I love coffee. More precisely, I love espresso. (I don’t actually like drip coffee at all.) I drink my espresso — unadulterated and undiluted — as part of my morning ritual that also includes writing in my journal with a very special pen. (You can read about that ritual in the opening essay here at Medicine Book.)
Writing and coffee are medicine to me. Coffee, specifically, is a plant spirit medicine. When I drink coffee I am connecting with the deep, dark, beautiful, rich, nourishing soil of the Earth.
There was a time in my twenties when I was involved with a healing-focused community that frowned on all drugs, and that included caffeine. I internalized the community’s point of view that my relationship with coffee was strictly an addiction, and that if I were truly “well” I would not drink it. In my efforts to liberate from the shackles of addiction, I would quit coffee and suffer the symptoms of chemical withdrawal only to start drinking it again… and suffer the additional pains of self-judgment about it.
Not only was I in a fraught push/pull with the substance itself, I had made the community’s point of view sovereign to my own. Later, I was able to see how common this behavior is within many groups and organizations. I now see this as an act of giving your crown chakra over to a “higher power” who is not truly your Higher Power.
A wise friend advised me to make peace with coffee. She saw how much the dynamic around coffee created so much more suffering for me than the coffee itself.
Her advice came during a period in my life when I was reading a lot of Coleman Barks’ translations of the 13th-century Sufi poet, Rumi. In one of Barks’ translations, he relays the story of a man in prison who receives a gift from a friend.
Of course, this man hopes the gift is a tool to help him escape — like a crowbar or, even better, a key — but, alas, it is only a prayer rug. So, he uses the rug as it was intended for his five-times daily prayer. Eventually, through his daily prayer, he notices that woven into the pattern of his rug is a diagram of the lock to his prison cell. He studies the diagram and is eventually able to fashion his escape.
The gist of the story is this: the thing we do every day is our key to freedom.
According to that healing community I was a part of, coffee was an addiction. A prison. To me though, I felt it to be something else entirely opposite. As the anchor to a special daily ritual and, as such, part of my personal spiritual practice, it was a key to freedom.
I made peace with coffee. And I started to see that my relationship with it wanted to include awareness of the substance as Earth medicine and also as a companion to my creative process. It ceased to be a “bad habit” as determined by some outside authority and became a sacred part of my daily practice.
This is my relationship with coffee. I’m not saying it should be yours. If you are caffeine-free, I bow to your choice and your body.
That said, if you happen to be a coffee-drinker (or a tea-drinker, for that matter), and you struggle with creating supportive daily habits for yourself, tune in to your relationship with your coffee or tea. First, discover what happens when you behold your beverage as a plant medicine. Second, give your daily cuppa props as a rhythm-holder in your life.
If you desire a daily meditation practice or want to feel more grounded and steady in a world that seems ever-more chaotic, ask your time with your coffee/tea to expand into an anchor for these intentions. At the very least, honor yourself for already having a daily practice called morning coffee or afternoon tea.
When you’re ready to set fresh intentions around daily practices and healthy habits, affirm to yourself: let the things I do every day be my keys to freedom.