People like to give her over to Oromo when they speak of the divine, assuming that to smell is to consume, and she allows it, for she is not much of one for judging. And if their hearts beat a little faster when they make such incorrect assumptions, well, mortal flesh is frail and prone to failing. They do not see her hand in their hearts, punishing them for blasphemy, however unintentionally committed.
She is in the first sip, hot or cold, sweet or bitter. She is in the long slow consumption of the cup, can, or bottle. And she is in the final drop, waking your senses, exciting your mind—or calming it, as the case may be, for she walks among those whose minds work slightly differently, who find her gifts to be a settling and a sedation, not an overwhelming burst of energy. So she is with the man who must stop sipping at noon, lest his consciousness be so great he never sleeps, and she is with the woman who brews her espresso at nine, to calm her thoughts enough to allow her into dreaming. She loves them equally, for each uses the alchemy of her enchantment in the way she intends.
She keeps her temples in coffee shops and book stores, but also in gas stations and in diners, in vending machines and in tea shops, and her smallest shrines are her most beloved, for they stand in the homes of her believers, and she visits each and every one of them each and every time she is called upon.
Her mind is calm, awake, and open, and she has love enough to fill a thousand cups, to sweeten a thousand stomachs, to take a thousand exams.
Keep the faith with her, and she will keep it ever on with you.
Artist Lee Moyer (The Doom That Came to Atlantic City, Starstruck) and author Seanan McGuire (Middlegame, Every Heart a Doorway) have joined forces to bring you icons and stories of the small deities who manage our modern world, from the God of Social Distancing to the God of Finding a Parking Space.
Join in each week on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for a guide to the many tiny divinities: