This morning, I ordered a coffee.
Not because I needed one.
Not even because I truly wanted one.
But because I wanted to sit, journal, and somehow… coffee just seemed to go with that.
I took a slow, mindful sip.
Usually I drink it quickly — barely tasting it.
But this time, I noticed the taste. Bitter. Harsh.
Why do I say I love this?
It brought me back to a message I received during an ayahuasca ceremony last December:
Coffee is an analogy for our worldly attachments.
How our minds play games with us — whispering stories about how much we love something, how good it is for us, how it brings us energy, comfort, and joy.
But when we pause, when we slow down, we may find…
That we don’t actually enjoy it.
That we’ve been chasing the idea of it.
That we’ve confused comfort with nourishment, addiction with pleasure, and routine with love.
And isn’t that true in so many areas of life?
We stay in situations, relationships, patterns — convinced we need them — until something shakes us awake. Or until we choose to wake up ourselves.
This isn’t about blaming coffee.
It’s about getting curious:
- What else do I say I love… that actually doesn’t love me back?
- Where am I mistaking attachment for alignment?
The more I slow down and observe, the more truth I find.
And sometimes, that truth comes in a bitter sip.