How tea meditation saved my mental health

Healing divided self: Why tea meditation matters

In January 2020, weeks before the pandemic would tear apart so much, a college student asked me a question about burnout during a tea meditation workshop I was hosting at a university.

Specifically, the type of burnout that happens when working so closely with something you are so entwined and dedicated to pursuing. How the long hours of study and breathtaking speed of soaking in all you can leads to overwhelm and eventually walking away. A common and very real worry for a college student, I thought.

Have you ever felt that way about tea, he asked?

I took a long pause and considered my response. Burnout can result in deep grief and loss of self, so it’s a weighty question. I felt deeply for this person asking this question, because I think many folks encounter this type of conflict as they navigate careers, friendships, identity. I answered carefully, no I have not experienced burnout with tea itself – but I likely would have, had I not changed the direction I was going.

For many of my years working in tea, I kept my personal practice completely separate and private from my professional identity.

The trainings I gave, the subjects I taught, were very technical, industry focused, mastery and knowledge collection oriented. The influence of solely relating to tea via a capitalist structure, I realized later. Inside, I knew this was not really the whole of my tea life. My personal practice, after all, included tea meditation, spirituality, tea ceremony study, movement therapy. But there seemed to be no place for this in the “professional” realm I knew.

How long can I maintain this separation without complete exhaustion, I wondered?

I started teaching the tea meditation that I practiced myself – just on the side, little by little – in 2010, and that certainly helped. But it wasn’t until around 2015 that I fully made the transition to open the bridge and start really including the “soft skills,” as HR folks would say, in my tea work. To more publicly study AND teach contemplative practices with tea in my life, alongside the sensory skills work. Even if it meant leaving some other possibilities, familiar places, and relationships behind.

The more I sat with tea, the more I understood that divided self is a conflicted state to dwell in for too long. Like trauma, which disrupts our reality of time and integration, not being honest with who you are and how you show up in the world has powerful consequences for our well-being. Burnout being one of them.

Practicing tea showed me that, and I fully believe it also kept me stable and sane during what would become one of the most challenging, overwhelming and devastating years most of us have ever witnessed. 


What do we mean by “practicing” tea?

“Why would people spend two hours drinking just one cup of tea? Time has much more value than money – time is life. In two hours of drinking tea together, we don’t get money, but we do get life.”

– Thich Nhat Hanh, Vietnamese Zen Master

How exactly does one “practice” a drink? Well, first we must acknowledge that tea is not simply a beverage.

Tea is a living being. It is also an ancient culture, a way of life, and a contemplative study. When we tap into this by sitting down to mindfully prepare and drink tea, we acknowledge this connection.

Tea touches all of your senses, supporting body, intellect and emotion. A tea meditation practice teaches us to be vulnerable as we sit in the present moment and witnesses our being listened to. Tea also becomes a philosophy in this way, and one that can serve us very well in stressful, intense times.

Pema Chödrön, an American Buddhist nun of Tibetan lineage, says, “The essence of meditation is training in something that is quite radical and definitely not the habitual pattern of the species: And that is to stay with ourselves no matter what is happening, without putting labels of good and bad, right and wrong, pure and impure, on top of our experience.

To understand this more clearly, we must shift our relationship to the word “practice.”

To many artists, musicians, and athletes, for example, practice is part of the road to mastery of a subject. You practice to level up, to get to a particular destination or goal. To the contemplative arts, however – of which tea is included – practice is the work and the point itself. We don’t practice to get “better” or to achieve something specific. We practice because the path of exploring inspires us, creates understanding, and deepens connection.

And the benefit of practice in this way – of being – is something that I learned from my tea many years ago, before I even knew what was happening.


Before I had the words

It’s a general moral principle that the more power you have over someone, the greater your duty is to use that power benevolently. Well, who is the one person in the world you have the greatest power over? It’s your future self. You hold that life in your hands, and what it will be depends on how you care for it.” 

– Rick Hanson PhD, author and psychologist

I started to feel something stir within my tea quite some time before I actually worked in tea professionally.

Around 2001 or 2002, I took up the pleasant habit of taking a solo afternoon break with tea on the patio at my work. In my life before tea, I worked in a newsroom, producing newscasts and writing stories for shows. I lived in Las Vegas, Nevada. As you might imagine, being a producer is a rather tense and stressful job, to put it mildly. About an hour before the show, I would take some time alone to sit outside and drink tea quietly. To this day, I still have no idea where the instinct to do this came from, because I certainly didn’t grow up with any supportive mental health practices (quite the opposite; my upbringing was one of complicated trauma). I just did it.

