They say that fate can be read in the dregs of coffee. In, for instance, the dregs in a tiny cup of Greek coffee , or in any of its coffee cousins—Arabic, Turkish, Lebanese, Armenian, and so forth (coffees, like deities, go by many names and origins). But whoever “they” may be, don’t let them appall you with their miserly half-truths.
Seek what is covered b y the rich bubbly froth, or what seeps beneath the moist bitter coffee grounds. Those are the true secrets. Not the physical coffee or cup; the secrets of your perception, of your convictions’ conception. If our fate’s reflection can be transfixed in a few inches of liquid in white porcelain, consider how easy it is to alter our fate with the quiver of a cup or the ripple of a breath along the surface. You see the blob-figure wobbling there, the dark-brown liquid shape framed by the light-brown foam. Shaped like a letter. Or a heart. Or a tree. Or a knife. And all the while, at a single vibration, it can morph before your eyes. Now you see it; now you don’t. It isn’t your fate that shapes you. It is you, quite physically (and mentally, see), who shapes it.
Supposing you’ve finished your coffee. And you turn it three times clockwise (who doesn’t?), pour the excess sludge out on the side of the handle (oh yes of course), and then overturn the cup (onto a napkin, naturally—according to my grandmother, we are doomed but we are neat). You’ll see whatever shape you want. Whatever you want. (Supposing you’re reading the dregs just by yourself. I hope you are.) Again you’re in control. Your eyes. Your mind. Your perception. Your… dare I say it?... fate.
What’s not to love about coffee? It keeps me awake. And my fate? Refill, please.
"Angreek87"
No comments:
Post a Comment