Mindfulness is seeing: this circle of dark coffee held in a mug. It is thinking of the journey the coffee has taken: from the plantation slopes, growing; harvested, roasted, packaged, shipped, purchased; all those transactions bring it here, to this encircling mug, steaming hot like the slopes of its origin.
Mindfulness is feeling: chilled tiles under bare feet, faint heat of sleepy eyes, morning air fresh against skin, the comfort of thick socks, hands holding a mug drawing in warmth.
Mindfulness is hearing: next door, the Rayburn rattles, riddled to unburden ash; outside the wind sings, the birds respond, loose ivy taps glass; in this room a dog sighs and the arm of the waving cat tocks like a grandfather clock.
Mindfulness is smelling: coffee, moss on the dampish logs stacked to dry, pungent old onion in the compost tin, clean sap in the split kindling, charcoal in the smoulders of last nights fire, fine dust of ash; hints of dog and soap and leather boots.
Mindfulness is tasting: this blend, velvet smooth, bold, holds tones of vanilla, raw sugar, cocoa, hardly bitter, even in the after taste. Recalls other flavours by association: the coriander leaf torn up over a noodle dish eaten on a hot street, savoury and lightly spiced.
Mindfulness is knowing: each sensation belongs to this particular life; it should be appreciated as one can marvel brushstrokes; and each particular life is a dot in an overwhelming swell and yet with attention to, with appreciation of, these sensations: one dot cannot be lost, it is a vibrant part of the whole picture.