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Yogi Nananandaji

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  • Jeff Belyea
    My grandmother used to read tea leaves. If you re not familiar with this particular meditation ceremony... It begins with pouring boiling water through a metal
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 25, 2003
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      My grandmother used to
      read tea leaves. If you're
      not familiar with this
      particular meditation
      ceremony...

      It begins with pouring
      boiling water through
      a metal strainer to
      create the tea and
      catch the tea leaves.

      The tea is caught directly
      in a cup held under the
      strainer as the water is
      being poured, or an
      entire pot of tea
      is prepared this way.

      The strainer, after
      a few uses, begins to
      get banged up a bit
      and the screen damaged
      enough to create bigger
      openings. This allow
      a few tea leaves to
      fall into the brew.

      Once the tea has been
      sipped to the bottom,
      clumps of tea leaves
      are "randomly" spread
      around the bottom of
      the tea cup, creating a
      "picture" for those
      with eyes to see it.

      Nana believed in a benevolent
      and informative energy that
      could tell us of the future.
      The fact that this mystical
      benevolence chose to use
      the unique medium of tea
      was apparently not questioned
      by my grandmother.

      She was Canadian Catholic.
      But by the time I came to
      live with her, she was living
      in the US in the state of Maine,
      and was no longer, "a
      practicing Catholic."

      When I was young, maybe 8 or
      9 years old, I remember her
      calling me over one day to
      "tell my fortune".

      Peering into her tea cup,
      with me looking over her
      shoulder into the cup,
      she began.

      "See," she said, "There's
      a young boy. That's you,
      carrying a sack over his
      shoulder. Do you see it?

      "See the long and winding
      road? That means you are
      going away on a long
      journey some day. You are
      going to travel long distances.

      "See the little dog there
      on the side of the road?
      You will have a companion.

      "Oh, and do you see the bag of
      money? You're going to be rich
      and successful. One day,
      you will walk a golden road."

      And when she said that,
      I could see it all: the boy
      carrying a sack, a little dog,
      like a Scotty, the long and
      winding road, and right there
      in tea leaves at the bottom
      of a china cup, plain as the
      nose on your face --
      a sack of money; classic soft
      canvas bag, with leather
      trim, stuffed full of money.
      And to make sure you got
      the point, a big dollar
      sign right in the middle of it
      -- perfectly sculpted out
      of tea leaves in the bottom
      of the cup. I could see it.

      When I was in the 5th grade,
      I used the word, "intelligent"
      while describing my grandmother.
      She objected to this immediately.

      She said very simply
      and matter-of-factly,

      "It's not intelligence. I have
      wisdom."

      She could sit for hours,
      crocheting, making a quilt,
      knitting a sweater. She
      would just gently rock,
      deep in meditation. Often
      with a Camel cigarette,
      that had long since gone out,
      hanging out of the middle
      of her mouth, about 3/4's
      of it ash. Somehow the
      ash would sit there forever
      without it falling
      in her lap.

      I think she had a private
      game going to see how long she
      could remain still and keep
      the ash from falling. Only
      on very rare occasion would
      she not make it on time and
      dump the ash in her lap.

      Once in a while she would
      have to make a funny noise
      with her throat and look
      cross-eyed at her ash,
      and in this way motion to
      someone to rescue her.
      She knew that any movement,
      even trying to reach for
      the ashtray, would knock
      the dried ash off
      in her lap.

      Thinking back, I think she
      might have been a yogi.

      Love, Jeff
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