Showing posts with label Zen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Zen. Show all posts

Thursday, October 20, 2016

2016 ZENSHUJI'S ANNUAL CHASEN KUYO

Zenshuji’s Annual Chasen Kuyo
(Tea Ceremony Whisk Commemoration)

November 6, 11am - 4pm

Tea practitioners and the public is invited.


You don't have to go to Kyoto for authentic Japanese Zen Tea Ceremony culture. Zenshuji Soto Buddhist Temple in Little Tokyo, Downtown Los Angeles, invites the general public to attend its annual Chasen Kuyo, celebration of the chasen, the bamboo tea whisk used to make a bowl of matcha (powdered green tea). The event attracts practitioners of all Japanese tea ceremony schools in the region in seasonal kimono.


This chakai (tea ceremony gathering) combines two distinct temae (tea procedures) in the temple's tea venues and a superbly prepared chaseki (meal for tea ceremony) incorporating seasonal shojin riori (vegetarian temple cuisine) crafted by the temple's chefs.


Chanoyu (tea ceremony is not often enjoyed outside Japan in its original context, that of a Zen Buddhist Temple. Zenshuji, one of the oldest and most prominent Zen temples in North America, is unique to host this event. The day begins with a solemn Buddhist service in the hondo (main sanctuary) offering tea in appreciation of the efforts of the humble hand-tool. A talk about Zen and Chado (the "Way of Tea") will follow chanting of traditional Buddhist sutras.


 










 English language explanation of the events will be provided for newcomers. Chairs will be available.

ADVANCE RESERVATIONS REQUIRED: DEADLINE: OCTOBER 30, 2016
 Reservations are limited: $55 per person donation. No walk-ins are permitted on the day of the event.

Payment in full by check should be made in advance to Zenshuji Sado-bu and sent to 123 S. Hewitt Street, Los Angeles, CA 90012. For more information, call 213.624.8658.


Zenshuji's Sado-bu (Tea Ritual organization) is headed by Hiromi Sosei Yamashita, sensei, a senior student of the Chado Urasenke Distinguished Tea Master and USA/NEA National Heritage Fellow Sosei Matsumoto Sensei, of Los Angeles. The Zenshuji Sado-bu presented chanoyu demonstrations at the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City and has been active for over 30 years.


Tuesday, July 12, 2016

CHA no YU no CHA no YU no CHA no YU no CHA no YU ...yes!

The Source of the Water. The Source of the Practice.

"Sensei," the novice monk asked his teacher in the heat of summer, "Which really came first? The tea or the water?"

 "OY! It's getting cold," was the wise reply.

What is commonly referred to as the “Japanese Tea Ceremony”, is literally, “tea’s hot water”. Sen no Rikyu (1522-1592), the founder of our Way of Tea, admonished practitioners to pay strict attention to the source of water for tea, to draw it from a pure source at an auspicious time of day.

For the "Water Pavilion" Project of CURRENT:LA the first Los Angeles Public Art Biennial, we practitioners of chado (the Way of Tea), have been invited by Rirkrit Tiravanija to perform demonstrations in the structure (below) being built over the LA River in Sepulveda Basin Park near Lake Balboa. We will source precious water from the Los Angeles River that has been purified on site through modern methods and is potable, another of the important aspects of his presentation.


As our water is from the many streams feeding the L.A. River, the sources of the practice are the many streams of Zen Buddhism. As if to fortell Los Angeles’ unique cultural diversity, the great teacher Eihei Dogen Zenji (1200 – 1253) wrote in the Sansui-Kyo (Mountains and Rivers Sutra), “Ikken Shisui” (One View, Four [Different kinds of] Water). This can be interpreted as not only is there is water in the world, but there is a world in water. It is not just in water.

Presentation on July 16 (2-3pm) and July 17 (3 - 4pm), 6300 Balboa Ave., Van Nuys

In addition to its practical use in the host’s making a bowl of green tea for a guest, the notion of “water” will be reflected in the thematic aspects of today’s presentation of two distinct procedures appropriate to the summer season and auspicious occasion.

