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In defense of black coffee

At 5:30 this morning The Man of the Place surprised me by bringing me a mug of coffee in bed. I had just woken up and for the first time since we moved to Three Dog Farm a few days ago I felt relaxed and refreshed. Maybe I felt so good because I did yoga before bed, or maybe it’s because we got internet established in the house yesterday (I’ve got a bit of a connectivity addiction). With Zoe the Half-Pint Dobe prancing at his feet he handed me my favorite black and red mug. I brought the steaming cup to my lips and inhaled the scent of roasted chocolate. I take my coffee straight-up black: earthy and bitter. 

As I sat on my bed and watched the rising sun begin to warm the leaves and flowers of our dogwood I couldn’t help but notice how my taste in coffee has changed over the last two years. I used to drink lattes but after I realized the milk was making me feel all bubbly-tummy I began to get espresso with a liberal dose of cream. Over a period of months I tapered back the cream until one day I noticed I was craving the bitter sweetness of black coffee.

Drinking black coffee isn’t some great feat, but it helped me notice that making small changes can add up to big changes over time.

Some of the most useful changes occur in our lives when we allow ourselves to take our time. 

I’ve found this same principle to be true with my yoga and meditation practice. A regular and continual dedication to spiritual discipline and inquiry helps me be more patient and more kind.

So with changes we want to make it goes like my coffee; small steps and gentle curiosity. By enjoying each moment of the process, we find ourselves exactly where we need to be.