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Taking Tea.
Apr. 25th, 2007 06:08 pmI participated in my first tea ceremony this week, hosted by the school. Initially, everyone gathered in the anteroom and purified themselves with fresh water from a running fountain. The water is scooped directly from the stream with a wooden ladle and poured over one hand onto the rocks at the base. Then the ladle is switched and water is poured over the second hand. Then a second cupful of water is taken and poured into the clean hand so that the mouth can be rinsed. At Shinto shrines and Buddhist temples the water is used as a rinse only, but here in the tea ceremony it was drunk. Finally, using the last of the water, the handle of the ladle is cleaned and the ladle replaced for the next participant.
During the ceremony itself, the tea master enters and bows and everyone else bows back. Then the tea is prepared and okashi (Japanese sweets) are served. The tea master sits at the stove, and the person with the most precedence sits to the master's left. Everyone else sits to the left of that person. When the okashi is served, the first person bows to the person on their left, saying "Osaki ni" ("I'll go ahead") and the person on the left bows back. There is, naturally, a very particular way to handle the chopsticks and the okashi. With the sweet taken, the person says "itadakimasu" ("I humbly receive this") and eats. The process is repeated down the line to the last person.
Tea, once prepared, is served individually. When it is set before the guest, both server and guest bow to one another. The cup is placed with its prettiest side facing the guest. As with the okashi, the first person bows to the person on their left, saying "Osaki ni," and the person on the left bows back to signal their permission. Again, "itadakimasu" is spoken. The cup is turned so that the prettiest face is away from the mouth. After the first sip, the guest says, "Okagen ke'ko desu" ("The balance is very good") to let the master know that the tea is appreciated. The the rest is drunk at leisure, usually in four or five sips. With the last sip it is appropriate to slurp a little, letting the master know that the tea was so good that you wanted every last drop. The sip spot is then cleaned with the fingers, and the fingers are cleaned with little tissues that are usually kept in the sleeves of the traditional kimono worn during the ceremony. (We weren't wearing kimono, but used the paper from the okashi to clean our fingers.)
Once done with the tea, the cup itself can be admired if it is particularly beautiful or if the imagery has been chosen to reflect a particular season or holiday. (All of our cups had imagery associated with Spring and the upcoming "Children's Day" festival.) The cup is always admired from down low (rather than held up high) in order to protect it from dropping and breaking. Once done, the cup is placed back on the tatami and is collected by the server - at which time you bow again.
Since at least the sixteen century, and probably before, the tea ceremony has held an important place in Japanese culture, interpersonal relationships, and politics. It is a space of near equality, where the participants each receive equal respect and treatment, and a space of quiet contemplation. The decoration is sparse and cleanly aesthetic – in this tearoom there was tatami mat, shoji screens, and tokonoma (alcove) with delicate flower arrangement, small ceramic centerpiece, and understated calligraphy scroll.
The calligraphy was particularly effecting. It read "ichi go ichi e," which translates roughly as "every moment is unique." The sense being that one must always cherish every moment to the absolute fullest, as it will never come again. Those you are with now may never again be met, and the things you see, hear, taste, smell, and touch may never again be experienced. The entire experience brought home to me how precious my time here is, and how truly lucky I am to be able to partake in this great adventure. I intend not to squander it in any way.
On the other side of that coin, and a more poignant lesson for me, is the notion that moments passed must not be clung to. Live the moment while you are in it, and let it go when it is gone. Too much attachment to the past robs a person of the present, and eventually – if they let it go long enough – the future. My life has recently been a study in learning to let old moments go so that new ones can occur. In view of that, this calligraphy was highly pertinent and moving.
On the lighter side of things, one of the hardest parts of the tea ceremony was the seating. In traditional Japanese mode, with legs tucked carefully under me, I began to feel quite a bit of pain and numbness at the fifteen-minute mark and seriously doubted my resolve by the half-hour point. In the evening, I discussed the experience with my hostess Fujiko-san (in Japanese!) and she mentioned her belief that the Japanese way of sitting is why Japanese people have short legs. She then commented that with my long legs it was no doubt very difficult. And you know, I had never before noticed but even though Fujiko and I are about the same size and build my legs are longer than hers. By a noticeable margin!