Meisuidate 名水点 Koichademae: The formal preparation of matcha (powdered green tea) utilizing water drawn from a famous source. Upon entering the space, the guest notices the tsurube, an unfinished well bucket made of hinoki cypress with special paper decorations to denote the purity of the water. This prompts a request to taste the water from the well bucket before the hot water is added from the kettle to make a bowl of tea.

Araijakin 洗茶巾 Usuchademae: As it is summertime, we will do an informal preparation utilizing a rather shallow tea bowl that is brought into the preparation area filled with water. A broad leaf (habuta), with dew drops, stands in for the lid on the fresh water container, all done to evoke a sense of coolness.

Additionally, poetic names of utensils will reflect the greater understanding and realization of the purpose of the gathering ... just that the host makes a bowl of tea for the guest. The guest receives the bowl of tea from the host.

Thus, the fundamental embodiment of tea preparation, Wa. Kei. Sei. Jaku. (Harmony. Respect. Purity. Tranquility.), we hope will be realized.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Opera Review: Tan Dun's "Tea: A Mirror on the Soul" from Kyoto Journal 71




Reviews: "The Tea Ceremony and Women’s Empowerment in Modern Japan" and "Japanese Tea Culture: Art, History and Practice"



Reviews by LAUREN W. DEUTSCH
KYOTO JOURNAL 71


The Tea Ceremony and Women’s Empowerment in Modern Japan: Bodies Re-presenting the Past
by Etsuko Kato
(2004, Routledge Curzon, New York)

Japanese Tea Culture: Art, History and Practice
Morgan Pitelka, ed.
(2001, Routledge Curzon, New York)


