During the years I lived in a meditation center, I rushed through my morning coffee. After
all, if I didn't drink it fast enough, I'd be late for meditation. It was important to get
to meditation on time; otherwise, one had to endure the social stigma of "being
late" (lacking the proper spiritual motivation), as well as the boredom and
frustration of having to wait to meditate--until late-comers were admitted.When
I moved out of the center, I had to learn how to live in the world. I had been
institutionalized for nearly 20 years. I had been "committed." Now I was out and
about. What did it mean? There was no formal meditation hall in my home. I could set my
meditation cushion in front of my home altar, or I could sit up in bed and cover my knees
with the blankets. There were no rules. So I soon stopped getting up at 3:30 a.m.
Once I did awaken, I foudn that a hot shower, which had not really fit with the previous
routine, was quite invigorating. Of course, getting more sleep also helped.
Then I was ready for coffee: hot, freshly brewed, exquisitely delicious coffee. Not
coffee in a cold cup from an urn; not coffee made with lukewarm water out of a thermos;
not coffee with cold milk, 2 percent milk, or nonfat milk: coffee with heated
half-and-hal! Here was my opportunity to fulfill the frustrated longings of countless
mornings of my past. I would have not just any old coffee, but Peet's Garuda Blend--a
mixture of Indonesian beans, brewed with recently boiled water and served in a pre-heated
cup.
Unfortunately by the time I finished the coffee, I had been sitting around so long that
it was time to get started on the day, but I hadn't done any meditation. With this
heavenly beverage in mind, who needed to meditate?
The solution was obvious: Bring the ceremoniously prepared coffee, in the pre-heated
cup, to the meditation cushion. This never would have been allowed at the center or in any
formal meditation hall I have visited, but in my own home it was a no-brainer. Bring the
coffee to the cushion--or was it the other way around?
I light the candle and offer incense. "Homage to the Perfection of Wisdom, the
Lovely, the Holy," I say. "May all beings be happy, healthy, and free from
suffering." I sit down on the cushion and place the coffee just past my right knee. I
cross my legs and then put the cup right in the middle, in front of my ankles. I sit
without moving, so I don't accidentally spill the coffee.
I straighten my posture and sip some coffee. I feel my weight settling onto the
cushion, lengthen the back of my neck, and sip some coffee. Taste, enjoy, soften, release.
I bring my awarenessto my breath moving in, flowing out. If I lose track of my breath, I
am reminded to take a sip of coffee--robust, hearty, grounding. Come back to the
coffee. Come back to the breath. A distraction? A thought? A judgment? Sip of coffee.
Enjoy the coffee. Enjoy the breath. Focus on the present moment. And, remembering the
words of a vipassana teacher of mine ("Wisdom, in Buddhism, is defined as the proper
and efficacious use of caffeine"), I stabilize my intention: "Now, as I drink
this cup of coffee, I vow with all beings to awaken body, mind, and spirit to the true
taste of the Dharma. May all beings attain complete awakening this very moment." As I
visualize the whole world awakening, my mind expands into the vastness.
Edward Espe Brown is a Zen priest, cook, coffee lover, and author of The
Tassajara Bread Book (Shambhala, 1995) and Tomato Blessings and Radish Teachings
(Riverhead, 1997).
This article originally appeared in Yoga Journal, September/October 2001. |
