Typically, we don’t have tea lessons in August. It’s not just that people tend to go on vacation; it’s the heat. Shofuso is a traditional-style Japanese house, which means, of course, no air conditioning. It was fine this year until the last week in July, when the weather turned very hot and humid.
In tea, we have techniques for dealing with hot weather, most of which revolve around tricking yourself and your guests into thinking that they’re not really melting into tiny liquid pools on the tatami mats. It falls under the deceptively simple heading of one of the seven rules of Rikyu: in the summer, suggest coolness.
In July and August tea people use utensils of cool-looking materials – glass is one that’s become popular in the past fifty years or so (which in tea terms makes it one of those newfangled innovations that them young ‘uns came up with). There are glass tea bowls, glass tea containers, glass tea scoops – almost any element of the tea ceremony can be done in glass. Other popular materials for the summer are dark wood and baskets, or anything unusual and playful. It’s no fun being serious when you’re hot, right?
There are also special kimonos for the hottest season of the year, made of a mesh fabric called “ro.” Of course, it’s good to choose colors that look cool, but the fabric itself also allows some breeze to come through, so instead of wearing body-covering underwear, a full-length under-robe, and a full-length kimono, it feels like you’re only wearing two layers of clothes in 95-degree weather. (Actually, I exaggerate – they do make ro kimono under-robes that, in combination with a ro kimono, do let the air in, and they’re a vast improvement over a normal kimono.)
However, Sasaki Sanmi’s tea almanac probably says it best: “Clear your mind of all mundane thoughts, and you will be able to find coolness. This is true; whether you can beat the hot weather or not depends on your state of mind.”
I’ll be raising a bowl of hot tea to you all!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Eido Roshi on Zen in Scrolls
At the Friends in Tea gathering last month, Eido Roshi, the head of the Daibosatsu, gave a talk commenting on the meaning of some famous Zen phrases that are often used on tea scrolls. I wanted to share some of the things he said here. I did my best to take the notes as accurately as possible, but I know there are some things missing, so for that I apologize.
Ichigo Ichie
“This expression is so enormous that I don’t have to tell you anything. … It’s often translated, ‘one time, one meeting.’ Literally, that is not inaccurate, but my interpretation is ‘unprecedented and unrepeatable.’ We have never before met here – unprecedented. Most likely, six years from now, there may be new faces. Hence, unrepeatable.”
Wa Kei Sei Jaku
[Usually translated “harmony, respect, purity, tranquility,” Roshi translates the second character “reverence” and the last one “extinction.”]
“Wa, kei, sei, jaku is a beautiful expression, but this order is wrong. Jaku is another way to say ‘Nirvana,’ which in English means ‘extinction.’ . . . We have a lot of deceptions, delusions, illusions, and even subconscious preconceived ideas. It is perhaps too idealistic to think that all these will be gone. If that happens, then wa, kei, and sei will be gone, too. But assuming that the preconceived ideas are extinguished [jaku], then wa, kei, and sei will happen.
“Some people translate ‘jaku’ as ‘tranquility,’ but tranquility is temporary. Of course, everything is temporary, but tranquility is particularly temporary. It should be translated ‘extinction.’ “
Enso
[This is not a word, but simply a circle drawn in a single stroke.]
“There are many ways to write this, but [it’s important to] do it in one breath – no inhalation, no exhalation. Quicker is better, more tasty.”
The enso is often written with a “san,” a poem or capping phrase accompanying the image. Usually the person who does the image and the person writing the capping phrase are different. Three common san that are often written with the enso are:
Tsuki ka dango ka oke no wa ka (Is it a moon or a dumpling or the ring of a wooden pail?) – “You can write anything here. Is it a bagel, or a doughnut, or just sembe?”
Nore ni te yoshi (It’s all right as it is) – “It’s all right as it is, whether it’s crooked or a perfect circle. A perfect circle is not so tasty as a crooked one.”
Kore nanzo! (What is this!)
“A Rinzai Zen master was constantly asking his students, ‘Who is it that hears? Who is it that tastes?’ . . . The other day I saw a photo in the paper of a painting in the Boston Museum. The title was, ‘Where are we from? Who are we? Where are we going?’ On one side was a baby, in the middle a young, strong man, and standing at the end was an old lady crouching. This is exactly the question, ‘Kore nanzo?’ It is undoubtedly the greatest question we can ask while we are living in this incarnation.”
