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The inception of Shisso’s camellia Sophia

 

Maybe your light is a seed and the darkness the dirt, in spite of the uneven odds beauty lifts from the earth.
— Sleeping At Last { Uneven Odds }

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The inception of Camellia Sinensis


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Chapter 1: Inception

The Camellia Sinensis seedling in embryonic dormancy, was sown into the soil of her consciousness long before cognitive of her significance.

In darkness, beneath the Earth’s surface, forces of mother natures’ perfectly combined elements: water, air, earth and fire {Sun}. Light activates enzymes to liberate the DNA code within the seed’s husk. Spiralling double helix, deliberately coded by Creator, kismet predestined before time began. Germination; golden brush strokes of memories, painted like grandma Alma’s strawberry tea, of Earl Grey tea parties thrown for teddy bears and Vivian. Light birthed from darkness, resiliency from adversity, destruction and tillage of soil.

Thriving & Thirsty; tiny roots spreading outwards form a foundation. Like Reginald arriving home, cold “choice”, day-old thermos of creamy-and-sugar filled Red Rose in hand. Promised Sidewalk Cafe Lego sets and Baby Loves to Talk only ever halfway actualized. Too-sweet and ever-bitter melodies, echoing in dissonance for decades from the mountains of my memory. His favourite expression of love: “I wouldn’t trade you for all the tea in China.” Excitement eclipsed by disappointment, always in tug-of-suburban-war. Tears sewn like seeds, a gentle breeze, the breath of Life brought forth from thought into the physical dimension. A birth of a planet; Life exploding into existence by way of pressured chemicals, radiating a glimmer in the dust, from vapour to tactile.

Like Alice {pg.49} falling into Wonderland, travelling along the ascending path; an ethereal tea trail traces a temperate, high-mountain climate. Spring melts into summer, from winter’s soil of all encompassing struggle, and in spite of the uneven odds, delicate buds emerge out of the woodwork.

Four seasons multiplied by four solar returns: time required for Camilla Sinensis’ full maturation, planting to harvest. A portal of Chronos and Kairos collide within and without time and space. Patience sustains the seedling, stalled and stilled in maturation, transformation in phases of pause.

 

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Chapter 2: Germination

First trip around the sun: the natural anthem of day to night, light to darkness, life to death, technicolour fades to monochrome. At the tender age of ten, seedling’s husk cracks, Light leaks out of the Expansion which goes on and on. After rain; Floodgates of fury unleash dark clouds of trauma, sense of urgency evoking a sudden game of hide and seek. Saltwater tears and holy water gathered and held in colourful jars of yixing clay, beaded by tropical dew after the storm. Broken vessels; Like tea seeping through the cracked bone china cup, angrily thrown, shattering to pieces. A mother sidesteps the wreckage, swiftly fleeing entrapment with her five children. Abandoned to reconcile the shards and chips of a fractured family.

Brown rabbits turn to white as the air grows crisp and snowflakes fall. That first winter seemed to last forever. A dull throb creeps in, like frost numbing the seedlings tender root tips. The cold seeps in and the seed-heart swells with sorrow. This freezing becomes her fire, a warmth pumped in through the red interior of Camellia’s vena cava. Enclosed within a household filled with creatures: siblings and day-home children, seeking shelter from the chill. Centrifugal force draws roots into earth, and sprouts skywards. What had been terror would soon be tea fields.

Chilled to the bones: defying the bitter arctic winds of that season, a coal of hope burns bright within the hardship. Building beneath the surface, a crackle becomes a roar as if to say, “Is that all you’ve got? Add more fuel to this fire, I dare you.” Kintsugi; filling wounds with a weight in gold, to fuse shattered pieces back together by honouring the break. Resilience smoked into leaves like Lapsang Souchong, roaring fire, a hunger of the pinewood, preserving, enduring the cold, arduous deliverance to Holland along the Silk Road.

In winter, growth is unseen. Roots taking hold in the soil of her parents entrepreneurial spirit. A glimpse into the future: roots, stems, and leaves which grow in diameter, cultivating courage, determination, and leadership.

