I press the plunger of the press slowly, separating grounds from water, earth from mana, and the act (ritual) breathes the essence of coffee-to-be into my mind, a mystical hypodermic mainlined to my soul; memories of russet-brown nectar taste themselves into my mouth, the cup held to my face, and warmth tingles up my nose and explodes in full-fledged recollection of the joy I am about to experience; and then-- it is.