Coffee–table books about tea tend to offer pristine views of paradise and bowls of world peace. Page after page of steamy shadows and shadowy steam, dewy landscapes fashioned by gods with impeccable taste, a solitary red maple leaf or cherry blossom petal captured mid-fall, fresh green tea froth (or sludge, depending upon your “school”) glaring up through ceramic ensos like the third eye of the Wizard of Oz. Enough!
For a breath of fresh wind in the pines, two books from the scholastic press of Routledge Curzon are recommended for those with a serious inquiry into the world and way, practice and place of the tea ritual in Japanese culture: The Tea Ceremony and Women’s Empowerment in Modern Japan: Bodies Re-presenting the Past, a dissertation by Etsuko Kato, and Japanese Tea Culture: Art, History and Practice, a collection of sometimes quirky but scholarly essays edited by Morgan Pitelka.
“We participate in a tradition of commentary and critique that extends back to the sixteenth century … In writing, we participate in the ongoing cultural production of tea,” states editor Morgan Pitelka, editor of the first book mentioned. One thing for sure is that the do (way) of cha, like the yu (hot water) for cha, is not a catalyst strictly speaking. It has changed in the process of changing culture.
Kato’s book illuminated and clarified many of my own observations as a practitioner of chanoyu for 24 years, mostly in the company of Nisei, Sansei and recent Ise expats living in Southern California. She presents a thoughtful critique from behind-the-scenes of the growth and development of chanoyu as enterprise for women in particular.
On the other hand, Pitelka, a professor of Japanese culture with an expertise in ceramics for tea practice, is the “outsider.” His contributors look at tea through a diverse set of filters, from social and art historians, current and former functionaries of tea schools, museum curators and an academic anthropologist. He promises that “This book is in no way representative of a new school or movement of tea scholarship.” Neither is it another gospel patronized by or in homage to the current chanoyu “establishment”.
Each book has a section that addresses the sanctification of Sen no Rikyu, chanoyu’s great tea ancestor and in whose name we study and practice the craft / art. The fact of Rikyu’s imprint on tea since the mid 16th Century, and through him, the likes of scholar-priest Eisai, Murata Shuko Takeno Joo, Kobori Enshu and his contemporary Furuta Oribe and progeny are admired, is not in question, but his “word” has become legendary and subject to commentary, much like what Talmud is to Torah.
In Pitelka’s book the essay “Rikyu Has Left the Tea Room”, tackles Rikyu’s star-power through analysis of three modern biographical films. Kato, on the other hand, looks at the commodification of the Rikyu mythology and the bloodline of the iemoto system (hereditary lineages producing quasi-monopolistic authorities).
If we were to take Rikyu literally, we would we only need to acquire tea, carry water, chop wood, make a fire, boil water and knead the mixture. By alchemical extension, we would convert history into tradition, tradition into spirituality, spiritually into social propriety, social propriety into intellectual expose.
Both books also discuss in detail how chanoyu’s economic, social and cultural “capital” have developed and been manipulated to suit the needs the tea establishment. Tea as enterprise impacted clusters of complementary professionals (e.g. ceramic craftspeople and merchants) who were able to make a living sharing the practice, even if only limitedly, to a willing and impressionable populace.
If there was such a cultural complex as chanoyu a half century ago in the USA, it would have been studied as home economics. To elevate it to the status it enjoys in Japan would require patronage by someone as pop culturally powerful as Martha Stewart or Oprah Winfrey. This is clear from Kato’s feminist approach. For example she takes us to a Japanese department store “art” gallery exhibition entitled “Saint Rikyu”. More than just “big box” stores of today, in Japan they are to women in the tea world the equivalent of men’s social clubs: natural, “safe” places that present chanoyu as “high” art and socially acceptable places for women to gather in public outside the home and tea room. I was told by a tea informant that Japanese women were more liable to travel independently of their husbands and with their female friends to national or international destinations following their grand master teachers around in the name of tea. The delegations of dozens of middle age women chajins who have visited Los Angeles over the years is proof.
A significant portion of her writing covers the practice of temae, the set of choreographed movements comprising the modular elements of the longer, more “formal” chaji tea gathering. The “birth of tea as “sogo-bunka” discourse, the “cultural synthesis” or compendium of every traditional Japanese cultural “art” form has important implications. She also distinguishes tea benkyo (study) of tea as geijutsu (artistic form) fromsaho(“etiquette or good manners with emphasis on mind”). Given the emphasis on “bodies” in the subtitle, I did expect a deeper discussion by Kato about body image and the physicality of practice. She does mention wearing of kimono but doesn’t mention anything about the painful practice of sitting seiza.
Both Pitelka and Kato utilize chanoyu as a portal, rather than as metaphor for further social and cultural studies. She takes the tack of feminist theory and looks at the lives of women in the post-Pacific War period, their achievements in higher education, marriage-ability, vocation / avocations, etc. Chanoyu practice is regarded with high status among all cultural elites in Japan, and a woman’s top rank could even place her in some circles above her corporate executive husband.
One of Pitelka’s authors presents how 20th Century excavations on Sanjo-dori in Kyoto at known sites of ceramics merchants’ shops are revealing how Momoyama folks shopped for “pots for tea”, what types and styles of goods were sold during that period.
Pitelka’s own writing examine the Edosenke school’s “warrior tea”, prominent in the late Tokugawa period, and the often-marginalized Sen Koshin Sosa, the founder of Omotesenke tea school. Another of his contributors offers insight into the early karamono (Chinese objects) utensils as they made the transition from use in sencha (leaf tea) ceremonies to matcha (powdered tea). Two other essays explore how chanoyu utensils were valued by warlords’ as battle spoils. In some ways chanoyu seems a bit like a Mata Hari, something that could stop the boys in their tracks and make them find true happiness.
I have always wondered whether there was any tea practice among Japanese-Americans relegated to remote concentration camps and the chado studies of my own sensei who spent that period in Japan at the home of the XIV Urasenke grandmaster. I cannot imagine that making tea was as forbidden as was the practice kyudo or kendo, Zen archery and sword, respectively for two reasons. First, neither tea ladle nor scoop could be mistaken for a weapon; although they are handled with those in mind. Secondly, no one would consider a female master chajin’s making a bowl of tea a threat to national security.