 

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Chapter 3: Propagation

Second trip around the sun: Snow melts; transforming glaciers to rivers carving paths towards oceans, unveiling a green garden of undergrowth. White rabbits darken as the season morphs from an icy wonderland into a forest of lush maple. Burly bearded men, tool belts loaded and measuring tapes, hammer out the framework of a Habitat for Humanity. Walls intact upon the foundation of leadership, growth and hope.

Seedling to sapling; swelling roots drink in abundance, expanding, demanding space, exploring wilder terroir, climates and cultures, rich in ceremony and soil. An honouring of wisdom, of tradition, of agriculture which feeds community and collaboration. Stability; painted like beautifully worn, weathered and dirt-filled hands, three generations of resilient, dutch-german Mennonite female lineage. A horticultural means of survival, a therapy, to Shake Off Your Worries in the spirit of Alma. Backyard gardening; Camellia’s roots submerged and unconsciously nourished by ancestral wisdom of social, economic and environmental sustainability.

Humid summer heat of the Georgian Bay coaxes the smell of climbing trees from wooden bunk beds. Leaders of the hockey-player doughnut man’s kids camp guide underprivileged children to cultivate the arts of; navigation, survival, strategic planning and coexisting with nature. Droplets create concentric rings in lake water from paddles tips and pouring rain. Gruelling portages; backpack burdens of belongings and basic nautical necessities to nurture leadership, sprouting new buds on Camellia’s stems.

Cha, written characters descend from the ancient middle kingdom, meaning as deeply rooted as the buds transforming to leaves; depicting the interlacement of sky, earth and humanity.

Photosynthesis converts light, air and water into an ancient medicinal chemical composition of chlorophyll, antioxidants and nutrients. Sunlight instigates transparency as each leaf’s cell membrane becomes translucent. At Crescent Heights; enlargers beam photons through contrast filters and 35mm black and white film, exposing Camellia’s light sensitive white blank pages. As x-rays to bones decode the maps of marrow, so too did copper-colored crystalline strips divulge Camellia’s kismet. Relativity of space, time and the speed of light; first conscious crossover from chronos to kairos. Existentialism on prom night; a disruption of the ordinary, the angst, the struggle of hormone-filled days of youth and poor choices. Ownership of actions, only lead to lessons learned and experience earned.



The tea-room was an oasis in the dreary waste of existence where weary travellers could meet to drink from the common spring of art-appreciation.
— Kakuzo Okakura { The Book of Tea }

Upon arrival; a sweet fragrance, a galvanizing lure beckoning from every corner of the earth and in every plane of time. Like Alice in pursuit of the White Rabbit, a locked door appears. Eat Me, Drink Me: instructions inscribed on an antique tabletop. Camellia the key, unknowingly already possessed; shrinking and growing to fit through the threshold. A wave of intoxicating aromas washes over, the weight of antique chestnut doors to a teahouse, like a riptide portal pulling one into the undertow of other dimensions.

Core memories of warm patio nights spent sipping chilled tea beneath the string-lit trees of Tomkin’s Park. Lingering summer heat combusts into a sustainable fall flame of intrigue which will burn strong through till spring. A reminder that all seasons must meet their yearly death, as time “beats on” beyond the universal challenge line. Steeped in harvest, fall ushers in an unanticipated sanctuary paired with a consuming appetite for wisdom, knowledge in the pursuit of umami. An atmosphere conducive to reflection, creation and dissolution; outer defences erode. Comfort of heritage furniture evoking nostalgia and curiosity. Every visit a series of sips: a pallet of tea tastes, elicit exploration, cultural and historical discovery. Each tea its own story, intertwined with a greater telling. Steeped in warm offering within circular walls of clay cups, earth and stone, simultaneously familiar yet mysterious. Like shipwrecked treasures washed up by the tide, upon the adored port-city shoreline of in the Burrard Inlet. A travel bug bites, like an insect invading the bloodstream, a driving force to evade familiarity is born.

The art of humble servitude forged as character through repetition producing the fruits of generosity. Beginning in the streets and needle-littered back alleys of Vancouver at 12, to painting the houses on a reservation in Montana at 14, to playing with the niños of Mexicali at 16, and children of the culturally-diverse Montréal at 17. Each subsequent experience functions like xylem corridors, transporting life force through Camellia. Frosted flakes descend from the heavens like a sugar plum fairy, crystallizing into hoarfrost on stems in the field of terror in which Camillia grew. After many miles of wandering, the Painted Lady caterpillar spins a silken armoury for preservation, conducive to total transformation from which there is no return; a rubicon.

