Having Tea with The Emperor

2007-01-04T16:38:00.000-08:00

The Emperor Has not laid eyes on me in while. I have been far removed from the emperor. Equally, I have been removed from myself. I saw it coming. I saw the change slowly ebb over me, engulfing me one small wave at a time. I am neither happy nor sad about it. Indifferent. I'd like to feel something about it. How does one make oneself feel emotion? I daresay one can't. It has to naturally flow out of one's body. I am plagued by short bursts of happiness and sadness clouded by nothingness. I am sure the emperor would tell me something profound, yet I feel that it would pass right through me.

Chandelier of Shoes

2006-08-22T08:10:00.000-07:00

As I walk to work each morning, I pass the most extraordinary house, extraordianry to me at least. It is a simple white house. The front porch wraps around part of one side of the house. It is an older home and has probably housed many families over the years. I suppose in those repects, it is a most ordinary house. The porch though contains a menagerie of items that delights my eye and sets my mind to wondering. Each item has been carefully and thoughtfully placed.

Underneath the mailbox hangs a Halloween mask of the skeletal persuasion. Above the mailbox is row of neatly aligned chrome rims. On the screen door, there are horse figurines arranged carefully around a very ornate doll. Next to the door is mirror with a gold frame. There is a mural of Christ teaching small children that covers part of the window. There are various street signs and posters nailed to the ceiling. There is even a long narrow shelf on which resides a train set high above the door. There are other miscellaneous items placed here and there but the item that interests me most is a chandelier of shoes.

A chandelier of shoes...I am in awe of them. I feel happy to see them as I approach. I wonder if those passing by in cars have ever noticed the chandelier of shoes and if they do, what do they think about them? I am sure most see it as a nusiance or just plain weird. Most likely, they see the whole porch as an eyesore. But to me it is a banner for the creative soul beckoning one not to look away. It's mysterious and self explanatory at the same time. Its personal yet displayed for the whole world to see Its simplistically beautiful. The fact that someone took great care to place every item on the porch is, for lack of a better word, touching and inspiring.

A chandelier of shoes...

Today, I May Just Be a Pile of Ash, but Tomorrow...

2006-05-27T06:45:00.000-07:00

At this moment, as I sit across from the emperor and unload the wearies of my world, the emperor looks at me with interest, smiles briefly before sipping his tea. I continue with my woes while the emperor begins looking down into his tea with interest. I stop to sip my own. The emperor takes this opportunity to speak. "Perhaps, today you are a pile of ash." he says without looking up from his tea. I give him a quizzical look and I look back down into my own tea. We are both quiet for a moment as he lets me ponder the thought. A pile of ash...
"What will you be tomorrow?" he inserts gently. "Tomorrow..." I repeat softly. Will I rise tomorrow with new ideals and intentions? Will I rise above the woes of my life? Will I be better than I was yesterday? Will I rise out of the ashes at all? Better yet, what will I choose?
I look up from my cup and the emperor nods.

The Veranda

2006-02-17T07:07:00.000-08:00

Today we are having tea out on the veranda. You might suspect we are on the veranda because the sun is shining, actually it quite the opposite. It is raining. The emperor and I feel at home when we are close to the rain. So when it rains we move our tea to the veranda. We do not exchange words on the veranda. There is something sacred, something holy, something deeply personal about sitting on the veranda. So we keep to our own thoughts.
Today, my thoughts have not drifted very far. In fact, I am pondering the veranda itself. The word is beautiful and beckoning. "Come out on the veranda" is a warm invitation. But then I think of the times a porch is just as pleasing. The word itself doesn't look like much. It rhymes with 'scorch' and 'torch'. It sounds a bit harsh. A clever disguise for something so precious.

My grandfather never sat on a veranda. I never called him grandfather either. I called him Papaw(first is a short/a/...this is important.) Papaw sat on a porch-or perhaps I should say 'the porch'. The porch he made with his own hands, along with the house that holds the porch up. He sat on the porch everyday, usually with a glass of ice cold tea, a brass spittoon, and a bag of Redman chew. If you wanted to find him, most of the time you could find him on the porch. He was usually counting cars, seemingly his favorite hobby. After dinner, we would all go out on the porch. I would sit on the porch swing with Mamaw(same pronunciation as Papaw).Sometimes Mamaw would sit next to Papaw who always sat in a rocking chair. Although, I don't recall him ever rocking in it. We would admire Mamaw's tulips and the garden that my dad and uncle planted. "Look how nicely the squash is coming in," Mamaw would say. The honeysuckle would tickle our noses and Mamaw would tease Papaw. Mamaw and I would giggle at Papaw's reaction. After the laughter would die down, Mamaw would go back in the house to wash the dishes. Papaw and I would sit quietly sip our ice teas, while I read a book and he counted cars.
I do love the veranda, but sometimes I miss the porch. I glance over at the emperor who is looking out into the rain and sipping his tea. He has a porch he misses, too.

