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forestbathing

forestbather

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Cup of Coffee...

Is innocence virtuous? Or isn't innocence too close to ignorance? To spend years understanding the world's cultures, religions, philosophies, and suddenly finding a whole area you thought you had covered, is like discovering a virginal rainforest never seen or visited before, with promises of mythologies, cures, whispered secrets and futures foretold, among the stones long ago indented with long forgotten scribes, in pictorials as yet undeciphered.

 

Last month, or early this month, to be precise, my future was read, easily, quickly, smoothly, and correctly, by a blogger, during a joust of words and talk of coffee. If we had been fencing, she could not have delivered a better move; a quick stab:. ''touché,'' I would have acknowledged,  already plotting my riposte. But there was no lunge; no feint, no parry. Just a clean direct flick, and touch.

 

At first I smiled to myself. ''Let her try,'' I thought, blindly. ''Let her try to pierce this armour with stories of cards, tarots and talk of ordained destinies.''

 

But suddenly, I was exposed. Her detailed writing was just a touch, a step, in fact, a whole marathon too far for what is loosely-termed as coincidence. I read again, re-read: looked for the trick, and tried to spot the error. But I knew too, that I was seduced.

 

Sometimes, one must admit one has been outwitted, and humbled, and get used to the idea...as new as it is.

 

And now that my wildest dreams might be known at the flick of a wrist in a country due south of here, I will let them flow, to see where they take me, to what flavours I may taste on what rocky outcrop, cup to lips, for there must always be a mountain, with a future one can physically view, a vista of valleys and peaks to explore , and always a full cup, or at least half full, for conversation, for the moment to be properly tasted, and for the discovery of what lies at the bottom of that cup...