 

Vanessa Meets Tea

 
Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change.
— Brene Brown { Daring Greatly }

Chapter 4: Cultivation

Third trip around the burning ball of fire in the sky: roots excavate deeper still, while simultaneously forming wings as the bird of paradise. Like a humming-bird set free fleeing winters bitterness, an ill-stricken escapade, 15000 feet of pressure towards the mouth of Hispaniola. Enduring the perilous pilgrimage in search the nectar of a tropical paradise. Heat rises from the inside out and the outside in. Foraged local root of ginger and honey in baby jars made by Haitian bumbles, distilled into a healing elixir. Gratitude permanently boiled into bones in response to the cellular ordination. This path not paved by the flavour-filled or faint-hearted; 11km in Gallaz flats to Citadelle Laferrière towards the Hot Gates. A few more tools to attain, required for the next stretch of the journey.

Stoking winter’s fire, kindled an unquenchable thirst for wisdom, justice and revelation, fueling a sustainable flame. Sunbeams painted on the open cliff face of Black Dragon Ledge on Mt. Huashan. Instinct paired with entrepreneurial intellect sharpen as the path transitions to the peak of the Royal Mount, graced with a supportive silk harness of a Tea Sommelier’s training. Theory distills to kinesthetic energy, the plot thickens. Contrast filters and developer defines the great lines, animating photographic printing paper into the treasure map. Light illuminates the historical cracks in tea’s global industry; farm ethics, human rights violations, sex trafficking and logistics paired with an imbalance of wealth & power. Past in present; shuffling along makeshift pathways of ancient rickety boards built by slaves, stapled together by rusted iron rods. Names etched in wood grains; Steeped {Oolong}, Tea Desire, & Teaopia {Teavana}. Worn and weathered by nature's elements, the brokenness of colonialism and consumerism millennia old.

Spring heat rises; leaves of feathery ash fall upon Camellia’s stems as Mongol fire consumed her sacred Qianxun Pagoda. Flames burst out of wreckage, fortifying in Camellia a furious passion to redeem the industry which enveloped her. A phoenix cannot rise without the ashes of a wildfire, nor can coal become diamond without intense heat and pressure. The fire smoulders in the embers, “one does not simply walk into Mordor.” Rebirth; new buds, new leaves, new growth, among ash and barren land, like a tea-stained blank canvas. A tea house to be unveiled beyond this deadly decade long trek, blooming sakura offers hope succeeding winter’s agonizing despair, in her annual display of blush pink glory.

A portal opens to Lush oasis, beyond a red-rockwall canyon of the towering White Mountain peaks, a dojo, nestled within green cross-iron beams of bamboo. A settled mind blooms forth reflecting new perspectives, light reveals perfect pitches and routes to growth. Refining expansion of the body, mind and soul. Rewarded with equipment earned; perfectly fitted climbing shoes, harness, chalk bag and miles of rope. Less like simply climbing, more like bounding elevation towards the corporate peak at lightning speed. Skyrocketing 450 Kilometers to a million pearls worth in less than 2 light years. Coded in the Painted Lady’s DNA; flight paths of migration from Prairies to the Baja Peninsula. An epic journey of discovery and turtle conservation found in the healing heat of Magdalena Bay. The most precious Pearl inherited, a gift of sisterhood transcending this dimension.


Photo by Vanessa Grace

Photo by Vanessa Grace


With a broken heart, transformation begins.
— Sleeping at Last {Sorrow}

A presage, omen of spoken words translated from vision; between two palms, metaphysically woven hammock made of ethereal material, island paradise and tropical storms. Gracious Tempest; Great Waves crashing upon the shore, clouds dark as night, lightning strikes, rolling thunder, while wicked winds whip sand sideways. Exfoliation, sanding dead layers, refining as hurricane winds rock faithful fibres in rhythmic motions. Peace consumes; serenity steadfast like a resilient palm facing vigorous and relentless chaos. Intentionally planted in sand beneath; jars of clay, melange of shapes, sizes and shades ovally arranged. Within the circular walls; liquid volumes {tea}, rising and falling, mirroring the waves of the raging sea without. Slippery snake eyes disguised; curling ‘round palm trees trunk, seductive mission of destruction, a bounty for blood. Feeble and failed attempts of razor sharp fangs to sever anchor eye’s supporting weight. Unbreakable fibre, peace prevails. Reframed at lightning speed; View Master slides, each image, constant hammock between trees while surroundings segued. From beach to mountains to forests and deserts. The transformation of her outer universe reflecting the changes of her infinite spirit within.