Nichi Nichi Kore Kojitsu [Every day is a good day]
Konnichi Kore Kojitsu [Today is a good day]
“There was a Zen master named Unmon who said to his monks, ‘I do not ask anything before the 15th day of the month, but I will say something after the 15th day.’ And one monk said, ‘Nichi nichi kore kojitsu.’ It’s easily misinterpreted.”
Konnichi Buji [Today, no agenda]
“The real meaning of buji is:
bu = no, negation
ji = event, matter, happening
“Looking at our lives, birth is an event. It’s not a no-matter. Getting old is an event. Sickness, passing away, too. From morning to night, all day long, event, event, event. Up to this point, it’s easy [to understand].
“A few years ago I was translating the Genzai Roku into English. This buji is one of the main themes of the Genzai Roku, and I thought it needed explanation.
“We tend to think that by doing various practices we can reach a point where delusions disappear, and we think there’s nothing else to do. This view is a deception. How could reality be altered by practice? Yet, you may ask, if buji implies doing nothing, then why do we have to practice? Isn’t ‘doing nothing’ in the usual passive sense of the phrase enough? At the same time, isn’t every being one ji? And isn’t our very being the source of all our problems that exist? Can we negate or transcend our own limited being? When we completely realize the true nature of the universe, what seems to be ji is nothing other than buji. No matter what we do, [it’s nothing].
“The closest English word to ‘buji’ is ‘now.’ Can you improve on now? Of course not. At this moment, can you or your circumstances be otherwise? When you understand that the present moment is all there is, you have no choice but to come to a radical acceptance, and this radical acceptance is the most difficult part.
“Buji means ‘one with suchness’ – the unconditional nature of being ready to be, with nothing wanting, nothing superfluous.
“To understand what I have just said is not so difficult, but radical acceptance is hard, and therefore we need practice.
“Konnichi buji means ‘today I accept this is what it is.’ This is a dilemma. We want to make progress, and therefore we think, the more we practice the better we get. We cannot deny that. In one thousand years of practicing Zen, ten thousand years of practicing tea, there’s never a day when you’re ready. It’s always, not yet, not yet, not yet. But today, this is it. When those two come together – not yet / this is it – there’s no word for that, so we have to say radical acceptance.”
Tozan Sui Jo Ko [East mountain always walks on water]
Kumpu Minami Yori Kitari [Fragrant wind comes from the south]
“Sanmon asked Unmon, ‘Where do all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas come from?’
“Unmon said, ‘Tozan sui jo ko.’”
“Another monk said, ‘I would not have said it like that. I would have said, Kumpu minami yori kitari.’
“This you can understand even rationally.”
Den Kaku Biryo wo Shozu [A subtle coolness pervades the dharma hall]
“When you enter a tearoom, the firs thing you see is the tokonoma, and what the scroll there says determines the main theme of the gathering. At this morning’s chakai, there was a scroll that read ‘Sei gin no yo cha o niru,’ ‘Reciting poetry at night, boiling tea.’ Nowadays in modern society we cannot appreciate such a scene. In Western history the ancient period ends about the fifth century, when the Roman Empire was finished. After that, for nine hundred years we are in the Dark Age. Gradually, the Renaissance took place in the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth centuries. From then on, things changed. In the eighteenth century, the Industrial Revolution was where life really changed – how long we live, how quickly we live. We forgot the memento mori [mementos of the dead]. This is where our tragedy began. There are improvements – we have modern civilization – but we also have to remember the memento mori. Even the mention of death is taboo [today]. This is really a serious matter.
“Okay, we are living in the modern age. Accept, appreciate. But it makes our minds artificially and mechanically unnatural. It makes it essential to come to Daibosatsu and set up the tearoom, even though you don’t chant or say poetry, to make an image of that through the imagination, we can go back to ancient days. This is what is the point of tea practice. . . .
“Truly these days, East and West are no longer distinguishable. Even the borders are becoming less and less. And for us, students of Zen and students of tea, what is really necessary is learning the nature of beauty and simplicity.
“For Rikyu, everything was beauty. Even his death was beauty for him.”
[Roshi referenced Rikyu’s death poem, his san, which is as follows:
Having lived for seventy years
I have now transcended my anger [toward Hideyoshi], totsu!
I have carried my treasure sword throughout my life
It could kill the Buddhas and the patriarchs
Now the time has come for me to throw it to heaven!]
