The Imprint of Lamed: Learning = Teaching

According to one of my teachers, Gilla Nissan, the Hebrew letter lamed ל

has kabbalistic meaning of both teaching and learning, education. The form of the lamed represents the aspiration of the truly devoted pupil to learn from the mouth of the teacher. In the “Letters of Rabbi Akiva,” the full spelling of the letter's name, i.e. lamed (lamed-mem-dalet) is read as short for the phrase: “a heart that understands knowledge” (lev meivin da’at). Thus, it is often heard that a student of Jewish knowledge will say that she "learns" with a particular teacher, rather than as we might say in English, we learn from that teacher, implying that the teacher and the knowledge are separate; one takes away knowledge. In these situations, teacher and student are engaged in the exchange, rather than a more dualistic, disconnected give and take. 

I was thinking about this letter when reflecting on my experiences in the classes known  as oku-no-okeiko, advanced lessons that focus on the temae of the daisu. These procedures are not (supposedly) recorded in a book; one must learn directly in the presence of a teacher. Not every teacher feels comfortable (or is granted license) to teach this "level" (above shikaden), so when available, they are usually held on the fourth week of the month. We must wear kimono and be prepared to spend a long time in seiza position. 

These daisudemae procedures for koicha are to the previous series of classes what a symphony is to a student etude, as they incorporate pieces of many of the other procedures linked together with a refined extended elegance that is hard to describe. These are said to be the original procedures that were abbreviated / disassembled into parts that were taught separately as temae in themselves. 

It takes many years before a student is introduced to the daisudemae, and these procedures are practiced with a teacher at most 12 times during the full year, with the modifications to the ro/furo as is normal per the appropriate season. Thus, it takes a long time to actually inculcate the procedures, even using well-practiced steps.

Out of respect for the effort that my sensei had invested in explaining to me about the procedures, I remember being quite nervous before my oku classes because I didn't remember the variations and connections between the various aspects of a daisudemae. So I relied on her guidance once again to take me through the steps.

LIkewise, I was charged with hosting a chashitsu biraki, opening of my tea room and celebrating my having been granted chamei, professional name. I had never hosted a chakai, much less a chaji, so I had many, many questions for my teacher about how to create such an even worthy of the senior students and other teachers who would be the guests in my home. 

In both these cases, I felt that I was never alone in my learning, and even when sensei said nothing during my temae I knew that we were doing it together then, and will forever, together. 

Space: Getting Small. Getting Large.

I have just orchestrated another demonstration of an extremely elementary, highly impressionistic chanoyu situation before a crowd of people who had little to no prior understanding of what it is and who certainly did not come to this unlikely event just to see it. Did I mention that it finally happened at nearly 11pm on a weekday night, last in the program?

If you've tried to do a tea demonstration in a makeshift environment such as a classroom, restaurant / bar / club, school auditorium, (i.e.no tokonoma, no tatami, etc.), you will recognize the challenge to not only to do the presentation (host, guest, narrator) in a way that is visible. Production values aside, one also has to decide what impression through information narrated is most important to relay to the audience exposed to this "experience".

Given the nontraditional environment, I needed to figure out what they might actually see from their position -- seated auditorium style in chairs facing a stage to the side of which a two mat tea "house" had been constructed about 18 inches from the floor. (The "house", all 400 pounds of which was supposed to be lifted on to the stage once the drum set and video screen were moved away. This did not happen, luckily.)

Preparations for the demonstration -- out of my control most of the time -- constantly morphed throughout the evening: the flowers for the tokonoma didn't materialize, the matcha was still unopened 15 minutes before the start, a hotplate was in place under a tiny tetsubin ... Why was this included in the evening, I constantly inquired, but wished to help the event producer fulfill her fantasy. I couldn't help recall the scene in the film Memoirs of a Geisha where the former "Chiyo" does a weird modernist dance at her formal "coming out" performance, emerging as "Sayuri" I mentioned this in my review of the film, "The Way of Tease" for Kyoto Journal.

I determined that the most impressive situation would be to draw the audience's attention into the virtual tearoom space as if one would be a guest. It is pointless to explain every one of the teishu (host's) gestures, because in their role as guest, they are already doing what is necessary: to witness, settle in and wait for tea.

So as narrator I took them on the guest's journey through an imaginary roji, turning this way and that along the stone path, passing through the gates, rinsing at the tsukubai and enter the nijiriguchi. I then simply mentioned that the host is purifying the utensils in the presence of the guest as a way also to draw together their attention and hearts for this gathering.I mentioned other ideas, such as the "Wa, kei, sei and jaku" kakemono (calligraphy) on the scroll displayed in the two "mat" (goza) stage set, which included a tokonoma / tokobashira and shojis designed by East West Teahouse. The demonstration was very abridged inasmuch, too, that the host and guest were new to the practice. I felt the impression was the best under the circumstances.

Likewise, it is a huge challenge to demonstrate in a controlled theatrical space, such as a proscenium stage. I had the opportunity as a very new tea student to witness a kencha (memorial presentation of tea) presided over by then Sen Soshitsu XV, Hounsai, in Los Angeles at the Japan America Theatre. He used the formal daisu (large lacquered stand) and kaigu (set of fresh water jar, fire tongues / water dipper holder, waste water jar and lid rest), of course. I was seated in the balcony, and my eyes were riveted on his every move.

A rather tall man, Hounsai O-Iemoto towered over the daisu, yet he still had to get in there and withdraw the long handled vertically standing bamboo water dipper out of the long-necked holder with little room to spare under the top shelf. He appeared to cause the top of the daisu to expand upward as he reached inside to lift up the hishaku (water dipper). I couldn't believe my eyes.

I commented about it to a tea colleague who admonished me that the goal is to mirror our teacher's process, never to try to imitate the Grand Tea Master who can and would in fact behave more grandiosely.