Back then I only had access to tea bags. Carefully, I would tear them open just a little to release some of the tiny leaves inside, and I would observe how they moved in the water. I could also see how they flowed and moved beneath the dampened, infused paper. Their small, flattish shape and bright color struck me as similar to the leafy tree canopy overhead, if I concentrated my sight on the very top leaves of the tree.

There was a connection – green life in my cup, green life above in the branches.

As the hot, late afternoon desert breeze rustled around the leaves and branches, the tea in my cup moved to its own motion in the water. Soothing, rhythmic, yet somehow also distinctly still and quiet. At the time, I had no vocabulary for this experience or state of mind. I only knew that it helped me when it came time to step into the control room for our live broadcast. A live show is a constant practice of holding attention; you can’t step away for a second, because everything is unfolding in real time.

Back then, I also had no idea the level of inner resource and support that such intense work would require to stay in it for the long haul. I didn’t know anything about self-care or the benefits of meditation or mindfulness. But I could sense that relief from the overwhelm wasn’t about the quantity of tea consumed; it was the act of stopping everything for that moment.

These early experiences with tea and mindfulness stuck with me for some years, until I found tea again – this time, for keeps, as I left behind the studio production environment and invited tea to become my profession as well as my practice.


The benefits of tea meditation in your life

“Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and freedom.”

– Vikor Frankl, Austrian neurologist, author, and Holocaust survivor

Just what is meditation, exactly? A working definition I like to use is that meditation is the activity that allows for the exploration of engaged mindfulness. And mindfulness is where and how we place our attention. The clinical research for how meditation benefits our physiological and mental health are impressive and numerous. Just a few favorite examples:

– Regular meditation increases the brain’s ability to emotionally regulate, by increasing activity in the prefrontal cortex. (Lazar et al., 2005)

– Increases ability to place your mind where you want it to go. Thus, can reduce suffering. (Carter et al., 2005)

– Decreases stress-hormones in the body, within just 5 minutes.  (Tang et al. 2007)

– Being “bad” at meditation is good for self-control. (McGonigal, 2012)

– Strengthens the immune system. (Davidson et al., 2003)

– Increases potential for compassion. (Lutz et al. 2008)

As we can see, while we often think of it conceptually as a mental activity, meditation is inherently body-centered, too. The mind and the body naturally collaborate together, even without our conscious direction. Body-centered practices, like breathwork, yoga, and meditation, can induce the body’s relaxation response (the parasympathetic nervous system). This state can counter the negative effects of stress and even alter the expression of genes in the immune system.

This is critical to note, as so many of us are suffering under unbearably high levels of stress, trauma and also chronic pain. Feeling disconnected from the body is a common complaint. About 80 percent of visits to primary care doctors have a significant, stress-based component (Avery, 2003, Journal of the National Medical Association) – and this figure is from before the pandemic.

However, for any number of very real reasons – chronic pain, anxiety, previous exposure to trauma – the classic representation of meditation as sitting in a total stillness with folded legs and shut eyes is simply not an accessible, appropriate or supportive method for all people.

The answer is not to try harder in a manner that is not serving. It’s to try to practice in a way that helps us feel safe and supported. We must consider function over form.  Notably, Thich Nhat Hanh says, “Applying non-violence to your body is not merely a means to practice mindfulness – it is a practice in itself.”

And this is where meditation with tea can help us tremendously.


How tea meditation builds intention

One of my favorite educators whose work has had a deep impact on me, author and trauma exposure expert, Laura van Dernoot Lipsky, shares, “When outside circumstances dominate our internal ability to metabolize all that we are exposed to, we can become saturated. Physiologically. In our nervous system. Saturated. To move forward, maintaining balance, we must constantly be aware of how much we’re contending with externally.”

To alleviate this saturation, according to mental health researchers, we need to nurture practices that provide less distraction, more intention. This might be yoga or meditation. Nature walking. Cooking. It can also be meditation with tea.

Tea meditation can support our intention building in several specific ways:

1) Being intentional in how we select our tea.
2) How we choose to prepare our tea.
3) How we accommodate our own needs.
4) How we respond mindfully to our tea.
5) Observing our expanding comfort zone.