Haku Un Onozukara Koraisu [White cloud comes and goes naturally]
Seizan Moto Fudo [Blue mountain does not move]
“There is a contrast here – white and blue. You can imagine the clouds and the mountain. But you have to think another way: not yet / this is it.
“Which one is the mountain? Which one is not yet? This is it.”
Ichigo Ichie
“This expression is so enormous that I don’t have to tell you anything. … It’s often translated, ‘one time, one meeting.’ Literally, that is not inaccurate, but my interpretation is ‘unprecedented and unrepeatable.’ We have never before met here – unprecedented. Most likely, six years from now, there may be new faces. Hence, unrepeatable.”
Wa Kei Sei Jaku
[Usually translated “harmony, respect, purity, tranquility,” Roshi translates the second character “reverence” and the last one “extinction.”]
“Wa, kei, sei, jaku is a beautiful expression, but this order is wrong. Jaku is another way to say ‘Nirvana,’ which in English means ‘extinction.’ . . . We have a lot of deceptions, delusions, illusions, and even subconscious preconceived ideas. It is perhaps too idealistic to think that all these will be gone. If that happens, then wa, kei, and sei will be gone, too. But assuming that the preconceived ideas are extinguished [jaku], then wa, kei, and sei will happen.
“Some people translate ‘jaku’ as ‘tranquility,’ but tranquility is temporary. Of course, everything is temporary, but tranquility is particularly temporary. It should be translated ‘extinction.’ “
Enso
[This is not a word, but simply a circle drawn in a single stroke.]
“There are many ways to write this, but [it’s important to] do it in one breath – no inhalation, no exhalation. Quicker is better, more tasty.”
The enso is often written with a “san,” a poem or capping phrase accompanying the image. Usually the person who does the image and the person writing the capping phrase are different. Three common san that are often written with the enso are:
Tsuki ka dango ka oke no wa ka (Is it a moon or a dumpling or the ring of a wooden pail?) – “You can write anything here. Is it a bagel, or a doughnut, or just sembe?”
Nore ni te yoshi (It’s all right as it is) – “It’s all right as it is, whether it’s crooked or a perfect circle. A perfect circle is not so tasty as a crooked one.”
Kore nanzo! (What is this!)
“A Rinzai Zen master was constantly asking his students, ‘Who is it that hears? Who is it that tastes?’ . . . The other day I saw a photo in the paper of a painting in the Boston Museum. The title was, ‘Where are we from? Who are we? Where are we going?’ On one side was a baby, in the middle a young, strong man, and standing at the end was an old lady crouching. This is exactly the question, ‘Kore nanzo?’ It is undoubtedly the greatest question we can ask while we are living in this incarnation.”
Nichi Nichi Kore Kojitsu [Every day is a good day]
Konnichi Kore Kojitsu [Today is a good day]
“There was a Zen master named Unmon who said to his monks, ‘I do not ask anything before the 15th day of the month, but I will say something after the 15th day.’ And one monk said, ‘Nichi nichi kore kojitsu.’ It’s easily misinterpreted.”
Konnichi Buji [Today, no agenda]
“The real meaning of buji is:
bu = no, negation
ji = event, matter, happening
“Looking at our lives, birth is an event. It’s not a no-matter. Getting old is an event. Sickness, passing away, too. From morning to night, all day long, event, event, event. Up to this point, it’s easy [to understand].
“A few years ago I was translating the Genzai Roku into English. This buji is one of the main themes of the Genzai Roku, and I thought it needed explanation.
“We tend to think that by doing various practices we can reach a point where delusions disappear, and we think there’s nothing else to do. This view is a deception. How could reality be altered by practice? Yet, you may ask, if buji implies doing nothing, then why do we have to practice? Isn’t ‘doing nothing’ in the usual passive sense of the phrase enough? At the same time, isn’t every being one ji? And isn’t our very being the source of all our problems that exist? Can we negate or transcend our own limited being? When we completely realize the true nature of the universe, what seems to be ji is nothing other than buji. No matter what we do, [it’s nothing].
“The closest English word to ‘buji’ is ‘now.’ Can you improve on now? Of course not. At this moment, can you or your circumstances be otherwise? When you understand that the present moment is all there is, you have no choice but to come to a radical acceptance, and this radical acceptance is the most difficult part.
“Buji means ‘one with suchness’ – the unconditional nature of being ready to be, with nothing wanting, nothing superfluous.
“To understand what I have just said is not so difficult, but radical acceptance is hard, and therefore we need practice.
