This hot beverage is simple and unassuming. It is cloaked in an aura of commonality. You can find it anywhere. You may drink it when you are thirsty, or when your are tired. You may drink it when you are happy or sad. You may drink it when you are hot or cold. It is the antithesis of modern complexities.
One must see the tea. A mug does insult the fine brew. It is best served plain — no milk or sugar. It has subtleties that the aged identify. It is as palpable as it is elusive.
Modern medicine says it is good for you… Apparently, it has “an-ti-ox-i-dants…” Whatever. We drank it before the days of medicine, perhaps even before antioxidants. Our instinct needed no science to tell us that this elixir of life actually is.
But there is one thing dearer than the brew. It is the brewer. No tea can achieve that imperceptible, ever-fleeting level of perfection without the master who selects the water, mixes the leaves, and times the boil. It is truly the pir-i dem who is your permanent companion in this, the very transient of pleasures. Teas, like hours of eternity, come and go, but hold on to your pir if you want to catch the essence of the life, not its elixir.