First sip, last bite, a thousand cups: three homemade ceremonies

Tasse - Wikimedia

"Something opens our wings. Something makes boredom and hurt disappear. Someone fills 

the cup in front of us: We taste only sacredness." -Rumi

"The quote from Persian mystic and poet Rumi says it all for me. It's a beautiful day in my Pacific Northwest neighborhood, I'm excited to be alive and want to fill some cups, just like Rumi said. A metaphor? A ritual? An invitation? Yes to all of these. Timing is the secret to comedy, and the time seems right to fill the cup in front of me." - from A Thousand Cups

The smell of bacon cooking slips through the cracks around Otis's door. Sometimes the Dutch door of our wagon seals tight, other times the door or the wagon shifts and a kinky stickiness resists passage. Pete is cooking up the last of the bacon. After more than two months of lock-down eating I've made a shift and some foods will be let go while others will weigh more heavily on our shopping lists. Bacon had been an infrequent choice for years, until the urge and hankering for it bloomed replacing chicken and turkey. Maybe you have been there too. Juggling or rotating your diet to respond to ... life. Pete will cook and eat the last of that bacon and I? I am smelling it cook and making room for something to fill the cup in front of me with something else.

I wrote the blog "A Thousand Cups" when we were living in the woods off of Forest Lane. There was a Quonset hut holding space enough for a kitchen -- small and satisfying. Enough for a small black cat to be for many years, cooking space sheltered from the wetness that is Washington, and in that space many, many stories filled with medicine; I was filling a thousand cups.

As it happens with my spiraling journey I forget how many stories, or cups, have filled. Until. Until something or someone tells me a story or reminds me that my hurt, or my joy is part of some sacred and mysterious space.

Here's what happened:

A friend wrote: " When I was in Bolivia, the indigenous people make corn beer.
Before they start drinking, they always pour a little on the ground, the first sip is always for the Pacha Mama."

"Pachamama is a goddess revered by the indigenous people of the Andes. She is also known as the earth/time mother. ... Pachamama is the mother of Inti the sun god and Mama Killa the moon goddess. Pachamama is said to also be the wife of Inti, her son." - Wikipedia

 I replied: "Right, of course the first sip. Robin Wall Kimmerer (Braiding Sweetgrass) tells a story of her father's homemade ceremony offering the first drink of camp coffee (grounds in the pot over a camp fire) when she was a young girl. Before she or her father had re-connected with their Potawatomi Nation they had camp coffee and prayer to their akua.

A new homemade ceremony of offering the first drink of the morning to the akua has become something I do. 

"The first sip is yours. Na 'aumakua ..."

Reza abbasi miniature cupbearer

 - Wikimedia

 Then ... last night I prepared to ask our favorite herbalist a question on her Blogtalkradio show. I write about Susun Weed often, and refer to her books, podcasts, YouTube offerings and free online courses. This is a generous and committed Aquarius Sun woman who lives to enjoy ever moment; she is a unique 'dancing green woman.'

I never did get to speak with Susun Weed but her radio show last night was one of those 'life is turning turtle' times. Usually, the ninety-minute program begins with a short welcome and intro and then the first hour is filled with questions from callers and answers from Weed. Instead, she turned things upside down and talked for thirty minutes, revealing a deep secret whose time had come: endometrium cancer.

Three years of a very private conversation between her body, a small few intimates, and a handful of medical professional (included teams of specialized surgeons) have brought this dancing green woman to a place of deep deep healing. Rather than attempt to describe Weed's experience, those who are interested can link here to listen to Tuesday, May 26th episode of 'Ask Herbal Expert Susun Weed."

It was one of those intimate and humbling moments of witnessing a hero drawn up and through the deep perils of real danger. Shamanic. Transformational. Sacred. Everyday Mojo.

After telling her story, Weed opened up the phones to hear caller's questions. The last of these questions was from a 78 or 79 y.o. former dancer who asked (almost sheepishly, but not completely so): 'What can I do to loose weight?"

Weed told her a short and complementary story to her journey with cancer to answer. I'm paraphrasing here. When Weed met with the surgeon who would ultimately perform the May, 2020 'reconstruction' the surgeon told Weed she needed to lose weight. Weed did that and kept it off.

"How did I do it? I left the last bite on the plate." And when it was time for the surgery Weed was 40 pounds lighter. 

"Leave the last bit on the plate" is the second of three homemade ceremonies I'm doing.

This small ramble of a tale began with the exquisitely beautiful tile mosaic tea cup and the quote from Persian mystic and poet, Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī. When first I pieced together the blog "A Thousand Cups" I could not have predicted the shape nor pace of life on this amazing Turtle of an Island. 

But what is more amazing to me is to recognize the perfection of timing. The time is now. 

The last of the three homemade ceremonies includes an invitation to you: Be part of a never ending story. Begin folding a paper cup. 

HOW TO START? Click and follow the instructions you find.

Handmade ceremonies are simple acts, infused with the intent to connect in a deeply personal way to the glow within you that knows the glow that knows no greed.

This one's for Susun Weed. 💚💚💚💙💙💙💗💗💗💛💛💛 🧡

Thirteen hearts for the thirteenth step in the continuing spiral.

Much Aloha 'Dancing Green Woman.'

Mokihana and Pete

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