Monday, May 18, 2015

Review: Zen Spaces and Neon Places - Reflections on Japanese Architecture and Urbanism



Zen Spaces and Neon Places Reflections on Japanese Architecture and Urbanism
By Vinayak Bharne (Novato, Applied Research and Design Publishing, 2014)

LAUREN W. DEUTSCH
KYOTO JOURNAL 81 


Vinayak Bharne is a distinguished scholar, educator and practicing urban planner (and contributor to Kyoto Journal among other prestigious venues) whose extensive CV would suggest that he has little time to step beyond the borders of his professional life to engage in intimate relations with the objects of his inquiries. Yet, since his youth, his heart and mind have been deeply smitten by Japan. This compilation of essays is proof: at once a “labor of love” and “a love letter to Japan”. Provocatively titled Zen Spaces and Neon Places, the text reveals his “reflections and intuitions” about “what is Japanese about Japan’s built environment”.

It is curious to this reviewer why lovers try to explain their infatuations and share them with others. Japan  has been the subject of so many literary suitors— from Edward Silvester Morse, Lafcadio Hearn and Ruth Benedict to Bernard Rudofsky and Harold Williams, to name a few writing in English alone. Kyoto Journal itself is a record of such romances. Does beauty, like misery, love company?

Each of us who has fallen hachimaki over zori for Japanese culture knows this feeling well, but Bharne’s professional expertise enables him to provide readers with some fresh perspectives. The book explores in depth the link between cultural attributes and architectural and urban planning considerations, historical as well as contemporary.

For example, in an early section on temple architecture, he takes us beneath the eaves of temple roofs to show how functional and aesthetic aspects of the joinery mirror Japan’s long-standing, sophisticated relationship with the source of wood. Bharne quotes Gunter Nitschke  who wrote in these pages:  “It has clearly been a cultural choice of the Japanese to make dwellings from living rather than dead materials, from trees rather than stones, and to rely on structures which because of their impermanent materials will have to be replaced every 50 to 100 years.”  In addition detailing building design and construction processes, Bharne comments on how Japanese styles adapt to the activities contained within them. He also explores in depth how Japanese aesthetics reflects a skillfully employs a broad palette of light and darkness, with glint and shadows shaping space and tracking time.

An expert in the 20 year sengu (cyclical rebuilding, of Ise Jingu) Bharne wonders about the event’s sustainability due to woodland management practice and land use planning. “While the two shrine complexes, the Ise Geku and the Ise Naiku, are meticulously preserved, the original five kilometer pilgrimage path that connects them and their surrounding towns, have been compromised by rapacious sprawl over the past few decades. Additionally, the sengu itself faces many economic and environmental dilemmas such as timber paucity, soil pollution and forest depletion, raising complex questions on its future.” Bharne writes more about this on the website of his private practice.

A prominent feature of Bharne’s book is his explanation of how public and private spaces, interiors and exteriors, collectively influence and are shaped by human activities within them. The “street is the fundamental element of Japanese urbanism,” he states, contrasting it with Western European cities developed around central public squares, usually with houses of worship. “It is as if traditional Western architecture used time to experience space, while traditional Japanese architecture created space to celebrate time,” He concludes.

His chapter comparing life in Kyoto and Rome, each the historic epicenter of its respective culture, is an attempt to discuss ruin and resurrection. Here he explores cartographic depictions of social and geographic features, such as gardens (Kyoto) and piazzas (Rome) and situates each in relationship to and impact of hills (Rome) and mountains (Kyoto).

Lastly, Bharne jumps to the ongoing evolution of Tokyo as the “modern” international capital and how, along with the restoration of the imperial government, Japan‘s economic and cultural leaders suffered bouts of bipolar identity from the Meiji period. On one hand, Japan was learning to know itself anew after a long period of isolation, and at the same time it sought to explain itself to the West. Renowned European and American architects were invited to create the new seats of commercial and eventual civic power, despite the efforts of local architects – some of whom studied in the West – to win commissions. Simultaneously, each of the gaijin (foreign) architects projected what they thought would be pleasing and practical along Japanese standards, not the least of which is to survive fires and earthquakes. Despite good intentions, sometimes they missed the mark, like the designer of the book cover who felt it would be attractive to link the word “Zen” with a graphic of a Shinto torii gate.

