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Emilybellish

Name: Emilybellish
Address: Byron Bay, NSW, AU
Telephone: +61497618841

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Emilybellish

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Wholefood cook, bespoke caterer, creativity inspired through seasonal and plant based produce

Intuitive creative cooking, made lovingly with plant based local and organic produce

04/10/2026

Mulberries and curry leaf berries,
Old East Side front gardens,
spacious porches,
sun-bleached blinds.

A little bird on the road
eating a butterfly.

I swam three times
in the water at Emily Gap,
I couldn’t touch the bottom

there was wind and rain,
there was stillness.

Equinox full moon
illuminating my sleep
for ten nights.

Long days on Country,
and easeful days
in a mud-brick sanctuary.

I dreamt easily,
made new friends,
cherished old ones.

Another cup,
another cup,
another cup
of tea.

Fed and was fed,
tender hearts
and strong backs.

Walking everywhere
in my red Crocs.

The red dust soothed me,
inspired by poetry and dance.

They gifted me medicine
and told me,
“You’re a healer too.”

My favourite kind of Saturday,
late breakfast,
neighbourhood bike rides
and haircuts in the backyard.

I’ve grown up more
than last year.

What a relief
to make space for play
and curiosity,

easily exhaling,
hearing the obvious
in the spaciousness of here.

Golden hour honey.

30/06/2026

Walking the tiger.

Past, present, future.

In some cultures, they say there is only the present, until it becomes the past.

The flavour reminds me of morning glory, water spinach. I ate it in soups as a child.

The phoenix is a popular archetype across the world.

For every rule, there are exceptions.
Loose terms.
Like everything.

Like music genres.
Like cannabis.
Like tomatoes.
Like life.

Maybe it’s geeky, this need to categorise.
To create order.
Some kind of control.
To feel like we know what’s going on.

Tea is a good place to put that.

The first day of spring is still the middle of winter.
The sun begins its return after the darkest stretch.
I like wearing my warm things.

I can’t tell you what to do,
but I’ll do it anyway.

We all have our own pedantic particularities.

Telling good stories is the best technology there is.
It’s what makes humans human.

This shawl holds the naivety of the beginning of my apprenticeship with cactus.

The manzanita trees.
A thirty-day sit.
The long courses,
that’s what I enjoy.

When we work with tea,
we are courting it.

Welcoming its spirit into our lives.
Hanging out.
Befriending.

Another level of intimacy
is dedicating a pot to each kind of tea.

When you surf a wave,
that energy has been travelling for days.

The horizon is infinite.
The world feels very big.

You wait for something born far away,
not knowing when it will arrive.

That is the meditation.

Surfing waves and walking in the Himalayas,
opposites, somehow.

The Himalayas are still growing,
a centimetre a year.
The youngest mountains.

Australia has the oldest.

Ticking every box.

And maybe it’s an addiction.
One that supersedes the weather.
To keep returning to the meditation.

A beautiful addiction.

Refining our addictions.

The tea is speaking through us ~ morning musings, thank you for tea

11/06/2026

A stream-of-consciousness journal entry from a summer of ’26 adventure in Lutruwita. Precious and fortunate moments celebrating Laine’s birthday ~~~~~

Nine for tea. Nine mouths. Nine hearts.

What comes to me? The scent of sandalwood, the sound of fiddles pouring out from the speaker, the water outside. The ocean is calm.

This feels like a rare moment in time. We are a rare moment in time. There’s melancholy, perhaps? I sense emotions, simple and complex, overlapping in the room. Allegra cries softly. Phoebe looks out towards the blue horizon, longing mirroring the depth in her eyes. My knee rests on the knee of Ahli. Bela allows the final drops of red tea to land in my cup. I don’t cast my eyes upon any others; vulnerability is overripe.

I have sassafras pressed into the pages of my journal. I want to preserve the scent of their oily leaves forever. The scent of Eros and wilderness, of otherworldly awe.

From where I sit now, I can see toddlers playing gleefully in the shallows and an old woman fishing. This moment in time, that I am in, choosing to stay.

There are scallop shells scattered across the woollen rugs and the remains of last night’s feast on the table. The shells already hold so much meaning, the remains of our hike to Hazards Beach, of a micro-trip, of a ritual of loving Laine. Life existed inside those shells. The colour of darkness. Colours that remind me of a dream I had about elevated consciousness.

“Bless,” says Alex, with affection, with relief.

We answer with a sigh of acknowledgment. Bless all of us. Bless the ancient tea fermented inside the mandarin skin. Bless our awareness and our flaws.

Tea for nine, space for nine, hearts bare and learning.

10/06/2026

A few days back, I met a man named Eric,
who gifted me two fillets from a fish he’d caught in the glittering shallows of South Golden.

A simple gesture made between us,

life itself filleted
and laid in my hands,
still pulsing from the tide.

I thanked him.
I thanked him.

And I continued my walk.

Hard sand beneath my feet,
grainy, indifferent, ancient.

I carried the fillets as I carry most things,
in a makeshift basket of hardened, bleached palm frond.

As I walked, the waves kept speaking without language.

Coming.
Going.
Coming again.

Coming.
Going.
Coming again.

No need to translate them.

I did not ask who I should be grateful to for this gift.

I did not ask what it meant.

I did not ask.
I did not ask.

Address

Byron Bay, NSW

Telephone

+61497618841

Website

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