Sanding in the Dunes of Time

Coffee abruptly intersects life every morning.  How else?  When the great unwashed masses rise from their slumbers one thing should come to mind: What will the Coffee Gurus bring forth for me today?  Will it be Brazilian Arabica, High Mountain Caribbean, or Fresh Ground Bean?

Here are the parameters for this decision.  Will I wake from my foggy bottom of dismay whilst my brew aromatizes my lungs?  Will the tawny liquid engulf my taste buds sufficiently to set off a pheromone initiated state of being?  For what will the warmth brought to my lips reduce my cravings?  These are the thoughts you are destined to develop each and every morning.  No more, no less.

The world caries on, trudging through the solar system as a bus on its route.  Plodding, behemoth-like, along a predestined path of oblivion.  Oblivion, because we have no special relation within the universe.  Not knowing if we are on the edge or the center.  And I bet you never thought I could put the word “oblivion” together back-to-back in a paragraph.

Or then on the other hand you may not have thought.  Exactly as Bertrand Russell spoke of decades ago, “Most people would rather die than think and most often do”.  Chilling I say.  With the thought that our fearless leaders are people too.  The nectar of the Gods graces our urns each sunrise.  Surmise it to say, graciously.  As Margaret Visser states gratitude is something you can expect, but never ask for.  We cannot ask for gratitude for the coffee we imbibe, simply accept it as that which rises.  Percolating through our senses as the scent of Lilac graces us each spring.

The gratitude stick pokes at our consciousness as we receive that brew each morn.  Pondering what the dawn has delivered us from that night.  New air, new thoughts, revelations about our neighbours both spiritually as well as socially.  Will the last great depiction of the mysteries of life be shown to us through the pyramid of the Masonic Temple?   Pointing to the way of the moderns, relegating the knowledge of Neanderthals to the back burner of history.

Coffee, not tea becomes the blood cursing through the veins of knowledge.  Coffee has the two ees and efs contra-positioned as indicated by the
“co” leading the word.  The mystery these letters reveal cannot be unveiled here.  The knowledge unleashed by the understanding of this secret is beyond man’s ability to handle in his infantile state in the universe.  When Terra Firma hosts beings in touch with the power of coffee, then and only then will the secrets be revealed.

In Sanskrit writings of yore undeveloped scripts in coded ciphers were buried in the ruins of Perturbia, now lower and lesser Myanmar.  The ruins were discovered in the late 18^th century by Organic Monastic Monks (OMM) attempting to cultivate land where a great tomb once stood.  While irrigating, they washed away arable matter from the then roof of the tomb.  With picks and hammers they etched their way into the unknown material, harder than plaster and more resilient than steel or other metals. 

Three decades passed before they entered the tomb.  By this time they had constructed a new Monastery building over the site.  The fall to the floor was rumoured to be so far that there was no recovery possible of the fallen Monks.  As well, the remainder of the Monks covered up the blemish in the roof of the tomb and vowed not to mention to anyone the existence of their finds.  Was anything ever brought out of the chamber?  How did the knowledge of the secrets of the Ancient Mysteries of Life ever get out?

The Monks are some of the first to cultivate Coffee for more than the aroma of the roasting beans.  They crushed in a mortar and pestle the beans and steeped them like tea.  The vigour exhibited by the monk was never reasoned, nor connected to the mounds of grounds found outside the Monastery kitchen.  The mysteries of life were said to be buried in the coffee grove.

To this day radio-excavation techniques have processed the complete farm with little or nothing to show.  Was this a myth or mystery?  Don't look it up.  Even the interweb thingy has no data on this.  Whereas the Mason's have had reams published on their existence, the OMM have maintained and order of secrecy beyond the belief of the average man woman or child, let alone the Mossad, CIA, or FBI in the Hoover Vault.  What really happened on the grassy knoll will be known long before the OMM reveal the Ancient Mysteries of Life.

Maintain a cadre of coffee company and you will have your coupon redeemed.  Say no more.

Mark Hull Du Calumet, first of the coterie of York, Son of Don, Scion of Karl in the House of Pfunkstadt, Connubial of Suzanne, Yeoman to the Hun of Honda, Prevailing in the Seat of Hespeler. 

 

Comments

[Mark Roach]

The gratitude stick makes an awesome stir stick! Reminds you of how grateful it is to be having a tasty cup of coffee!