At the same time, Japanese architectural and artistic “genomes” (Bharne’s term) were making their way Westward figuring prominently in the work of such American luminaries as the organic architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright and the craftsman style of the Greene brothers. Bharne also surveys the internationally acclaimed work of Japan’s contemporary master architects, such as Arata Isozaki, Tadao Ando, Keno Tange, Fumikiko Maki and Shigeru Ban.

The flow of people’s ordinary lives—from work to festival when concentrated in urban environments is always at the core of his inquiry. While Bharne does mention contemporary capsule and love hotels, what’s definitely missing in this book is a discussion of the characteristics of the shitamachi, the “lower city”, as one might observe, for example, south of Kyoto Eki. Here one sees “discarded”, the impoverished, and the disabled. A mention of the challenges facing burakumin, and the relation between social class and geography, would also be welcome.

But this is, after all, a love story.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Greater Ordinary: The Taste of Gratitude

wabi sabi
In a recent episode of “Cool Japan”, a pop culture program on NHK Television (via KCET), there was  discussion about wabi – sabi, Japan’s most iconic, yet elusive aesthetic markers. While each guest suggested an attribute of some thing, it became clear to me that the dyad is really an invocation to awaken one’s inner self to the beauty of the ordinary.


This is the stuff of poets and is definitely not wasabi, the horseradish grated at sushi bars. Like the term “Zen”, these two distinct terms are deeply misunderstood in the West, and, among Japanese people, their meanings are so embedded in the shadows and materials of everyday life that it is almost impossible to speak about them.
Sabi, from the verb to rust, is the sensibility of weathered, used, and experienced. On the other hand, wabi, from the verb meaning to feel forlorn, is to be retired, withdrawn from distractions. Together, they constitute the fundamental experience of chado, The Way of Tea.
As practitioners of chado, we immerse ourselves in training activities to develop sensitivity to harmony, purity and respect that leads to tranquility in the whole of our experience, whether laying charcoal to boil water or just sitting with the lingering taste of tea on our tongue. It is often said that it is the taste of Zen itself.
A chaji, formal tea gathering, is an exercise for the guest to develop gratitude from the moment s/he walks through the middle gate into the roji, literally “dewy path”, toward the chashitsu, a humble hut or room. With every step on a short, meandering, uneven rock pathway through lightly misted greenery, we leave behind the mundane world and, eventually crawl through the tiny hatch opening into the small tearoom. Inside, we see a few simply-arranged flowers set in the alcove, a scroll with one calligraphed word or phrase, hear the matsukaze (sound of the wind in the pines) coming from the kettle’s mouth as the water begins to boil, enjoy the slight scent of sandalwood incense and taste a small seasonal sweet before the tea is served. All are opportunities assembled by the host to trigger inner awareness of self that begins reconnect us to exquisite life. 
It takes a lifetime to learn to be a good guest. And to have a grateful one is a blessing to the host.
In the turbulent 16th Century in Kyoto Sen no Rikyu, our great chado ancestor, lost his life over promoting the wabi – sabi aesthetic to the egomaniacal Toyotomi Hideyoshi. The Shogun became fixated on the power chanoyu and its master held over him. He struggled mightily to possess every aspect of it, much like he possessed power through swash-buckling samurai, castles, land, and gorgeous tea utensils from China and Korea. In one tale, Hideyoshi stormed toward Rikyu’s tea hut compound to see the master’s acclaimed hedge of morning glory flowers, only to be confronted with an exterior wall of green leaves and single bloom placed by the master in the tearoom’s alcove. What happened next in that tiny wood / paper / thatched hut? Rikyu made tea for the fuming warlord and served it to him in a roughly crafted bowl made by a local potter.
Almost a half millennium since those days, my teacher Matsumoto Sosei, the distinguished master of Japanese Tea Ceremony, here in Los Angeles, always reminds us to be cognizant of the source of the hospitality. “Appreciate first!” sensei always admonishes us when we are served the tray of sweets or a bowl of tea. We learn to kansha, to slightly raise up the tray or bowl before partaking. In Japan, bowing too low can be an insult. Even the formalities of language used in the tearoom promote gratitude: while the host offers the sweets and tea “up” to the guest, the guest receives them from “above”. 

