An Evening of Tea

Photo by the author

After following them for some time on social media, I decided to venture out to Tea at Shiloh in downtown Los Angeles. I often planned to visit but would be immediately held back by social anxiety. Wanting to continue developing confidence in social settings and ridding my fear of public speaking, I registered for an evening open mic poetry and performance event. From this communal evening, my once feelings of intense nervousness grew into excitement for discovering and expressing myself.

Upon entering the dimly lit entrance, the host gently welcomed and directed me to remove my shoes — a desire to preserve the energy of the space — before gesturing at a basket containing torn pieces of paper. “Are you performing this evening?” the host asked, but I shyly declined. And after receiving additional instructions for tea tasting and enjoying the space, I entered, scanned the room, and quickly found a corner to guard myself against the visitors resembling stereotypical creative types dressed in bohemian or hipster attire.

As I soon emerged from my protective nook for servings of chakra-themed tea blends, my insecurity overcame me, and I began to feel as if I didn’t belong. I begged myself to escape while I could, but as the host closed the door and announced a few minutes to the start of the evening, I resigned my fear to writing.

Burning incense and aromas of brewing blends energized me as my pen sailed across my paper, leaving behind frenetic waves of ink. The creative spirit finally released me, and I stood up, searching between the shuffling tea-filled bodies for the wicker basket at the entrance. Some inner debating later, I walked over and asked the host if I could share what I wrote in its rawest form. With compassionate encouragement, the host offered me a pen and a piece of paper.

That evening, I decided to share the following poem that reflected on conversations I had with friends about meeting male partners at a point in their lives where being with those partners felt more like molding them than loving them. Exhausted by the journey to the idea of who we had hoped they’d be from who they presently were, releasing them to another, while an act of self-love and growth, was frustrating. Someone else would reap the rewards of our dedication.

Yet a discussion on Lilith during a sensual dance and sexual wellness community gathering resurfaced those conversations in another light. Gathering my thoughts from those moments, trembling and out of breath, I approached the mic to read:

Rubbing shoulders, dust to dust
Fighting her way through,
Fertile space beneath the stars, she yearned

And he, his rib among hers,
Fighting his way through,
Beneath the dusty sky, nothing would do

She looked upon him, starry-eyed,
He searched upon the speckled horizon
For life, they both feigned with swelling hearts

Hers beating a baiting beat
Hoping, hoping, hoping he’d hear
But his gaze stretched far beyond her reach

Tucked within shadowy hills
If he could not see her here,
He would not see her there

She would not wait hidden in his shadow
Nor deign dreams of a savior’s majestic chariot
But be a burning sun in another’s royal gaze

Look how she made Adam,
Devoted at his darkest
For another to cherish his light

While I am not a writer, I love to write. I have opinions and feelings too often expressed in forgotten journals and never brought to life with speech. This encouraging teahouse community inspired me to return, this time another evening under an autumn sky filled with ancient gods and their army of stars. I was blessed to be vulnerable and brave enough to share it with you.