Chan and Chocolate: Tasting the Present Moment

Coleman sharing his chocolate journey.

Coleman arrived with bright eyes, a warm smile, and a passion for handcrafted chocolate made carefully from his own kitchen. Over the last year, chocolate-making had become a contemplative practice for him – a way of touching the earth through flavor, texture, time, and care.

We first met Coleman through the After Mindfulness Conference at UC Berkeley, a gathering that brought together Buddhist communities from across the Bay Area to explore how the Dharma is lived in contemporary life. Through mutual friends connected with ServiceSpace, a friendship formed. Since then, Coleman has visited the monastery many times, often bringing new ideas and meaningful conversation.

This time, he brought chocolate with the instruction, “Don’t chew. Just let it melt.”

Simple yet profound. Instead of rushing towards consuming the chocolate, we notice what was actually happening. As the chocolate softened slowly on the tongue, layers began to reveal themselves: bitterness and sweetness, fruitiness and earthiness, softness and texture. Something that might normally disappear in a few distracted seconds became unexpectedly rich and alive.

We laughed that chocolate could become a doorway into Chan practice. But after the laughter faded, we realized it was true.

In China, there is a saying, 禪茶一味 “Chan and tea have one flavor.” We joked, “Chan and tea are old friends. Here in America, Chan and chocolate could become new friends.”

Throughout the weekend, we explored not only the taste of chocolate, but the movements of the heart-mind itself. Could we stay present without immediately grasping at what we liked or pushing away what we disliked? One participant laughed that a piece tasted “like Chinese medicine!” Yet even that became a mirror, revealing how accustomed we are to sweetness and stimulation.

Surrounded by noble silence, meditation, and the stillness of the redwoods, something in us began to settle. Phones were turned in upon arrival, and many participants admitted how exhausted they felt from constant notifications, projects, and digital noise. Some gave up their phones with glee, “Please take my device!”

What surprised us was how deeply we longed for silence.

The redwoods themselves seemed to support this return. Walking beneath them, our usual sense of separation softened. Like the chocolate melting in the mouth, we too began to melt — back into the rhythms of the earth, into community, into the present moment itself.

What began as a playful experiment with meditation and chocolate opened into something unexpectedly profound. Together, we tasted a quieter joy: not the restless pursuit of the next sensation, but the simple fullness of being completely here.

Touching the elements: earth, water, air, and fire.