While there’s not much quantity of tea in the chawan, or furnishings in the chashitsu, amazingly, it satisfies one’s entire being to the ordinary moment. 

Paradoxically, it is possible to leave the tearoom both fuller and emptier than when one arrived.
(Originally written for the "40 Day Gratitude Journey" on Dr. Hanna Chusid's diablog.
For a more detailed discussion, please see my review "Wabi Savvy:  When Less is, More or Less, More" Wabi-Sabi for Artists, Designers, Poets & Philosophers by Leonard Koren in Kyoto Journal #29, 1995.
Calligraphy Sources
topbottom

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Steve Jobs and the iNijiriguchi


Finishing my first (I believe) of many reads of Isaacson's official biography of Steve Jobs. Like Leonard Cohen, another notorious personality who finds a large enough universe in Zen in which to dwell and create, the founder of Apple was a long-time student of Buddhism in the Bay Area. Clearly his minimalist aesthetic was deeply impacted by that of Japan's. I am particularly struck by the notion of the interconnectedness of his hard and software, as well as his corporate structures (human and physical plant) resources. LIke exquisite Japanese joinery, his designs had no obvious connecting pins (i.e. screws), the lines are sleek and the lighting ambient. And like the chajin's replenishing the kama with fresh water from the mizusashi to enable more tea to be made, Apple products have no "off" buttons. There are more analogies to explore.

The greatest "ah-ha" I have had is how like the nijiriguchi, these devices -- growing down from desktop displays to the essential screens on iPads are also portals to a greater universe. We have only to enter through our imagination. Once inside, the fixtures (hardware and software features) are just what is needed for the moment. Nothing more ... for the moment.

(sorry for the fuzzy image ... it's a quicky ... you get the point.)


Sunday, June 15, 2014

No Short Cuts. Show Your Mind: The Simple and Small

Note: The cat ate my original text. I will try to recreate it. It was really good. There were links and everything. Even compared Hasidic tales with tea as inspired by two important recently published books:

Rodger Kamenentz's Burnt Books: Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav and Franz Kafka
Allen S. Weiss' Zen Landscapes: Perspectives on Japanese Gardens and Ceramics

I guess all I wanted to say was that Matsumoto Sosei, my sensei since 1985, said many important things, but two stand out in particular in light of these wonderful books:

1. "No short cuts" ... every gesture needs to be accomplished for the entire temae to be considered complete. Like walking in the garden toward the tea hut. A simple path, the destination is in sight, but one really needs to step on each stone to get there.

Weiss's book will be reviewed in this blog in later posts, as I anticipate there are many, many points that he makes about how tea and gardens are compressions of the larger mandala of existence, here and now, but only here ... just now. To go through the nijiri-guchi, we have to get "small" to see it all.

2. "Show your mind" ... I was putting down the tea scoop on the tea container during a class early in my practice "career" and just before the bamboo touched the lacquer lid, she said that. No other explanation. Never repeated it since then. She doesn't teach "Zen", but the point is well taken: every gesture on the outside reflects our inner nature.

Hasidism, Judaism's mystical route, as taught in the tales of Rabbi Nachman seems to be a "simple practice", one that has a path for both the chacham, the sophisticate, and the tam, simple person. Yet, for adults, fond of complexities, it is quite accommodating to that end. We must not over - think the temae; eventually one's can rely on the practice to accomplish itself while the mind just sits still and watches.

Kamenentz notes that Reb Nachman's proclivity for hisbodedeus, personal yearning and communicating directly with the Source of nature by going out in nature, is the "practice of the broken heart". I have found that a 'broken heart' can be healed at the same time one refreshes the kama by pouring in water from the mizusashi. Here the hishaku can truly become an extension of the soul. In the same way, one does not pour water into the kama, rather one pours it into the water.


