One of my favorite parts of the morning is my morning coffee ritual.
I start off with freshly roasted beans from Vermont Coffee Company, specifically their Dark Roast. Their Dark Roast has always been a favorite of mine as it offers a rich, roasted, dark, almost burnt chocolatey intensity but it has a pleasant aroma and taste that isn't harsh as sometimes can be typical with some of the other dark roast coffees I have tried. When I first open the air tight canister of beans, it's magical. You know they are fresh when they have a nice sheen on them. This is a greasy bean house. You know it's good when they're greasy. After that initial silent moment just after opening the canister, I have a quick reflection on what's about to happen. I gently pour the beans, offering themselves up to me when it's their time, into my coffee grinder. If my wife happens to be around when I'm doing this I shout out a nonchalant "Noise!" and hit the button. Suddenly the beans are dancing with each other, becoming a finer version of their former self. After the joyous chaos of bean grinding is complete I fill the kettle with water and get my French press ready for our little morning party. Up to the mark and it's time to heat up the bath. Amidst the heating of the water, it's time to measure out the heaping scoops. With my measuring spoon, I dive into the freshly ground goodness, filling my French press with just enough of the black gold dust. Thirty-two ounces of water and six heaping spoonfuls is all it takes. No more. No less. Perfection... Just coming off its boil, the water is ready to be poured, but I must wait. Thirty seconds to be exact. Slowly, in small circles I gently pour the hot water over the ground coffee beans, letting them breath as I go. Little bubbles come to the surface as I pour the scalding water, making sure to envelope every last bit of coffee in a warm embrace, up to the fill mark on my press. It's therapeutic watching something like this. The beans are going from solid form to liquid form. It's a satisfying feeling, taking a solid little bean and transforming it into something that gives off pure joy in the form of warmth, comfort and energy. With a stir and the setting of a timer, I wait... I get slight hints of burnt chocolate and raspberry in the air while I wait for my coffee to brew, pondering what I'm going to accomplish today. I gather my mug and half 'n half awaiting the moment where I can push the plunger down into the dark abyss, separating liquid from solid, completing the metamorphosis from one thing to another. Bean to brew. Cold to warm. Asleep to awake. Half to whole. From apart to together again. The cycle continues... ...and then I pour my first mug. Here is a short, little snippet from today's Morning Pages. I can see the leaves coming down like single tears down a cheek, the trees crying for the end of the season. Their branches laden with yellowing leaves, thirsty for their last drink of water before shriveling up and falling to the earth, nourishing the grass to protect the ground from the oncoming winter snow. I'm constantly writing and sometimes little snippets like this appear and I oftentimes don't know where they belong. I've struggled with finding ways to document them all and to keep track of them all...until now!
I've had this blog for what feels like ages now and honestly haven't done a lot to keep it going. Now I'll be contributing to this more frequently. I'd love to have you along for the ride. Post your comments below. I'd love to hear from you. Peace, Brian They grin.
They fly. They scream. They cry. They whimper. They grieve. They sing. They breath. They go back and fix The words they misspell They sing to their heavens For those that fell They bring all their worries To their churches with awe They whisper to God Their Buddha, their Krishna They take all their worries to the doctors with a sneeze They lay down their swords and fall to their knees Who are they you ask It's you, it's me It's everyone here It's this flower, this tree It's the bee buzzing by With pollen on her knees The whisper in the wind And the truth we all see They grin. They fly. They scream. They cry. They whimper. They grieve. They sing. They breath. They sit down to pray To shadow the ways Those prior have taken An oath and to say Their intentions are near All around 'em they sit Stood up in the clear To accept is it fit? We grin. We fly. We scream. We cry. We whimper. We grieve. We sing. We breath. We grin. We fly. We scream. We cry. We whimper. We grieve. We sing. We breath.
Not sure if I'm remembering
It's been a while since Can almost see the words exactly If I give my eyes a squint I was sitting in the sunlight Out on an old park bench I recall it on a t-shirt All gray and faded and holy It took a moment for eyes to focus On what the words all meant Could see them all so clearly now No guessing what they said My mind can see the picture now Guitars and words and notes It's not inside the wooden bones Or from the neck of ebony tones They come from somewhere else you see The music's from up there in me I'm sure now I'm remembering It's been a while still Can see the words exactly Sitting on the window sill Standing in the moonlight waiting Binging on a phrase I still remember that t-shirt All gray and holy and faded The ethos holds all the words That could ever be It holds the phrases, pickin' licks For all our eyes to see If your eyes are held-a-shut Won't see what flies right by The moment'll pass right by your face Now you're just lookin' at the sky It took a moment for eyes to focus On what the words all meant Could see them all so clearly now No guessing what they said My mind can see the picture now Guitars and words and notes It's not inside the wooden bones Or from the neck of ebony tones They come from somewhere else you see The music's from up there in me
Here is song #2 from the 2020 RPM Challenge. That's 10 songs or 35 minutes of original material written and recorded during the month of February. The key here is to not wait for inspiration. If you wait for it, it'll never come...or rarely anyways. This has been a fun experience and at this point I have three songs either finished or nearly finished. I'd say it's been a success already.
Below you can listen to everything I've posted to the site thus far. Enjoy. The tapping like the beat of a failing heart slows to a halt.
"Next Stop Westport!" Jolting to a halt head dizzy from the shaking writing shaking stopping shaking breaking the silence along the tracks and then it's gone. "Next Stop South Norwalk!" Clicks and pops under feet. Giant trestles bend and give just a little under the weight. "Next Stop Rowayton!" New passengers every stop and old ones getting off. His accent different from the one before. A couple this time. Questions answers questions thoughts as the door between the cars opens with a sudden racket of the rails. "Next Stop Darien!" Financial chatter dinner talk reminiscing friendly walks internal dialogue drones on. The sun it draws closer to the water as lights come on in windows passing far and alarm bells ring when the doors shut closed. "Next Stop Noroton Heights!" Criss-crossing streets with headlights shining crossing under bridges below. Above the trees the daylight slows blowing clouds turning in for the night. "Next Stop Stamford!" Reflections in the windows bring scenes to life from both sides at once. Silhouettes dancing from right to left in the waning sky. The fading signs of graffiti look like dancing cave drawings in this light, dancing along our way to the city. "Next Stop Greenwich!" Incandescent lights light driveways overlooking train tracks, bridges, over passes under trestles. "What time do we get into the city?" Startled from my awakened slumber. "Next Stop Harlem onto Grand Central" |
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