“Konnichi buji means ‘today I accept this is what it is.’ This is a dilemma. We want to make progress, and therefore we think, the more we practice the better we get. We cannot deny that. In one thousand years of practicing Zen, ten thousand years of practicing tea, there’s never a day when you’re ready. It’s always, not yet, not yet, not yet. But today, this is it. When those two come together – not yet / this is it – there’s no word for that, so we have to say radical acceptance.”
Tozan Sui Jo Ko [East mountain always walks on water]
Kumpu Minami Yori Kitari [Fragrant wind comes from the south]
“Sanmon asked Unmon, ‘Where do all the Buddhas and Bodhisattvas come from?’
“Unmon said, ‘Tozan sui jo ko.’”
“Another monk said, ‘I would not have said it like that. I would have said, Kumpu minami yori kitari.’
“This you can understand even rationally.”
Den Kaku Biryo wo Shozu [A subtle coolness pervades the dharma hall]
“When you enter a tearoom, the firs thing you see is the tokonoma, and what the scroll there says determines the main theme of the gathering. At this morning’s chakai, there was a scroll that read ‘Sei gin no yo cha o niru,’ ‘Reciting poetry at night, boiling tea.’ Nowadays in modern society we cannot appreciate such a scene. In Western history the ancient period ends about the fifth century, when the Roman Empire was finished. After that, for nine hundred years we are in the Dark Age. Gradually, the Renaissance took place in the fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth centuries. From then on, things changed. In the eighteenth century, the Industrial Revolution was where life really changed – how long we live, how quickly we live. We forgot the memento mori [mementos of the dead]. This is where our tragedy began. There are improvements – we have modern civilization – but we also have to remember the memento mori. Even the mention of death is taboo [today]. This is really a serious matter.
“Okay, we are living in the modern age. Accept, appreciate. But it makes our minds artificially and mechanically unnatural. It makes it essential to come to Daibosatsu and set up the tearoom, even though you don’t chant or say poetry, to make an image of that through the imagination, we can go back to ancient days. This is what is the point of tea practice. . . .
“Truly these days, East and West are no longer distinguishable. Even the borders are becoming less and less. And for us, students of Zen and students of tea, what is really necessary is learning the nature of beauty and simplicity.
“For Rikyu, everything was beauty. Even his death was beauty for him.”
[Roshi referenced Rikyu’s death poem, his san, which is as follows:
Having lived for seventy years
I have now transcended my anger [toward Hideyoshi], totsu!
I have carried my treasure sword throughout my life
It could kill the Buddhas and the patriarchs
Now the time has come for me to throw it to heaven!]
Haku Un Onozukara Koraisu [White cloud comes and goes naturally]
Seizan Moto Fudo [Blue mountain does not move]
“There is a contrast here – white and blue. You can imagine the clouds and the mountain. But you have to think another way: not yet / this is it.
“Which one is the mountain? Which one is not yet? This is it.”
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Friends in Tea
Last week I was at a wonderful gathering of tea ceremony practitioners called Friends in Tea. It’s not sponsored by any one organization, or even any one school of tea ceremony – it’s a group of people who volunteer to put together a gathering every two years, always in a different place.
This time the gathering was held at the Dai Botsatsu Zendo, a Buddhist monastery in the Catskill Mountains in New York State. The setting is remote (about 20 miles from the nearest town, which itself is not that big) and beautiful – the monastery and its guest house overlook Beecher Lake, so named because the property used to be owned by the Beecher family (of Harriett Beecher Stowe fame).
The gathering was four days of workshops, discussions, and people doing tea for each other. Most of the participants had studied tea for a while, and so the idea behind the teas was not to worry about doing things perfectly, but to have fun drinking tea together. Some people got up at 6 a.m. to do chabako (picnic-style tea) outside; some people took tatami mats out to the patio to do tea out there. But probably my favorite story is about Eido Roshi coming for tea.
