The Tea Shop Attendant Upsells Me Aged White Peony
“Hot tea cools the body
in heat and white tea,
like me, ages beautifully
at one year: tea
at three years: medicine
at seven years: treasure.”
What then does that make me?
Alive, the place between listening
and singing, another word for memory,
another name for trickling water. Sun
hangs, stripping definition. Without
shadow I can barely make out this liquid,
as old as a brother,
light steam. Yet the garden
is unmistakable
pressed up just behind my eyes:
apricot, autumn leaves,
azalea, anew.
In the northwest, fall seems to have come early. Who knows if it will stick around, but for now it feels like something has changed. The wind is different. The smell is different. Or, perhaps it’s just that yesterday was my birthday, so naturally aging was on the brain. It made me think about an encounter I had with a wonderful lady who sells high-quality Chinese teas in Seattle. She was trying to convince me of the merits of aged tea, in this case Aged White Peony (Bai Mu Dan), and didn’t have to try very hard—it was wonderful! Anyway, the one-year, three-year, and seven-year framing stuck with me.
I often think about In Praise of Shadows by Junichiro Tanizaki, a book I read some time ago and now mostly remember what the book made me think about (which is likely quite different from what’s actually in it). It’s a book about the many aesthetic, spiritual, and contemplative virtues of shadow (i.e. white fish looks much less appetizing under harsh lighting when you can’t see shadows and the way temples and churches use shadow for encountering mystery.)
A meditation on change, aging, dark and light, and always … tea.
With Gratitude,
The phonetic character to the second stanza is quite arresting here. I took it in a couple times and, each time, focused less on the meaning and more on the feeling, despite my instincts to piece together a narrative. Love this kind of visual feeling that paints a feeling of contemplation, flavor, and flora.