Even though time and space don’t matter in this world, the Fool ran into the Page of Cups somewhere and sometime. He was standing in a garden walking among the fully bloomed flowers everywhere. He was a dashing fellow in a jacket with a chalice symbol sewed on and he was holding a wine goblet.
He saw the Fool standing there and studied him for a moment and then he doffed his hat with a deep bow, his nose almost scraping the ground.
How do you do? The Page asked.
The Fool did a polite nod and twitched up his lip in a smile. He was not used to such a polite creature.
I am fine, the Fool said, and you?
I am grand, my friend, I have waited a long time for some company, the Page said, Let’s have some tea, then.
The page swooped over to a table with two chairs and a china tea set. Steam was wafting out of the spout of the teapot and the Fool could smell Ceylon.
The Fool saw flower petals float down from the sky. Cherry blossoms. He could smell the fragrances of spring. He felt hope. The Page fussed over the tea accruments.
Tea is about ritual, the Page said. Everything must be done so. Any deviance will change the taste of the tea dramatically. This is why we do it this way, to taste home.
The Page clucked his tongue while humming a song that was too complicated for the Fool to recognize. The Page had his eyes closed in meditation and then opened them at the same time he stopped singing and clucking.
Tea is done! He exclaimed.
He poured two cups.
I, of course, will be the Mother, the Page said as he poured a dash of milk in each cup and stirred. His hands moved like dancers across a stage. He dropped a sugar cube in each cup and then stirred some more. He tasted his spoon and seemed satisfied since he then slid one of the cups over to the Fool.
The Fool picked up the cup and took a sip. It was perfect. He felt his shoulders slouch in relaxation. He felt cozy all over. The world seemed right. He flashed thousands of ideas that he wanted to write down. He was full of creativity.
The Page sat with his legs over the arm of the chair sipping his tea staring out into space.
I have the simplest tastes, the Page said after a sip of tea and as he kicked his feet, I am always satisfied with the best.
The day went on as they enjoyed tea, sandwiches, and scones. The Page spouted poetry and waxed philosophically. The Fool became lost in the Page’s meandering monologues. The Page would ask a question but didn’t wait for the Fool to answer before going on.
While the Fool didn’t understand the Page’s words, it seemed to be opening the Fool up to countless possibilities and was inspiring him to want to learn more and create. He saw things he wanted to paint, he heard birds he wanted to write poetry about, and he wanted to make tea for a friend someday.
A few hours or a few decades went by and the Page got up and said he needed to go and walked off. The Fool stood up and continued his journey. He walked away whistling a tune and looking around him at the beauty.