Eido Roshi is the head of the monastery and its partner Zen center in New York City. Whenever he comes into the room, everything else stops. He and some of the monks were invited to the opening tea gathering, but mid-way through the conference he paid us a surprise visit. Down in the main room of the guest house we had sign-up sheets for our “open tearoom” – people could sign up to either make tea or be a guest at someone else’s tea, depending on their preference. Roshi had signed up as a guest in a blank spot, meaning nobody had signed up to be a host yet. So, of course, we were obliged to find someone to make tea for him. No problem; we’re all tea people. The lucky host was Marjorie Yap, a tea teacher from Portland. However…
The open tearoom space was split into two sections. On one side was Roshi’s tea. On the other side, one of the other participants had signed up to do another tea. Now, I heard the stories afterwards second-hand, because I wasn’t there, but the way I heard it, while Roshi was sitting at a very quiet and serious koicha (thick tea) temae, on the other side of a set of shoji screens the second group was laughing and having a good time drinking usucha. Apparently every once in a while Roshi would look around as if to say, “Hey, I want to be over there where they’re having fun!”
After Roshi’s tea was finished, he came over to the other tea and sat in for a bit. They were using a huge Shino-ware bowl that actually belonged to Roshi’s personal collection (and which he allowed us to use for the conference). He told us that he had named the bowl “macho.” It’s not what you’re thinking. “Ma” here means “devil,” and “cho” means “transparent.” The idea is that drinking from the bowl makes your evil impulses fade more and more until they’re completely gone. (No word yet on whether it worked.)
More from Friends in Tea in posts to come…
This time the gathering was held at the Dai Botsatsu Zendo, a Buddhist monastery in the Catskill Mountains in New York State. The setting is remote (about 20 miles from the nearest town, which itself is not that big) and beautiful – the monastery and its guest house overlook Beecher Lake, so named because the property used to be owned by the Beecher family (of Harriett Beecher Stowe fame).
The gathering was four days of workshops, discussions, and people doing tea for each other. Most of the participants had studied tea for a while, and so the idea behind the teas was not to worry about doing things perfectly, but to have fun drinking tea together. Some people got up at 6 a.m. to do chabako (picnic-style tea) outside; some people took tatami mats out to the patio to do tea out there. But probably my favorite story is about Eido Roshi coming for tea.
Eido Roshi is the head of the monastery and its partner Zen center in New York City. Whenever he comes into the room, everything else stops. He and some of the monks were invited to the opening tea gathering, but mid-way through the conference he paid us a surprise visit. Down in the main room of the guest house we had sign-up sheets for our “open tearoom” – people could sign up to either make tea or be a guest at someone else’s tea, depending on their preference. Roshi had signed up as a guest in a blank spot, meaning nobody had signed up to be a host yet. So, of course, we were obliged to find someone to make tea for him. No problem; we’re all tea people. The lucky host was Marjorie Yap, a tea teacher from Portland. However…
The open tearoom space was split into two sections. On one side was Roshi’s tea. On the other side, one of the other participants had signed up to do another tea. Now, I heard the stories afterwards second-hand, because I wasn’t there, but the way I heard it, while Roshi was sitting at a very quiet and serious koicha (thick tea) temae, on the other side of a set of shoji screens the second group was laughing and having a good time drinking usucha. Apparently every once in a while Roshi would look around as if to say, “Hey, I want to be over there where they’re having fun!”
After Roshi’s tea was finished, he came over to the other tea and sat in for a bit. They were using a huge Shino-ware bowl that actually belonged to Roshi’s personal collection (and which he allowed us to use for the conference). He told us that he had named the bowl “macho.” It’s not what you’re thinking. “Ma” here means “devil,” and “cho” means “transparent.” The idea is that drinking from the bowl makes your evil impulses fade more and more until they’re completely gone. (No word yet on whether it worked.)
More from Friends in Tea in posts to come…
Friday, June 5, 2009
Going to a Chaji
This weekend, I was invited to a chaji put on by one of our teachers, Drew Hanson.
“Chaji” literally means something like “tea event,” and it’s considered the culmination of tea practice. It’s more formal than a chakai (“meeting for tea”), which has a more flexible format. In a chaji, everything is carefully determined. It starts with a meal that has a set number of courses. When the first course is brought in, each person gets a tray with two bowls and a plate. One bowl has rice, one bowl has soup, and the plate has sashimi. Once everybody has their tray, they simultaneously take the lids off the two bowls, put them together, and set them off to one side of the tray. From that point onward, each step is carefully choreographed: What’s in each course, when it enters the room, and how it is served. Even the guests have to pay attention to the timing, because they have to eat certain things by the time the next course is served.
If you’re the host, the food is by far the most stressful part. The menu is planned months in advance, and the cooking begins days in advance, because each element of the meal requires special preparation. And, because some courses are served hot, the host needs helpers in the kitchen to make sure everything is ready at exactly the right moment.
