I’ve only put pen to paper a few scattered times since the spring. So much has happened. I planned a wedding and got married. Then, we traveled and honeymooned, drove, flew and cruised. Afterwards, Dan and I bought a house in another city, and I moved from the apartment, which was my home for the last decade. Sitting in my new basement office with the cats, Dan upstairs unwinding for the weekend with gaming, things have fallen into place. The old chapter is closed; the new one begins.

I’m enjoying a pour-over coffee in my habitual Goldenrod Pastries mug. I get out my pens and start journaling. Time melts away. I get reacquainted with my awkward desk (to be replaced) and the freedom of a Saturday morning. My goal: to rebuild good habits and discipline, but more importantly, to rediscover the joy in writing. I know deep down I will be returning to a novel I’ve rewritten several times in the last decade. This new rewrite will be very different, very new. So, I write through the puzzle and begin to reenvision it.

Time slips by me. The cats nap in their usual spots. Dan explores alien landscapes and shoots space pirates upstairs. I drink my cooling coffee. And when I’ve finished it, I glance into the depths of the cup:

The fine-fine coffee sediment has formed an image, smeared in the direction of my drinking. I immediate recognize a line of tall, thin pine trees, perhaps the edge of a forest or a mountain. The last pool of coffee might be a river. I could have been looking through the not-quite focused lens of a 19th century camera, freezing the image in sepia.

A few minutes later, I look again. The “camera” has shifted, tipping upwards beyond the trees. The glare of a noonday sun washes out the silhouettes to faint suggestions.

As an imaginative and perhaps visually sensitive person, it is like looking through a tiny window onto another world. I’d created this world inadvertently by the coffee I chose, the method I brewed it, by holding and sipping it a certain way, and letting it cool. The conditions were just right to form this accidental artwork, as fragile and as fleeting as a sandcastle built on the verge of a tide. Gone with one rinse.

Eventually, I do rinse out the cup and pour myself more coffee. After another hour of writing, I discover a new portent in my cup. This time, I see a cloud of birds in flight, bursting over four tree-like figures. Like a migration, a murmuration. This one takes my breath away.

My curiosity leads me down a Google rabbit hole. The tasseology (or tasseography) sites I find (here and here) contain detailed instructions on performing these divining rituals across a variety of cultures, especially the Middle East. I learn the basics: tasseology (divining one’s fortune by reading the patterns of tea leaves or coffee grounds) is traditionally done with tea leaves (look to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban) or Turkish coffee (bleh). One sips it with intention, pondering a specific question or making a wish. The reader will turn the cup in a certain pattern, read it from handle to rim or divide the cup into quadrants. My non-intentional reading seems all the more special… it came to me; I did not seek it out.

I eagerly scan for lists of images and their possible meanings, starting with the trees. A pine tree may signal an important event in winter. A tree in general may indicate a improvement in circumstances, in creation, or in one’s personal path.

Could “creation” mean “the creative act”? Am I about to enter a period of prolific, life-changing writing and world-building? Does it reflect the life Dan and I are building together? Any of these. All of these.

A bird or many birds may signal money coming from an unknown source… unless the bird is clearly a raven, then it’s the opposite. Otherwise, birds indicate good news is coming or suggest a good outlook for an upcoming journey. Birds can also symbolize ascension, a coming period of rising up, of overcoming, or of profound achievement.

A frisson of hope tingles in my chest. Does this mean the journey Dan and I are on is off to a good start? Is this about my creative journey? Am I going to overcome this creative lull or possibly achieve my long sought goals, realize my dreams? Am I going to rise to a higher level of skill?

Any of these. All of these.

I see in this cup: an abundance of good news, a great journey, and a period of achievement. Overall: hope, wild hope.

These images are an espresso shot of wonder. I’ve missed it, lately, wonder. It leads me to identify birds, discover wild garlic, plant gardens and marvel at butterflies, take photos of the first snowflakes of winter, trace Jupiter and Venus across the summer sky, wonder about the equinox, and seek voraciously to understand the human condition. Among a phalanx of other things. Wonder isn’t the reason I create, but it is the undercurrent keeping the desire alive.

Mine is not to gather all the answers about the universe but to sit with the mysteries, enjoy the questions they conjure. It’s never “just” a snowflake or a painted-lady butterfly or an empty journal. The tiny, vibrant details of life point to something Greater taking place beyond the veil of human reality, spilling over into this world. I can’t not try to capture a glimpse, a spark of it. Because I too am part of the flow of Creation, and I am “fearfully and wonderfully made.” (Psalm 139)

The images in my coffee cup aren’t a snapshot of the future. It’s a mirror on my own soul, my deepest, wildest creative hopes. They lit the coals on a fire that had been allowed to burn out. The coals are still warm. I was always going to come back. And here I am.

☕