Guests for Tea Ceremony
In the front, are my friend, my Sensei (teacher), and me in my kimono.
One of the most wonderful parts of learning traditional Japanese arts is the ritual 'Zen' of the practice. Every movement is done with a purpose and in the most economical way possible. Every detail of the tea ceremony is performed in such a way as to do the job in the least possible steps and with exactly the same movements every time. The result is that you become completely absorbed in the task at hand. There is no concern for past or future, and therefore, you are completely in the moment. What one should be able to take from the experience is 'harmony' with nature, 'respect' for those you serve, 'purity' of body and thought through the cleansing ritual, and 'tranquility' of the mind.
Each time I went to the tea house, which was also my teacher's home, there would be an entry ritual. I would arrive at the little tea house hidden from the city behind a curtain of living bamboo trees. From the path, I would call through the sliding paper door, "I am so sorry, please." My teacher inside would reply, "Please, rise up."
When it was time to go, my sensei would come out of the tea house in her kimono and little wooden getta (shoes) and wave good-bye to me. She would always walk into the street and wave until I was down the lane and around the corner and almost to the train platform. As long as there was a glimpse of me, she would wave.
The last time that I saw my sensei, she was a few weeks from her death from cancer. I visited her in the hospital, and I sang, 'Comin' thro' the rye.' She got out of her hospital bed when it was time for me to go and went into the hallway and waved good-bye to me until I was down the hall and the elevator door shut.
In the front, are my friend, my Sensei (teacher), and me in my kimono.
One of the most wonderful parts of learning traditional Japanese arts is the ritual 'Zen' of the practice. Every movement is done with a purpose and in the most economical way possible. Every detail of the tea ceremony is performed in such a way as to do the job in the least possible steps and with exactly the same movements every time. The result is that you become completely absorbed in the task at hand. There is no concern for past or future, and therefore, you are completely in the moment. What one should be able to take from the experience is 'harmony' with nature, 'respect' for those you serve, 'purity' of body and thought through the cleansing ritual, and 'tranquility' of the mind.
Each time I went to the tea house, which was also my teacher's home, there would be an entry ritual. I would arrive at the little tea house hidden from the city behind a curtain of living bamboo trees. From the path, I would call through the sliding paper door, "I am so sorry, please." My teacher inside would reply, "Please, rise up."
We would begin by dressing me in a kimono, then go to the back room where I would clean the utensils that I was about to use in the ceremony. I would come out of the preparation room with my fan in front of me and my head bowed to the sweet smelling tatami mat floor. I would humble myself and pull myself on my knees slowly across the floor until I reached the point where I would make the tea. Every action, how I held my sleeve out of the way, the care with which I measured the tea, and the exact placement of the coals was ritual. Even the conversation was a ritual. The appointed guest would always ask the same questions, and I would always give the same answers. First I would apologize for my tea, to which the guest would always reply how good it was. Then they would admire the tools and I would tell them who made them, and they would ask about the sweets, and I would say who made those and where they came from. That was about the extent of it. I would bow my head to the ground again and drag my body on my knees backwards bowing again before I disappeared into the preparation room. It sounds simple, but in reality, every turn of my wrist was completed very precisely, so that I might resemble a classic Japanese print. People spend their entire lives mastering the tea ceremony. Even my 80 year old teacher still had a teacher. The whole ceremony took about an hour though I know that some ceremonies last as many as 5 hours.
More lovely than the Zen of the tea ceremony for me was the ritual after my practice was over. My teacher would often make rice for me in an old wooden rice steamer and give me some salty fish and Japanese pickles. Then she would say, "Would you sing, Comin' thro' the Rye." And I would try, "Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?" Every time, she would tell me that when she was a very little girl, she was taken to the Imperial Palace in Tokyo to sing for the King of England. That was about it. We didn't need to fill all of the silence with conversation. We just enjoyed being with one another.
When it was time to go, my sensei would come out of the tea house in her kimono and little wooden getta (shoes) and wave good-bye to me. She would always walk into the street and wave until I was down the lane and around the corner and almost to the train platform. As long as there was a glimpse of me, she would wave.
The last time that I saw my sensei, she was a few weeks from her death from cancer. I visited her in the hospital, and I sang, 'Comin' thro' the rye.' She got out of her hospital bed when it was time for me to go and went into the hallway and waved good-bye to me until I was down the hall and the elevator door shut.
A little girl sings, 'Comin' Thro' the Rye'