Tuesday, April 29, 2014

Tea "Beyond" Japan Part 1: Getting In the Way of Tea


Tea "Beyond" Japan   Part 1: Getting in the Way of Tea

Book Review

Americans Studying the Traditional Japanese Art of the Tea Ceremony: The Internationalizing of a Traditional Art by Barbara Mori, (Mellen Research University Press, San Francisco, 1992)
(Originally Published in Kyoto Journal, Issue #71, 2009)


It is said it takes a minimum of 10 years to begin to master (small “m”) any of the formal Japanese cultural arts, from tea ceremony to scroll mounting, karate to flower arrangement. This little black book, originally published as a dissertation but easily read and enjoyed for its balance of detail and insight, is the ultimate back-stage pass to the often frenetic world of Midorikai, the Japanese tea ceremony school for foreigners established in 1973 in Kyoto at the farsighted Sen Family’s back-lot branch, Urasenke. It is a good introduction to the history and practice of chanoyu for the uninitiated and for anyone who would seek a window on formal training in the cultural arts of Japan.

The author, Asian sociologist Professor Barbara Mori, was a student from 1983 – 1985 at the intercultural peacemaker project founded in 1973[1] by now Retired Grand Master (Daisosho) Genshitsu, then Hounsai, Dr. Sen Soshitsu, XV, as a gift to the world. Like a well-schooled teishu (tea host), Mori offers a deeply-dipped scoop on the post-graduate residential training program through which hundreds of well intentioned gaijin-cum-chajin passed for nearly three decades. Given the carefully managed relationships within this tightly regulated cultural matrix, to her credit she is relatively unabashed and, from my experience as a visitor to the program on three occasions after that, quite accurate.
                                            
At the time of writing, the Midorikai (literally “green” group) was a three-year residency program at the Konnichian compound along the Horikawa Avenue in the north-central area of Kyoto, the historic home of the Sen families since their famous ancestor, Rikyu in the 16th century. Students were college graduates at minimum, often in Japanese studies, and some were studying on scholarships provided by Dr. Sen to institutions with which he had established direct academic relationships. Others, who were studying with teachers abroad, were fortunate enough to be invited join the full-time students in lectures, on outings and to participate in the training exercises for short periods of time. The experience was unparalleled in its exposure to the very heart of the “high” part of Japanese culture at levels very few Japanese themselves ever experience. In total over 400 people from 30 countries have participated in the program.

It has been Daishoso’s hope that once adept in the history and practice of creating chanoyu, literally the tea’s hot water, his deshi, students with a formal relationship to a teacher, would carry their knowledge and enthusiasm as teachers back to their home countries and establish chanoyu training centers throughout the world. They would promote his vision of  “Peace through a bowl of Tea”. The Midorikai program has continued with modification by his son, now Grand Master Zabosai, Sen Soshitsu XVI, to this day.

Daishoso’s plan in action incorporated strict adherence to the Japanese way of learning and doing, and embraced, in appropriate measures, the diverse cultural distinctions that could complement the signature Japanese tea aesthetic. It would be safe to say that men and women from every country with which Japan has political relations have passed through the nijiri-guchi (the small guest entrance to the tea room) of Midorikai. Americans have numbered significantly high among attendees and a handful of foreigners have served as teachers and administrators at the Kokusaibu (foreign office) in Kyoto for years, placing them among the rank of highly accomplished chajin.

Mori's book is their story. She quotes them anonymously, revealing problems coping with daily life in Japan and the school’s rigorous standards, their deflated mystiques about the exotic nature of Japanese culture and tea ceremony, and their struggles living along the dictates of a foreign social standard. Many didn’t speak or read Japanese when they arrived and had to rely on English, which was the second language of the program. Formally and informally students were expected to know and behave in accord with their place in the hierarchy of the sempai – kohai (upper / under class(wo)men), and even higher, to teachers and the school’s staff and the Sen family.

To learn chanoyu, one needs to know much more than how to boil water for powdered tea, to select and handle a utensil, to know the name of a historic fabric pattern, to prepare and serve seasonal kaiseki meals, to build a fire or hang a scroll. Chanoyu is a physical, aesthetic, psychological and social experience, one that requires a person to rely on innate instincts and academic prowess. Perhaps the most strenuous physical part is sitting on the floor on one’s heels in seiza for long periods of time. Emotionally, one’s ego can be challenged. Mori reports burnout on more than one occasion.

