Oh Tea...

September 6th, 2017

The only thing strengthened the bounds in the camp we latterly moved was tea. How amazing! I visit a door to ask for a thermos bottle and visit another door for a kettle. I don’t have neither of them. But I have tea! Every time I knock a door for making some tea, I say to myself ‘the only thing won’t keep me away from being a mendicant is tea’.

Some Turk people living in the area call and ask if I need anything. I only need a tea maker and six slim waisted glasses. After two days, the tea maker is in my hands and the crisis is over. My tea maker, is my only luxury. I give a little break for all neighbor relationships. Tea becomes my long and strong stick in this long-jump-like adaptation period.

And then…

Little Betül Seda (on the left) died when she was running to her father on Ramadan Eid’s first day… 

You can read Stockholm CF's article for more: Betül Seda Özcan Died On Her Way to Her Father

This is the deepest point of the oppression in Turkey. My heart is stable with gratitude and dhikr, but my mind rebelliously stands. My blood in my veins want to flow out and be free. My veins will explode soon. But how?

I catch eyes of my glass of tea, my dearest friend.

My mood is destroyed. I destroy tea’s taste.

I steep tea in the morning. Leave it to be steeped well. I over-steep then. I drink it without thinning it up. I add its steep-bitter to my heart.

My drink in my house,

My consolation in my tears,

My conversation while reading Epistles of Light,

My sorrow-friend in my Turkues.

My nutrition in epistles…

My dear confidant one, finds me a right of a gap od sip, even when no one seeks my rights… 

The list of sufferers is too long oh my sisters and my brothers!

Oh Tea!

I am always ready to be steeped with you in this examination of surrendering God...

I'm leaving this Turku song I love the most for all of you...