As we work with tea intentionally, we can see how it feels to come to a place of calm abiding.

We are invited to slow down, to pay attention, to soften our activity. We learn to read certain bodily cues (interoception) in a more informed way. How breathing changes from shallow to deeper, or how the heart rate gently increases or slows in tandem with our thought patterns. Through drinking tea mindfully, we train ourselves – body and mind – to become more unified. 

Uniquely, tea is also said traditionally to be “the most Yin of Yins,” the most cooling and soothing medicine. It provides proportionate energetic balance to gently re-center us when we’re agitated and overwhelmed.


Try this: Guided tea meditation for daily practice

Let’s explore what a simple tea practice might look like together. This practice, from start to finish, can take as little as 15 or 20 min, if you like. Meditation is not about hours logged on the cushion. It’s about intentionally making space for yourself, to empty before you begin again. The body remembers, the mind remembers, this kindness that you pay yourself when you make time.

For this, you’ll need a comfortable place to sit, a loose leaf tea of your preference, a small tea bowl or rounded mug – something that feels good to hold between two hands – and a kettle to heat water.

We’ll practice simple bowl brewing, which I think of as an intentional, mindful iteration of traditional “grandpa / grandma style” brewing (ie: leaves in a glass of hot water).


Make yourself comfortable to sit, carefully moving aside any distractions where you are sitting with your tea. Create space for yourself, then start your hot water heating and come sit down.

Pause.

Listen to the sound of the hot water heating. Notice the smooth change in sound, starting with soft crackles, then a lower rumble. Invite yourself to consider this sound a mindfulness bell, a call to tea.

Turn your attention to the tea you’ve chosen. Hold your tea with both hands, either in the pouch it comes in or pour some of the leaves onto a small dish. Bring the tea close to your nose and breathe normally. Try not to sniff the tea or search for something. Just breathe and notice what the warmth of your breath releases from the tea.

Pause.

Place a small serving of leaf inside your tea bowl. Use your thumb and first two fingers to gently pick up a spoonful size of tea, noticing the sensation in your fingertips.

Pause.

When your water is “hot enough” (precise temperatures are not necessary here – simply “hot enough” is just fine), pick up your kettle and, pausing intentionally to feel its weight in your hands, slowly add water over your tea. As slow as your kettle will allow, so that you can see the twist in the ribbon of the water. Observe the end of the stream as it interacts with each and every leaf.

Pause.

Setting the kettle down when you are done, turn your attention to what is happening inside the bowl.

Observe the steam curl and rise from the surface, the beads of mist collecting just inside the lip of the bowl. Rest your gaze in the center of the bowl and notice what you see. The color tone of the leaf as it slowly soaks up water, unfolds and releases. Leaves that float at the surface, leaves that rest at the bottom.

Pause.

Bring the bowl to your nose and breathe the tea. Reminding the seeking, analytical brain to rest a moment, gently turn away from the urge to name, classify, label what you find in the aroma. Just breathe and allow the sensory body to connect.

Pause.

When the temperature seems ok, you can sip the tea from a space that appears in the bowl. Notice that the presence of the leaf still in the water slows you down. This is a good thing. Sip, rest, and notice.

Pause.

What is the texture of your tea like today? Where do you feel its presence in the mouth? How does it feel as you swallow? Just take small sips at a time, and rest between, holding the bowl of tea.

As you get closer to the leaves, drinking the water level lower, you may notice the character of the tea changes, in any number of ways.

Pause.

Notice your reactions to these changes, observing them without trying to change or rationalize or explain. Just sit with what you’re feeling, without expectation or judgment.

Take your time taking in the tea. There’s no need to rush. There’s no “there” to get to right now.

Whenever you come to the end of your bowl, or the end of your 15 min (if you would like to keep a timer), set the tea down and pause. Witness what remains, what the body feels like as you intentionally rest in this stillness.


Tea reminds you that you are enough

“Connection is why we’re here; it is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives. The power that connection holds in our lives was confirmed when the main concern about connection emerged as the fear of disconnection; the fear that something we have done or failed to do, something about who we are or where we come from, has made us unlovable and unworthy of connection.”

– Brené Brown, author, researcher, psychotherapist

In time, new connections start to form in our brain, consciously and subconsciously, as we simply gaze at gently unfolding, unwinding tea leaves in water. Connections that signal to our nervous system that it can let go right now. Release.