The food at this gathering, by the way, was wonderful. It was in a very traditional Japanese style, but there were vegetables from his garden as well as seafood and even some things imported from Japan.
After the food came the laying of the charcoal, which is done in front of the guests. As the fire builds, the smell of incense fills the room. With the fire going, the host served sweets. The sweets were in a hydrangea shape – bean paste dyed blue, grated, and arranged on top of a red bean paste center. Then little cubes of clear kinton (a gelatin-like substance) laced with gold leaf are put on top of it so that it looks like dew. They were really beautiful, but not too beautiful to eat!
After the sweets came the break. At that point, we’d been in the tearoom for about two and a half hours, and we were all ready for a standing break – sitting seiza for that long is no joke. During the break, the scroll in the alcove was replaced with a flower arrangement in a vase that Drew’s friend Brandon had made from local bamboo.
When we came back in, we had koicha, or thick tea, followed by thin tea. The utensils had been chosen to reflect a theme, which was water. The bowl for thin tea had fish painted on it, and the character for “ocean” on the bottom of the inside of the bowl. The tea container also had a wave pattern on it, and the lid-rest was in the shape of three fish.
But more than anything else, it’s the people who really make a gathering. Knowing the amount of preparation and care that went into everything that happened was really touching, and being able to share it with good company made it even better. It’s hard to describe how it feels, to be sitting in a tearoom, drinking in harmony with everyone else, soaking in every detail with every one of your senses. But by the end, there’s do doubt about why a chaji is considered the ultimate tea experience.
“Chaji” literally means something like “tea event,” and it’s considered the culmination of tea practice. It’s more formal than a chakai (“meeting for tea”), which has a more flexible format. In a chaji, everything is carefully determined. It starts with a meal that has a set number of courses. When the first course is brought in, each person gets a tray with two bowls and a plate. One bowl has rice, one bowl has soup, and the plate has sashimi. Once everybody has their tray, they simultaneously take the lids off the two bowls, put them together, and set them off to one side of the tray. From that point onward, each step is carefully choreographed: What’s in each course, when it enters the room, and how it is served. Even the guests have to pay attention to the timing, because they have to eat certain things by the time the next course is served.
If you’re the host, the food is by far the most stressful part. The menu is planned months in advance, and the cooking begins days in advance, because each element of the meal requires special preparation. And, because some courses are served hot, the host needs helpers in the kitchen to make sure everything is ready at exactly the right moment.
The food at this gathering, by the way, was wonderful. It was in a very traditional Japanese style, but there were vegetables from his garden as well as seafood and even some things imported from Japan.
After the food came the laying of the charcoal, which is done in front of the guests. As the fire builds, the smell of incense fills the room. With the fire going, the host served sweets. The sweets were in a hydrangea shape – bean paste dyed blue, grated, and arranged on top of a red bean paste center. Then little cubes of clear kinton (a gelatin-like substance) laced with gold leaf are put on top of it so that it looks like dew. They were really beautiful, but not too beautiful to eat!
After the sweets came the break. At that point, we’d been in the tearoom for about two and a half hours, and we were all ready for a standing break – sitting seiza for that long is no joke. During the break, the scroll in the alcove was replaced with a flower arrangement in a vase that Drew’s friend Brandon had made from local bamboo.
When we came back in, we had koicha, or thick tea, followed by thin tea. The utensils had been chosen to reflect a theme, which was water. The bowl for thin tea had fish painted on it, and the character for “ocean” on the bottom of the inside of the bowl. The tea container also had a wave pattern on it, and the lid-rest was in the shape of three fish.
But more than anything else, it’s the people who really make a gathering. Knowing the amount of preparation and care that went into everything that happened was really touching, and being able to share it with good company made it even better. It’s hard to describe how it feels, to be sitting in a tearoom, drinking in harmony with everyone else, soaking in every detail with every one of your senses. But by the end, there’s do doubt about why a chaji is considered the ultimate tea experience.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Tea Things
After Yamada-sensei’s passing, I didn’t have a chance to write about the tea conference I was attending just before he died. It was an academic conference on tea ceremony hosted by Yale University, held in connection with an exhibition of rare tea ceremony utensils that had been donated to the university.
