My Lentils and Peet’s Coffee Adventure

Taoistic Enlightenment Or Insane Silliness?

I never intended to become a disciple of lentils and Peet’s Coffee. It sort of… just happened. 

Perhaps it was the Tao nudging me toward simplicity. Or perhaps it was the whisper of my wallet, suggesting I should cut back on takeout. Either way, I now find myself perched between a bowl of lentils and a cup of Big Bang (Ethiopian) Blend, pondering the eternal questions of life……

…..Is this sustainable? 

…..Is this wise? 

.…And most importantly, am I really okay with this?

First the lentils. Their beauty lies in their Tao-like nature. They’re plain, humble, and adaptive. 

Add a pinch of cumin? They transform. A drizzle of olive oil? They thrive. 

They are the epitome of Zhuangzi’s ziran—naturalness. Lentils ask nothing of you but heat, water, and a little patience. They’re the sages of the legume world, teaching us to find contentment in simplicity.

Peet’s Coffee, on the other hand, is the caffeinated yin to their calming yang. It demands your attention with every sip, infusing your morning with ambition and sharp focus. If lentils are the Tao of being, coffee is the Tao of becoming—a force of dynamite propelling you forward, one jolt at a time.

But is this balance sound? Zhuangzi might lean back in his bamboo chair, swirl his tea (because, let’s face it, he’s probably not a coffee guy), and chuckle. “Why so serious about food?” he’d say. “What’s important is not what you eat, but whether you’re eating in harmony with the flow of life.” In other words, stop overthinking the lentils. Enjoy them while they last.

Yet, Zhuangzi might also warn me of attachment. Am I clinging to lentils because they’re practical, or because they’re a shield against culinary uncertainty? And what of my deep, unrelenting love for Peet’s? Is it nourishment, or just another craving dressed up as enlightenment?

As I sit with my lentils, I feel Zhuangzi’s spirit hovering, as if he’s muttering, “Even if you lived on nothing but clouds and dew, the Tao would still carry you. Relax!” Maybe I’ll add some kale tomorrow, or maybe I’ll let the Tao guide me to pizza instead.

In the end, my diet is less about lentils and coffee than about learning to flow with the currents of life, embracing simplicity without getting stuck. Lentils are lovely, Peet’s is divine, but the Tao is neither bean nor brew. It’s the quiet smile in between bites, the pause before the next sip.

And with that, I finish my meal, knowing Zhuangzi would approve of the laughter and lightness this experiment has brought. Well, as long as I don’t forget to wash the dishes.

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Much Love,

Diamond Michael Scott — aka The Chocolate Taoist