When we sit with tea, we actually imbibe a manifestation of release. We become one with the tea, a reflection of your unspoken self. Watching the leaves, we also learn how to apply these metaphorical observations in our daily life. How can we become more abiding and patient, yet gently persistent, like the tea?

Most importantly, when we sit with tea and experience all the countless ways that every cup, no matter how different from steep to steep or day to day, is always just what we need, we learn this: There’s no need to try so hard that we break ourselves. Tea helps you see that you are always enough, just as you are now.


Practicing tea meditation in a guided manner, or in community of others, can make a powerful difference in the consistency and depth of your practice.

Here at Being Tea, there are opportunities for both. I teach weekly, live on Zoom tea meditation sessions – in our Tea & Contemplation series, and also Quiet Tea Sundays.

And my Being Tea membership program also has a growing library of more than 100 full-length (60-75 min) class videos, covering both theory and elements of the practice, as well as calming, guided sessions for anytime use. I would love to see you for tea sometime!

A Thank You for my Teacher

Today, I have a personal sharing I’d like to offer to the space on the passing of Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh (students call him Thay, which means “teacher”), whose work has been deeply influential for my work with tea, as well as my thought process and orientation in the world.

Indeed, as one of my dear friends said to me earlier this week, we are “losing so many of our elders.” Yes. And this is indeed a deep grief. But also, I have been considering how we carry our beloveds with us already, all the time. And how we are ready to be that change in the world that they taught us to become.

We are ready.

I hope this reflection might create some space for breathing and light. Let’s have some tea and be with our breathing…


“Tea is an act complete in its simplicity.
When I drink tea, there is only me and the tea.
The rest of the world dissolves.
There are no worries about the future.
No dwelling on past mistakes.
Tea is simple: loose-leaf tea, hot pure water, a cup.
I inhale the scent, tiny delicate pieces of the tea floating above the cup.
I drink the tea, the essence of the leaves becoming a part of me.
I am informed by the tea, changed.
This is the act of life, in one pure moment, and in this act the truth of the world suddenly becomes revealed: all the complexity, pain, drama of life is a pretense, invented in our minds for no good purpose.
There is only the tea, and me, converging.”


Thich Nhat Hanh


The Father of Engaged Buddhism

On January 22, 2002, the world lost one of our most beloved elders, at least in his physical form – Thich Nhat Hanh. He passed away in Hue, Vietnam, at the temple where he was first ordained as a novice monk as a teenager. He was 95 years old and had served as a monastic for 80 years.

Thay spent nearly 40 years of that time as an exile from his homeland, after the government determined he and his progressive minded colleagues were a threat for calling to end the Vietnam war. He spent those years living in France, where he established a Buddhist practice center, Plum Village, which in itself became a spiritual lineage that now has several monasteries around the world, and has ordained hundreds of new leaders to carry on Thay’s legacy.

Thich Nhat Hanh is often regarded as the “father of mindfulness.” Indeed, he popularized the term and our understanding of it in the West, and gave the world some of the most accessible, relevant to daily life practices for living mindfully that anyone had ever done.

He founded what became known as the Engaged Buddhism movement. In short, this movement teaches that meditation and spiritual life don’t just happen in temples, only to benefit monastics or people removed from society, or for upholding ancient traditions. They must be lived in the world we know now and made accessible to the lay people who use them. They must exist for the freedom of all. Thay had an enduring affection for lay practitioners – people who are not ordained as a monk or nun, but who still follow a tradition’s teachings. People who live the “householder’s path.” In the Plum Village tradition, lay friends are in no way considered lesser than or not as committed to the work as monastics. This, too, was a rather radical idea in the religious world where Thay came from.

Thich Nhat Hanh was a powerful force in civil rights and non-violent communication, and also became an inspiration and close friend of Dr. Martin Luther King, who nominated Thay for a Nobel Peace Prize.


Root Teacher: Where are your own origins?

I shared with our regulars in Quiet Tea Sundays that Thay was – is – also my root teacher. This is a term that, in contemplative practice, means the teacher from whom you connect your origins and inspiration. They represent where you came from. The taproot, if you will, that nourishes the other practices and teachers and studies that you will branch out in time, creating a healthy root system.