Set A Place For Me

2005-12-22T10:52:00.000-08:00

I have neglected the emperor for several months, yet he recieves me today as if he saw me only yesterday. I contemplate that as he busies himself preparing the tea. He has settled himself into a role of service, for he has insisted that I sit. So i think of moments when I have been away from friends and how different their reactions are compared to that of this tiny little emperor. I can almost hear those joyous shouts of surprise, feel those tender hugs of love, and see those eyes that delight in recognition. It is a most wonderful feeling; the mere memory of it just as pleasing as the physical manifestation. I suppose that feeling comes from the need to be thought of in a pleasing manner. We like to be missed.

So I contemplate the emperor's reception of me after so many months. It was warm, but not a jubilation. Yet, I feel a comfortable knowing attatched to this mild reception. I feel that even after my long absence that my place had been saved. I feel it is permissible to slide back into this chair that I had occupied so many times. I feel as if my long journey had brought me home.
As the turns to bring the tea, I realize he has prepared tea everyday as if I was going to be present. A single tear , slides down my cheek as the emperor sets the tea on the table. He looks at me thoughtfully and says,"It's good to be home, isn't it?" I simply nod to prevent the flow that hide behind my eyes. He pours the tea and we sip quietly as we have done so many times before.

Thinking Too Hard

2005-06-30T20:34:00.000-07:00

The emperor is a peculiar sort. He shuffles around to pour tea without ever changing the expression on his face. It is something I think he has practiced for a very long time, because he is good at it. He is unreadable, but exudes a peaceful nature. When I think about it--
"You, think too hard." the emperor says quietly without ever looking at me. He has busied himself with sweeping the fireplace. He can't see me but I smile.

Get thee Hence, Backward Sociological Thinking

2005-06-16T10:04:00.000-07:00

There is something on my mind that I don't even know how to touch. The emperor knows but he tells me that it is my journey. I must learn it for myself. Yet knowing that does not make the task any easier. Even though what ails me is so basic and simple, there must needs be a complex answer. At least that is the way I trained myself to think brought to me in part via the world. This is where the emperor nods a knowing smile.
I have't had much to smile about. It all comes down to the fact I just don't know what my purpose is. As I am writing this, I still dont know.

I walked to the mailbox the other day. It was wonderfully cloudy out.As I approached the mailbox, Rain started pouring down. It was glorious. I walked back to my house in the pouring rain. I laughed as opened the door at the mere thought of how soaked I was. I felt alive.

Free will and a clearing in the forest

2005-06-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

Tea with the Emperor is as interesting as it sounds. He brings in the tea around 2. Yes, he brings the tea. He pours two cup of chamomile tea. He hands one to to me and then picks up his and takes a seat on front of me. We never speak during the first cup. We enjoy. We savor the tea in silence. We think.
As he pours the second round, I ask him, "What do you think of women's rights?"
He continues pouring the tea without looking up. He hands me my cup. H e reaches for his own and sits back and looks at me somberly.
"There are no rights, what we have are gifts. By the look on your face, I see you do not understand. Life is given to us. We have no right to it. The only right we can truly call our own is our own free will. There are many injustices in this world that plague women, men, and children. Choice is the srtongest weapon we have in the matter of these injustices. I f I told you that I am for womens' rights, I have accomplished nothing. I have not affected the world in anyway. But if I choose to help the downtrodden, weary, the hungry and the poor, even in the smallest measure, I have made a clearing in the forest."
He sat back in his chair with his tea in hand. We both sipped quietly pondering his words.

(I look at what I've written and I wonder if anyone will understand what it means. The word rights is one that has always bothered me. It has always seemed to be followed by a demand. It has such a harsh tone to it. I prefer the word choice or free will. It sounds so much gentler and noble. It touches my spirit kindly. I suppose what I really want to convey is that we have been given can taken away, whether it be our 'rights" or our lives. The only thing we are left with is our free will. The most powerful tool in the universe. Our choices can free us. All we have to do is act on that choice.

Questions

2005-06-10T12:42:00.000-07:00

I suppose the question on everyone's mind is who is the emperor and what has begun?
Very valid questions. I am not exactly sure myself. There is, however, a reason this all came to be. It all started with just a few words. That is how everything starts. Well, at least it seems that way. Everything actually starts with a thought, followed by words or actions or in some cases neither.

Tea Time

2005-05-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

Oh curious little emperor sipping tea
Staring straight back at me.
With a smile and a wink
You tell what you think.
While I sit back
And have a laugh
At your silly little ways
Looking forward to coming days.
© Cara D. Blair

2005-05-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

The Tea Party

So it Begins...

2005-05-26T22:40:00.000-07:00

I wonder why I haven't tried this before. It would seem like the logical thing to do. So, why now? After all this time of not doing it? Well, every story has a beginning, doesn't it? So, here I am writing a blog and having tea with the emperor. I dont know his name, but it seems only fair-he doesn't know his name either. The knowledge will present itself as time moves on, I suppose.