...on sacred things

A hot cup of tea is a holy thing. Steaming and amazing, in the middle of a noisy workday, a hot cup of tea can be a holy thing. Held sacred, silently revered, savored by me alone.  Dark roast coffee, Lindt dark chocolate truffles, hot pink tinged sunsets, warm and heavy summer rains, a hug from a little person, an inside joke between two consenting friends…those are indeed holy things. A stroll down an avenue set ablaze with the color of ochre and crimson trees. Sitting by a large body of water on the first weekend in May, the spring sun radiant, the wind running its fingers through your hair. Forgetting life's anxieties on a dance floor, being liberated by your favorite music, surrounded by good friends. First Friday at an art gallery, acting like you understand that green splash in the middle of the canvas.  Having a meaningful discussion with a person who seems as knowledgeable as King Solomon in his prime.  Traveling. Reading a scripture that seems written specifically for you, although hundreds of years old. Being in Times Square at 2 am and feeling awake enough to stay up all night. An orange kitchen full of laughter and ridiculous smells. A knowing glance across a table or room from the handsome XY you love. Rich, red Shiraz and prawns. Allowing your mind to wander the complex melodies of John Coltrane, Chaka Khan, Sarah Vaughn, Miles Davis, Mint Condition, Sergio Mendes, Jeorge Ben et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. The freedom of music in general. The blessing of knowing the Almighty. The freedom of speaking your thoughts to your computer/confessional and escape the noisy revelry of the crowded break room. Being in your personal wonderland, and to think, your rabbit hole was a hot cup of holy ginger tea.