Surprisingly, the Old Man didn’t invite questions, speaking only about the flavor of the Chumushi Sencha and the feelings it evoked. The conversation hit a lull, so he dismissed me early tonight and told me that I need to push myself to move through all three meditation forms in one go.

  With only three more days until my Sowing Day Selection, weighing heavily on my mind – I run directly to my room and change out of my clothes quickly. I decide that it’d be best to review the manuals in their entirety before running through the mantra and breathing at the same time. The First Infusion I was familiar with, so I jumped straight to the Second Infusion. It painted much more robust movements that are slow but firm, with a primary focus on balance and stability. The mantra that accompanies it is ‘The way of tea is robust in its presence and firm in your heart.’ The breathing patterns are deep and slow, with an emphasis on the air reaching deep into your stomach.

  The Third Infusion – the final step of the manual – describes soft, reflexive movements reminiscent of Tai Chi. The accompanying incantion read ‘Good friendship and tea share the give and take.’ The breathing patterns for this final infusion are consistently brought to the diaphragm and out through the nose at a rhythmic pace that reminds me of drummers thumping to the rhythm of battle.

  I breathe in deeply. There is a lot to remember and push through as I enter the meditative practice, but if the Old Man says that it is possible, then I believe him. At first, I feel nothing – but sooner than last night, a fire kindles in my chest. My movements gain strength, and energy floods through me.

  At the very last movement of the First Infusion, I flow my breath into the Second Infusion’s pattern, and the energy from the First propels me into the firm breathing and stable movements of the Second. My thoughts focus on the second mantra, and I push myself to embody firm resolve and stability. The warmth in my chest flows into my limbs, which grow heavy but flexible. My legs and feet feel rooted to the ground, but flex as if I am blowing in the wind.

  The room fades away. I am a lotus – roots sunk deep in the pond, grounded, while my body, the flower, drifts upon the rippling surface of life. I lose track of where I am in the forms, and suddenly I finish the last move of the Second Infusion, and I am not quick enough or familiar enough with the last form to flow into it at the sudden surprise.

  Unlike last night, I don’t even make it to the bed; my heavy limbs pull me straight to the floor. The last thing I perceive before my mind blanks is the soft fragrance of peach blossom.

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  The next morning, I expect stiff limbs and a sore back – but instead, I spring up brimming with energy. I stretch a few times, and the flexibility in my core and limbs is in another world. I have never had problems with flexibility before, but today I think I could realistically compete with a yoga instructor as I lean forward and can lay my palms completely flat against the floor without bending my knees.

  I expect to smell awful this morning, but instead, the aroma of jasmine from the cleansing salve yesterday has picked up notes of orange blossom. After getting dressed, I look outside as the sun is just peaking over the terracotta roof of the back courtyard. In the distance, I make out some dark clouds forming up and imagine that we will have some rain either tonight or early tomorrow.

  The shop will be opening up in just a few minutes, so I head into the shop where Mallorc is sitting with a small pot of tea, staring off into nothing.

  “Good morning, Master!” I hop into the room on the balls of my feet and pull out a hearty black tea and a small savory pastry for breakfast. The bakery down the street makes some of the best meat buns and almond croissants – it’s truly been a blessing that we have been partners with them for the last ten years. Before that, the Old Man baked his own tea cookies. Let’s just say his skills don’t extend to baking.

  “Good morning, Cam. Join me for your breakfast tea. I want you to keep drinking mana teas when it makes sense to. It will increase the probability that the class is offered to you on Friday for selection.” Before I sit, he’s already poured a cup and slides it over to me.

  I take a deep sip. The tea is very full-bodied, and notes of gingerbread and malt come through. It gives off a strong feeling of being grounded; the flow of flavor and warmth seems to reach out to my extremities. It reminds me of how I felt when practicing the Second Infusion last night. Suddenly, I realize that the flavor and warmth I am perceiving is mana. This is the first time I’ve been able to taste it, feel it, recognize it – ever.

  “Master, I can feel the mana! It’s pulling me down – not as a burden, but as if I’ve gained weight in the world itself.

  His pale blue eyes smile. “Very astute of you. The flavor, feel, and depth of a tea correspond to certain affinities and personalities. I chose this Assam tea for the very properties you described. I was hoping last night you would have sensed the volatility in the Sencha that mirrored the First Infusion, but it seems like you are more attuned with the Second Infusion. Did you make it through the Third Infusion last night?”

  I shake my head. “No, I got lost in the imagery of the second that I lost track of the form, and it was over before I could transition my breathing.”

  His eyes twinkle, “I wasn’t expecting you to resonate so deeply already. What did you see?”