Sippin on Mate This Mornin


O Yerba Mate! I will herein extoll thy many virtues. You give me the energy to run around like a speed freak every morning even though I didn’t get enough sleep and drank too much the night before. You infuse my weary mind with light. You taste bitter, yes, but sweetly bitter, like a complex green tea. The apparatus from which to drink of you looks rather like a bong. Guests look longingly/frightened at me in the morning as I sip from you. You must be passed on the left hand side. One person acting as the host, the hot water (but not boiling!) re-filler. Your bombilla not to be touched except by lips once the session begun. I drink you alone. I pass you around. I drink you on the boat dock, listening to the sounds of man and geese arousing themselves into another new world. I drink you in the dining room. I drink you as I write this. Your caffeine stimulating but not nauseating in the manner of coffee. Next to you, coffee is a brute, a hairy unfocused shot in the arm. Mate, my friend, my lover, you go straight to the dome.

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2 thoughts on “Sippin on Mate This Mornin

  1. Hey man! Just because coffee is grown by chemically-hyped slave labor, & has been Starbucksified in this obsessed country, doesn’t mean it doesn’t have mystical values.

  2. I’m sure that coffee can have properties above and beyond simple adrenaline-like stimulation. But let’s be honest: the mate experience, due to it’s similarity of appearance to a bubbler pipe, has the initiatory revelation of ritual behind it, similar to the retiring after dinner into the den to smoke and drink of port and talk of politics, similar to the ritual and social aspects of smoking the nargile. Unfortunately, of course, no one here ever wishes to partake of my magical mate, thus making me feel like a mate outcast. But the ritual and social tradition is there . . . in another country. I just need to move.

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