It's a tea.
And not a pinkies-in-the-air-Earl-Grey-kind-of-tea, not a mix-it-with-milk-and-sugar-kind-of-tea, but a tea that if it had an equivalent would be mezcal maybe? If it's really good, heroin? (OK, maybe not heroin. I don't know from heroin,) but Pu, for me, can BE a 'heroine' by which I mean a goddess-like mythical feminine experience who lifts me up, gives me great pleasure, shows me a hint of the sublime and gets me high as a kite.
You know what? I don't feel like talking about it anymore.
It's like verbally dissecting great sex after you're done. It's a ridiculous exercise, (so is the sex) in self-indulgence. Let us just say that I become one with the universe for a few moments when a truly great Pu is sipped after being mindfully and ritually prepared in a meditative state, including, YES, including the use of my Tibetan bowls deep reverberating chime as I wait the ten or fifteen seconds for that steep to create the elixir.
Talking about it cheapens it somehow.
More soon on the actual Pu I had today that brought me to this point. For now, I'm just going to stop thinking, writing, talking and go chill and feel the residual tingles as the sweat cools my body and the tea-drunk buzz leaves me, head- pounding in search of an Advil. Hell, intense pleasures have a price to pay, right?
Here at least is a picture of the tea in question before I took my (sharp goddess-like ritual) tools to break the cake...
|For your edification... find the tea that inspired this mini rant here.|