I first started studying Thay’s work in 2006, after my first Buddhist teacher, a Tibetan, introduced me to his writing. Since then, his teaching and worldview strongly influenced how I approach my work and beliefs, and the connections that would become relevant to that work, such as becoming certified in trauma-informed meditation teaching. My given dharma name in the Plum Village tradition, in Vietnamese, is Tâm An Trú – “Peaceful Refuge of the Heart.” (a dharma name in this tradition is not an achievement or a title, but a personal contemplation that you study and aspire toward cultivating. If they keep practicing, it’s not uncommon for folks to receive several dharma names over their life.)

Something I would like to share with you, that I’ve been revisiting during Thay’s passing, is the importance of living our life in the awareness of the present moment. You see, I never got the chance to meet Thay in person, even though I had many chances to do so. Whenever he came to the US, I never felt I had the ability to take time away to go see him. (I once went 10 years with no personal time off. All of my travel is normally for work.) Even when I was so lucky as to be working in Germany for a few years – a quick train to Plum Village in France – I did not go. I did not think my own spiritual needs were worthy enough to upset my work commitments.

This broke my heart, but I kept saying, you know, “someday…”


A Lesson on Listening to Your Heart

At the end of 2018, 4 years after suffering a life altering stroke, it was announced that the Vietnam government would allow Thich Nhat Hanh to return home, to spend his remaining time at Tu Hieu Temple in Hue, where his journey as a monastic began decades before.

The same night in October that I read this news about Thay, two yoga friends of mine happened to announce they were hosting a retreat in Kampot, Cambodia in early spring of 2019. Very affordable, and an easy flight away from Vietnam. Without hesitation, I decided to join them, and started planning my travel to Hue from Kampot.

Quiet photo from my visit to Tu Hieu Temple, in Hue, Vietnam, 2019

I was able to spend 3 days at the temple, sleeping at a small homestay nearby and then hiking to the temple each day to sit and have tea, journal, and rest in contemplation.

Two remarkable moments happened during this time. First, one of Thay’s personal attendants (a few monastics from Plum Village accompanied him to Vietnam) came to where I was sitting, and we chatted for a while. He was so kind as to take the gift of a precious loose leaf tea and some incense I brought with me, to give to Thay. He also assured me Thay was doing well, and we looked at photos and video on his phone that he had taken that morning while having breakfast with him.

The next day, I was sitting in the grass, having tea near a pagoda at the sisters’ practice center next to the temple. I brought a thermos with me each day and self-sufficiently brewed my tea, not to bother anyone at all. I wanted to blend in like a little blade of grass. But then, one of the sisters came up to me, and motioned for me to come over to share the community lunch they prepared each day for lay friends. I sat down with a small plate and my tea, and she came back over to me after a little while. Looking at my tea, then at me, she gave an enormous, warm smile and said, “Ahh, Plum Village is with you.”

When we intentionally, continuously practice returning to the present moment, we wake up to how profoundly important even the tiniest moments in our life become to us. When we are not present, we simply do not see these moments. And we will spend years, decades, saying, “someday…” Even now, in this pandemic, we are still saying “someday,” and I wonder, what are we not seeing that *IS* here, right now, as we wait for our tomorrows? What is still possible, if we just listen to that inner voice?

I am forever thankful that I was able to make that pilgrimage. I had planned to return in the spring of 2020, but of course, the world had other plans. But even as I made those plans in my head, in my heart, I really knew this would be the only moment. I began practicing my physical world goodbyes to Thay then. And I just stayed with it, letting it teach me the lesson I so very much needed. No more planning. Just live. And it has honestly helped me tremendously over the last nearly two years of uprooted everything.

And I am forever thankful to Thay. His physical form is not with us now, but somehow, he actually feels more present now in the ancestor realm. During this time of mourning, I have been letting go feeling that I let myself down somehow, or that I was not / am not enough or that I’ve lost too much time. I remind myself, I was always doing the very best that I knew how to do in that moment, and there is no fault in that. Life is always here, smiling and waiting for us to wake up.

Photo of my tea practice space, sitting on the earth at the temple.

“Being able to see just once in a lifetime is no small accomplishment. If you’ve seen once, you can see forever. The question is whether you have the determination and diligence.”

– Thich Nhat Hanh

You can learn more about Thich Nhat Hanh’s work, as well as the Plum Village lineage, by visiting plumvillage.org.