The conference had presenters from Japan and the U.S., including some experts in their field, and it was really interesting to get the different perspective on tea. For instance, one of the lectures was about the change in the types of ceramics that were found in archaeological digs from 16th century Japan, when the way of tea that we practice today was first starting to take hold. There was a much greater use in Japanese and Korean ceramics, where before the emphasis was on Chinese. Around the same time, there was a shift in the types of calligraphy used, away from Chinese poetry and towards a more Zen style, where the emphasis was on the way in which the characters were written rather than (or in addition to) the words themselves. There’s nothing surprising about that, of course, but it was fascinating to hear about how tea affected people’s daily life and collecting habits during that time period.
Most of the other lecture also centered around the objects used in tea, with the exception of one that I’ll talk about later. The focus on utensils wasn’t surprising, considering that we were at a museum, but it really made me stop and think about the way that tea practitioners approach doing tea.
On the one hand, tea philosophy emphasizes that objects are not the important thing – what’s important is the spirit that both host and guests bring to the gathering, and valuing the experience as it happens. On the other hand, tea practice also teaches us to respect the utensils that are used, to handle them carefully, and to show courtesy to the host by asking questions about each item. Respect for, and an understanding of, the utensils used in tea is an important part of the practice. The intent is to put the focus on the people behind the objects, not on the objects themselves, but in the real world, we end up talking a lot about the various utensils used, and in the process there’s a lot of emphasis put on objects.
That can have its good points. Making a tea bowl, for example, requires a lot of artistry, and I can’t help but think that a Japanese potter would get a kick out of knowing that somewhere on the other side of the planet, some crazy matcha-drinking Americans are oohing and aahing over his work. And from a historical perspective, the tea people who are lucky enough to own utensils from three or four hundred years ago might still use them, which is a tremendous opportunity for their guests to interact with the past.
On the other hand, I walked out of that conference wondering if maybe we talk too much about utensils and not enough about the way of tea itself. I think that sense of possessiveness is something that tea people really need to watch out for – just as the wonder of seeing a rare tea utensil is something to treasure.
The conference had presenters from Japan and the U.S., including some experts in their field, and it was really interesting to get the different perspective on tea. For instance, one of the lectures was about the change in the types of ceramics that were found in archaeological digs from 16th century Japan, when the way of tea that we practice today was first starting to take hold. There was a much greater use in Japanese and Korean ceramics, where before the emphasis was on Chinese. Around the same time, there was a shift in the types of calligraphy used, away from Chinese poetry and towards a more Zen style, where the emphasis was on the way in which the characters were written rather than (or in addition to) the words themselves. There’s nothing surprising about that, of course, but it was fascinating to hear about how tea affected people’s daily life and collecting habits during that time period.
Most of the other lecture also centered around the objects used in tea, with the exception of one that I’ll talk about later. The focus on utensils wasn’t surprising, considering that we were at a museum, but it really made me stop and think about the way that tea practitioners approach doing tea.
On the one hand, tea philosophy emphasizes that objects are not the important thing – what’s important is the spirit that both host and guests bring to the gathering, and valuing the experience as it happens. On the other hand, tea practice also teaches us to respect the utensils that are used, to handle them carefully, and to show courtesy to the host by asking questions about each item. Respect for, and an understanding of, the utensils used in tea is an important part of the practice. The intent is to put the focus on the people behind the objects, not on the objects themselves, but in the real world, we end up talking a lot about the various utensils used, and in the process there’s a lot of emphasis put on objects.
That can have its good points. Making a tea bowl, for example, requires a lot of artistry, and I can’t help but think that a Japanese potter would get a kick out of knowing that somewhere on the other side of the planet, some crazy matcha-drinking Americans are oohing and aahing over his work. And from a historical perspective, the tea people who are lucky enough to own utensils from three or four hundred years ago might still use them, which is a tremendous opportunity for their guests to interact with the past.
On the other hand, I walked out of that conference wondering if maybe we talk too much about utensils and not enough about the way of tea itself. I think that sense of possessiveness is something that tea people really need to watch out for – just as the wonder of seeing a rare tea utensil is something to treasure.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
In Memory: Hisashi Yamada
Hisashi Yamada-sensei, the former head of Urasenke New York, passed away this weekend. He was a huge supporter of the tea program at La Salle – in fact, without his help, Brother Keenan might never have been able to set up the tea house there. So in a way, it’s thanks to him that any of our group are practicing tea at all.
I’m embarrassed to say that I know very little about his personal history. Mostly I remember him from his visits to La Salle, especially at our New Year’s tea gatherings. Whenever he came, he was always the first guest. I remember that he was always full of funny stories and insights into whatever was going on, and he could communicate equally well in Japanese and English, so that the guests were comfortable no matter what their native language.
