​

 

Words, in a way, are born out of sound feeling, of rhythm. At its most original, most classical, the language of tea is the language of music, poetry, and vibration. Tea is an elixir unlike any other, and the language used to describe it must be equally independent.

​

We speak of a Tea’s frequency, it’s cadence, it’s rhyme, to approximate its power. In the end — however — all words are but sketches — like memories of clouds.

 

The lotus grows out of the mud -- untouched by it. Great tea, likewise,  lifts us above the world -- into the realm of the insubstantial, of infinite possibility. 

 

Tea asks us to let go of what we may think of as factual, into a realm of our own creation. Tea asks us to return to that which is most original, nascent and unchangeable within ourselves. Returning to a condition of complete simplicity, we see things are exactly as they were — and at the same time not. Time still exists, yet does not. We still exist yet do not. The world still exists, but does not. The ancients called it the feeling of 10,000 years contained in a single moment. Fine tea transports us from the known, well worn path, to one where we walk just a few inches off the ground. To truly trust in ourselves, again — for the first time.

​

Welcome to Cloudwalker

​

​