I open the cupboard. The smell of coffee immediately reaches my nostrils. I grab the bag of coffee grounds. The aroma is rich and indulgent.
I fill the bottom chamber of my moka pot with water, careful not to overfill. Just enough.
With my small little espresso spoon, I fill the filter basket with coffee grounds, just over the brim to ensure the flavor is strong and all-consuming. Just how I like it.
I screw the top and bottom chambers, putting it all together like a puzzle.
Click, click, click.
The stove flickers.
Flame.
I carefully place my moka pot in the center.
I don’t walk away. I stand there. I feel my feet on the ground. I feel the excitement and joy surge as I imagine the taste of my Italian espresso just minutes away from reaching my lips.
Every morning is the first espresso of my life.
I wait to hear the sound of coffee bubbling out of the funnel.
I lift the lid just in case it has already started cascading out without my noticing. Not yet. I close it shut again.
Then the moment comes. I hear the coffee bubble. I let it rise almost to the top, then turn off the heat. I wait just another moment to let it settle.
Pot in hand, I pour the steaming goodness into my ceramic tazzina.
I step outside to my balcony overlooking the Italian terrace.
The cool air greets my skin with freshness, awakening my energy and my senses. Each breath filling my lungs with the precious gift of another morning.
Small sip. Each one savored.
I feel a deep sense of solitude and connectedness all at once as I listen to the sound of Rome waking up.
This, to me, is living deeply.
And once again, I learn:
Life, truly, is meditation.