I remember that he was the one who taught me the difference between taking lessons and having a tea gathering: in lessons, you work to get every detail right, and you worry about everything; in a gathering, it doesn’t matter if you make a mistake. All that matters is the moment, and that you’re doing your best for your guests. (And, as a guest, if the host makes a mistake, it doesn’t matter – let it pass, and go on to the next moment.)
Yamada-sensei’s warmth, generosity, and tea spirit touched many lives, and did so much to spread that way of tea here in the United States. I hope that he is remembered as he deserves to be, as a truly great man.
I’m embarrassed to say that I know very little about his personal history. Mostly I remember him from his visits to La Salle, especially at our New Year’s tea gatherings. Whenever he came, he was always the first guest. I remember that he was always full of funny stories and insights into whatever was going on, and he could communicate equally well in Japanese and English, so that the guests were comfortable no matter what their native language.
I remember that he was the one who taught me the difference between taking lessons and having a tea gathering: in lessons, you work to get every detail right, and you worry about everything; in a gathering, it doesn’t matter if you make a mistake. All that matters is the moment, and that you’re doing your best for your guests. (And, as a guest, if the host makes a mistake, it doesn’t matter – let it pass, and go on to the next moment.)
Yamada-sensei’s warmth, generosity, and tea spirit touched many lives, and did so much to spread that way of tea here in the United States. I hope that he is remembered as he deserves to be, as a truly great man.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sakura Sunday
Sakura Sunday is the culmination of the Philadelphia Cherry Blossom Festival, a day of all types of Japanese cultural events – including tea ceremony, of course! We actually had two days of demonstrations, a private event at the Japanese House on Saturday, and the free public demonstrations on Sunday.
We were incredibly lucky with the weather. Normally, Philadelphia’s Cherry Blossom Festival is held a week after the one in Washington, D.C. In Washington, it’s just enough warmer than Philly that usually the timing turns out perfectly. However, this year Washington’s is the third weekend in April, and the second weekend in April is, of course, Easter. So Philadelphia’s was the first weekend in April, and we were all concerned that it would be too early for the actual cherry blossoms. But the week before we had a nice warm spell, and the day of the festival was clear, sunny, and in the 60s, so the trees were just starting to bloom.
Here’s a photo of the blossoms:
The public demonstrations went really well. We had two demos, and since there was only limited space in the room where we set up, the festival organizers had sign-up sheets. We not only filled up the space, but had people sitting on the floor to get in. The teas were done by Mariko-sensei, with Drew (in green kimono, with his back to the camera) demonstrating how to be the guest, myself narrating, and some help from students Mary Lynn (blue kimono) and Terry (pink kimono), and tea friend Brandon (kneeling to take a photo in this picture).
The guests seemed to really enjoy the tea, and asked a lot of good questions. It was great to be able to connect with them!
After the tea, it was almost closing time for the festival, but we all got to walk around for a little while and admire the day. Along the way, someone snapped a photo of three mysterious tea people in kimono:
We were incredibly lucky with the weather. Normally, Philadelphia’s Cherry Blossom Festival is held a week after the one in Washington, D.C. In Washington, it’s just enough warmer than Philly that usually the timing turns out perfectly. However, this year Washington’s is the third weekend in April, and the second weekend in April is, of course, Easter. So Philadelphia’s was the first weekend in April, and we were all concerned that it would be too early for the actual cherry blossoms. But the week before we had a nice warm spell, and the day of the festival was clear, sunny, and in the 60s, so the trees were just starting to bloom.
Here’s a photo of the blossoms:
The public demonstrations went really well. We had two demos, and since there was only limited space in the room where we set up, the festival organizers had sign-up sheets. We not only filled up the space, but had people sitting on the floor to get in. The teas were done by Mariko-sensei, with Drew (in green kimono, with his back to the camera) demonstrating how to be the guest, myself narrating, and some help from students Mary Lynn (blue kimono) and Terry (pink kimono), and tea friend Brandon (kneeling to take a photo in this picture).
The guests seemed to really enjoy the tea, and asked a lot of good questions. It was great to be able to connect with them!
After the tea, it was almost closing time for the festival, but we all got to walk around for a little while and admire the day. Along the way, someone snapped a photo of three mysterious tea people in kimono:
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