In addition to study about tea, Midorikai students had lectures and field trips about other cultural areas that have an effect on or are affected by tea, such as Kabuki, Noh theatre, architecture, Japanese history and Zen Buddhism (including zazen meditation practice), to name a few. Midorikai students on occasion were privileged to be counted in the Grand Master’s official entourage when he was invited to make a offertory tea for dignitaries and in historic places, such as Kinkakuji and Tenryuji temples. At the same time, students are responsible for cleaning classrooms and tearooms, organizing and presenting tea demonstrations for public events, maintaining student utensils and class records.

All of this experience is considered essential for the development of character which will produce a person who engages in chado, the Way of Tea in all aspects of her life. According to the Midorikai rules, one is expected to cultivate and inculcate the principles of “Wa (harmony), Kei (respect), Sei (purity) and Jaku (tranquilly) a part of our everyday lives. ... We must try to find out for ourselves the true meaning of self-discipline which involves a steady, determined effort to learn the Way.” [2] It is these same four principles that are to be present in a tea ceremony.

Mori’s keen observational skills enabled her to detail the impact on students of the rigors of the school’s 24/7 tea boot-camp educational style over a full spectrum of experiences, in class and out, often crossing boundaries of private space / time. According to the Urasenke website[3], “Tea to one student may be the ideal means to learn about the Japanese mind and culture, while to another the Way of Tea is a means to attain inner peace and outer harmony. Once accepted into the Midorikai program, however, students must try to fit into the social and mental climate of the strict demands of the traditional training program at Urasenke.”

Under these circumstances, however, students are hardly ever extra-curricular. Kyoto is a very small place, and, while it looks like even the buildings are indifferent if not actually asleep, nothing is so completely covert as to fly beneath the well entrenched radar of the tea establishment. One cannot step out of line without news of an indiscretion getting back to the school and having an impact on one’s standing.

“Urasenke is a kind of Byzantine court, filled with intrigue, a kind of monopoly pyramid,” commented a non-Japanese male teacher to Mori. “Errors in this system are never forgotten, and tag after you,” she reports another non-Japanese male teacher  reflecting on the career ups and downs of some of the Japanese teachers.

Urasenke configures several types of instructional programs at its headquarters, Midorikai being only for foreigners. A parallel program, Gakuen, is conducted for Japanese nationals. Mori reports one informant, a non-Japanese male student, saying, “Here at Urasenke foreigners are treated in a sort of special way. They are invited to many functions held at Konnichian at the main center of Urasenke with Oiemoto, whereas the Gakuensei (Japanese students), as far as I can see, don’t have a lot of privileges.” Another, a Japanese-American third-year student, told her, “Foreigners are not considered part of the system. On the other hand, I don’t believe non-Japanese are given the benefit of the doubt as far as learning the more advanced forms of tea appreciation.” Midorikai students who do not speak Japanese will be oblivious to the nuances of this fact. What can be understood directly from English (or through the mediation of a bilingual colleague) is a wealth of knowledge.

Midorikai rules acknowledge and Mori concludes that its up to each student to find a way to adapt to the structure of daily routine, from living in the school dorms to cleaning the school tea rooms, from dressing in kimono to studying for the next day’s practicum. Whether taking responsibility for a public event or the breakage of a class utensil, the individual becomes responsible for and to the group, and the group to the school patrons. For some these lessons are more difficult to learn than yet another way to clean a tea scoop!

Each Midorikai student has his or her own stories to tell. They all reveal the boldness and generosity of the Urasenke experiment to expose foreigners to the most intimate of experiences of Japan. Mori’s work is part one of a story that has evolved to this day. A new class of students comes in each year and the efforts of those who have graduated and are promoting “Peace through a bowl of Tea” have been manifest “beyond” Japan with great success.

To see how Midorikai fits into the Urasenke system, you may view the Urasenke English language newsletter http://www.teeseminar.de/archive/newsletters/Urasenke-Newsletter_110.pdf

[1] The first class for foreign students was established at Urasenke in Kyoto in 1970
[2] “Midorikai Rules and General Information” (61st Year of the rule of Emperor Hirohito)
[3] www.urasenke.or.jp