The many paths of non-linear tea learning

All of the trails in this photo lead to the tea. Some are long and fairly continuous. Others diverge and split and groove all over the place. They all begin from various unique points on the brim of the cup – the first sip of tea. And where they go from there is really where the tea takes them. But they all lead to tea.

As a visual concept, non-linear makes a lot of sense. It’s more than just an analogy or a nice idea, though: This is also the very literal knowledge of the body. Our body knows time is non-linear, even when perhaps our thinking brain doesn’t quite get it. Our cellular cycles, our internal seasons, how we constantly circle back on everything in our experience while at the same time moving forward. So why is this so challenging for the mind? And why is it a challenge for our learning?

I started to realize some time ago that I’ve always been a non-linear learner when it came to my tea, but I didn’t fully have the words for describing why or how until recently. Let me explain a little of that history:

My main way of learning tea was cyclical, repetitive (in a good way), and very embodied. I worked a job where preparing a LOT of tea, every day, and caring for tea, was a key part of my work. I learned seasons and variations and quality through every sniff at the cupping table and from the many teapots that I washed. At the same time, I was also a trainer and had to teach staff about tea in a way that spoke more to how we live tea rather than how we analyze tea. This was because the people they would interact with – customers – were enjoying tea as life, themselves, not as an analytical pursuit. Words mattered.

I also saw this method reinforced through other related modalities I studied over the years. When I lived in California, for example, I was able to enroll with the Urasenke Foundation and study chanoyu (Japanese tea ceremony). Considered one of the traditional “Ways” of life practice, tea in this culture is framed entirely in the perspective of cycles and connections. The style of tea, how we serve it, changes all year, with every season and every gathering. The manner that we come to the tatami mat to study is through our body – classes are often nearly silent, there’s no note taking, and we learn through observing, feeling the movement in the muscle, and absorbing knowledge beyond the grasp of words.

This non-verbal, very embodied and personal approach to knowledge was also reflected in my studies of yoga, Alexander Technique, Somatics, and other similar forms.

Where I ran into a bit of a wall was in systems that require everyone to walk the same path. System that lay out the very exacting pieces of information that one must know, in an unwavering determined order, where we are tested and certified and led to believe that we just keep ascending up and up and up… until, what?

We make it somewhere?

We are a “tea master”?

We are done learning?

Indeed, over the years as a teacher in professional/industry settings, I have met many students in a rush to get through their tea studies, to get that diploma, specifically so they can “be done with it.” This is not at all uncommon.

As program director – if I want a fancy title, haha! – here at Being Tea, I still run into this from time to time. In folks who are surprised that there are no certificates, no tests, no awards here. No “this before that,” no progressive courses to move through. I do understand how this can be confusing, especially since so much of how we are educated in our westernized, modernized culture is through structured, codified, performative based systems. But this is not the only way to learn.

One of my core teachers, Yoli Maya Yeh, shares that in matrilineal teaching – that is, through the mother line – knowledge is passed on verbally and often through creative expression. In songs, dance, poetry. In cooking, in weaving, in tending the land. However, especially in the West, most of what we have built our educational and training systems around is patriarchal point of view. Academics is rife with this. Yoli notes how common it is for actual practitioners (including/especially Indigenous folks) of a subject to be excluded as scholars; only the “formal,” controlled method training of academics could produce true expertise. Publication, advancement, ascension are the goals in this realm.

Sound familiar to corporate life? The same echoes in our education.

This is why it’s so important to have spaces that exist outside of this bubble. Where body, personal experience, language, emotion, are all invited together to play. And it may not be “school,” but make no mistake, it’s DEEP learning! It is also a structure and a system, just a different one.

Compare how someone who is practicing a very physically energetic yoga style looks, from the outside, to someone who is lying on the floor, all cushioned and blanketed up on pillows, practicing restorative yoga and not moving much. Both practitioners are actually doing a whole lot of work! One of them, however, is doing their deeper work below the surface, where the outside world can’t see. But it is still just as worthy and important for health of mind and body. (and you know, learning to rest is a whole other subject we can get into sometime, whew!!!)

I just wanted to share some musings behind why things are the way they are here at Being Tea. Everything is always very intentional, and sometimes there’s words for that, while other times, it’s more like a feeling. One that hopefully brings us closer to Tea, rather than separates us from it.

“For what good is knowing, unless it is coupled with caring? Science can give us knowing, but caring comes from someplace else.” – Robin Wall Kimmerer