At 2014m summer ushers in the final fall; temperatures plummet, a bitter cold betrayal crippling grip, all Anchors and shackles break. Hooks pried from ribs, released, Black Dragon’s rock face edge grate & strip limbs in the agonizing free fall into Shadow. Sacrificed on the eve of battle to summon the sworn sword of The Undead Army, destined to be fulfilled. Kairos’ mouth opens wide; lightspeed beams, tearing through the terminus in the nick of time catapulting Camellia, into superluminal travel. He spoke out of the whirlwind, “This is the death of your old life, your old self and it is a rebirth of your true self.” Flashes of Fantasia’s Himalayan Cheshire Cat, a Kenyan spirit guide vanishes as quickly as he materializes, traversing between dimensions. Telepathic inception delivered to mind, “never feel guilty for starting again” rupi kaur, digested by body and received by heart five light years later. Centrifugal vortex drags Camellia through Kairos, twirling hair abruptly finds pause, a paradigm shift from thrust to pull.

Electromagnetic voltage strikes as lightning cracks eyes wide open, blinded and gasping first breath of rebirth. Still swirling, winds of pounding rain, exploding thunder, clouds break like a curtain call, unveiling the eye of Hurricane Ana, her landing pad. The Gracious Tempest released a roar of righteous rage, “an ocean between” those loved and lost to a salty grave in the wreckage of her wake. Astonishment overrides all systems; yet breath finds rhythm, sight focuses depth of field and vitals surrendering to equilibrium with unconscious effort. A translocation to new geographical coordinates; plucked from Ha Ling Peak and tossed into the restless Pacific, shipwrecked on the second largest fragment of the Hawaiian archipelago. Climatization to elevation, vegetal regions and seasons, submerged in nature’s intoxicating purity, facilitated an intense three month detox. Cancerous roots shaken, threshing old soil free from the confinement and suffocation of entangled weeds, “a careful pruning of my dead leaves”, shed in the final fall. Transplanted from indigenous to foreign soil; rich in volcanic minerals, nutrients and Spirit, a New Hope would awake her soul. Tropical dew on an old bamboo house elevated from it’s deteriorated foundation, rescued from sandblasted beach to be set on the Cornerstone. Paralleled transatlantic transmutation; “a salt water film on the jar of your ashes” foreshadowing five more lives lost in five pounding waves of the raging Arctic seas. Irreversible transformation had occurred on this path of no return, “You will never be the same”, blessing & prophesy washed over her.

Upon arrival home; systemic oppression, resources of her homeland depleting rapidly, in the chill of winter’s death. Like ice walls caving in, grief had been concealed by the heat, humidity and lusciousness of Pacific ocean air. Visions of illuminated veins; Hawaiian lava layers deep beneath the earth’s crust, transparent like the ocean. Only visible to the naked eye from an x-ray birds eye view, glowing bloodflood through the body, always leading straight to the heart. Each rivers ability to both create new life, new land, while wielding the power to destroy simultaneously. Old things, destroyed by purity only to make way for the newness of grace. As a bridge between heaven & earth comes hope, redemption and the deterioration of earthly hardships. Left with only the ash in Camellia’s clothes, surviving Haleakala’s fury, the path of wisdom and growth goes on and on. Lobster shell outgrown; root bound, grace under pressure, break free, evade and seek shelter in caves of Rock. Death & Decimation; closely lurking companions accompany the last 10% of this perilous journey. One can only be reborn after death, a new body can only regenerate after the old one dies, one can only rise a phoenix from the ashes.


There will come a time you’ll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see, what you find there.
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair
— After the Rain {Mumford & Sons}

Photograph by: Francis A. Willey