Who knows but that there might be something to her theory. ;)
Anyway, I swear, swear, SWEAR that I will post about Kamakura tomorrow.
Honest!
During the ceremony itself, the tea master enters and bows and everyone else bows back. Then the tea is prepared and okashi (Japanese sweets) are served. The tea master sits at the stove, and the person with the most precedence sits to the master's left. Everyone else sits to the left of that person. When the okashi is served, the first person bows to the person on their left, saying "Osaki ni" ("I'll go ahead") and the person on the left bows back. There is, naturally, a very particular way to handle the chopsticks and the okashi. With the sweet taken, the person says "itadakimasu" ("I humbly receive this") and eats. The process is repeated down the line to the last person.
Tea, once prepared, is served individually. When it is set before the guest, both server and guest bow to one another. The cup is placed with its prettiest side facing the guest. As with the okashi, the first person bows to the person on their left, saying "Osaki ni," and the person on the left bows back to signal their permission. Again, "itadakimasu" is spoken. The cup is turned so that the prettiest face is away from the mouth. After the first sip, the guest says, "Okagen ke'ko desu" ("The balance is very good") to let the master know that the tea is appreciated. The the rest is drunk at leisure, usually in four or five sips. With the last sip it is appropriate to slurp a little, letting the master know that the tea was so good that you wanted every last drop. The sip spot is then cleaned with the fingers, and the fingers are cleaned with little tissues that are usually kept in the sleeves of the traditional kimono worn during the ceremony. (We weren't wearing kimono, but used the paper from the okashi to clean our fingers.)
Once done with the tea, the cup itself can be admired if it is particularly beautiful or if the imagery has been chosen to reflect a particular season or holiday. (All of our cups had imagery associated with Spring and the upcoming "Children's Day" festival.) The cup is always admired from down low (rather than held up high) in order to protect it from dropping and breaking. Once done, the cup is placed back on the tatami and is collected by the server - at which time you bow again.
Since at least the sixteen century, and probably before, the tea ceremony has held an important place in Japanese culture, interpersonal relationships, and politics. It is a space of near equality, where the participants each receive equal respect and treatment, and a space of quiet contemplation. The decoration is sparse and cleanly aesthetic – in this tearoom there was tatami mat, shoji screens, and tokonoma (alcove) with delicate flower arrangement, small ceramic centerpiece, and understated calligraphy scroll.
The calligraphy was particularly effecting. It read "ichi go ichi e," which translates roughly as "every moment is unique." The sense being that one must always cherish every moment to the absolute fullest, as it will never come again. Those you are with now may never again be met, and the things you see, hear, taste, smell, and touch may never again be experienced. The entire experience brought home to me how precious my time here is, and how truly lucky I am to be able to partake in this great adventure. I intend not to squander it in any way.
On the other side of that coin, and a more poignant lesson for me, is the notion that moments passed must not be clung to. Live the moment while you are in it, and let it go when it is gone. Too much attachment to the past robs a person of the present, and eventually – if they let it go long enough – the future. My life has recently been a study in learning to let old moments go so that new ones can occur. In view of that, this calligraphy was highly pertinent and moving.
On the lighter side of things, one of the hardest parts of the tea ceremony was the seating. In traditional Japanese mode, with legs tucked carefully under me, I began to feel quite a bit of pain and numbness at the fifteen-minute mark and seriously doubted my resolve by the half-hour point. In the evening, I discussed the experience with my hostess Fujiko-san (in Japanese!) and she mentioned her belief that the Japanese way of sitting is why Japanese people have short legs. She then commented that with my long legs it was no doubt very difficult. And you know, I had never before noticed but even though Fujiko and I are about the same size and build my legs are longer than hers. By a noticeable margin!
Who knows but that there might be something to her theory. ;)
Anyway, I swear, swear, SWEAR that I will post about Kamakura tomorrow.
Honest!
