Your coffee needs a cup.
The cup needs to withstand the heat. It has to hold what I am after. A handle, that’s a plus.
If I have coffee, but no cup, I have nothing.
In this liquid age, where nothing seems to hold, and everything is a state of flux, we need to have “cups.”
Cups can be conceived as rituals.
Rituals require of 3 things:
Rituals play out in our every day lives. How we say hello, and how we say goodbye. How we welcome a newborn baby, and how we grief the loss of the ones we love.
How we make transitions in our lives, moving from an old world to a new one.
Without the solid presence of rituals in the face of what sociologist calls “liquid modernity”, we are left hungry and thirsty. Not that there aren’t things to nourish us—too much in fact—but rather, we have no place to hold our intentions.
When there isn’t a place to hold our intentions, our attention goes astray. And that gets repeated.
Rituals clearly exists in religious practices. We must also find our way to bring rituals into our everyday lives.
Even if the word “ritual” doesn’t sit well with you, an obvious sign that we yearn for this the experiences of our children. They want you to read that baookbefore they go to bed. Yes, it’s the 15th time they have read that, but they want you to read it with them. Their intention seeks for your attention, and they desires the rhythm of repetition.
Again, and again.
In this liquid times, we must protect our intentions.
Stop, and ask yourself, do you want to drink this coffee?
If so, you’d need a cup.