ritual performed, the blessing received.
I enjoy the remainder well enough, but it doesn’t match the first moment. I attend to other parts of the morning, chores or worries or details, and taking up the cup again becomes an afterthought, a reflex. The spell is broken, the aura gone. The morning fades to normal.
Why is the first taste different than the rest, so direct, so divine? Is it satiation, my senses heightened and then bored? Is it like a first kiss, layered with nostalgia, more memory than fact? I think it rests on the quality of my attention, an ability subject, at least partially, to my conscious intent.
As I wrote the opening paragraphs above, contemplating my first taste more deeply than usual, my attention shifted, became more concentrated, immersed. Like a gourmet meal, the moment unfolded, tastes and sensations appearing in layers, enriching themselves as I continued to look and feel. Thoughts about the day started to intrude, but the experience of the moment was so captivating that I was not swept away into my dialogue. Instead, attention swept my dialogue into the experience.
If I could infuse my attention with this quality more often, might I re-enchant the morning? What other gems would life reveal, direct, unmediated by my stale and feral thoughts? Another taste, a second cup, the entire day, might find fresh magic and restore the reverence. Who knows what illuminations the day might offer if could remember that the unnoticed, unfelt, unrealized, is always available, and it’s my attention that makes things different.
Photo by Sameer Waskar on Unsplash