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 On the other hand, wabi, from the verb meaning to feel forlorn, is to be retired, withdrawn from distractions.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
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"WelComing" Going, Going, Gone? Holding on to Gratitude

Kansha: Gratitude

greatful people are happier, healthier long after the leftovers are gobbled up, notes The Wall Street Journal. 

Yet, how do we know that those thanks have been received? 

Why is it important to be able to receive the gratitude for our actions? 

Are we able to be gracious enough to receive them?

It seems that in the days of virtual friendships and cyber-commuting the welcome mat has been replaced by the “send” button in a truly never-ending exchange of appreciation that, like the traditional Thanksgiving turkey, may be full of stuffing.

Over the years, "you’re welcome!”, the formal (i.e. “proper” in some books) English reply been be falling out of favor in this frenzied, informal, digital world. We hurriedly reply to the ubiquitous expression of gratitude (and its shortened versions, “Thanks”) with yet another “No, thank you!”

Whoa! Was the gratitude actually received? By replying to “thank you!” with “No, thank you!” may seem polite enough, but it does not mark the completion of the exchange.

Linguistics expert Lynne Murphy notes in her TEDx Talk that the British proclivity for the thankee to “Thank” the thanker back is usually due to the reality that no one else has anything more to say. In contrast, while Americans have been observed to have an overwhelming desire to show endless gratitude -- hence, “Thanksgiving” is a national holiday. Yet, she projects that most likely the practical depth of such appreciation is relatively shallow. She makes the point that the latter politeness behavior system is “especially addictive” in the digital world, such as Facebook.

No matter where in the world, language is losing its grip on the formalities of the past; my efforts to achieve good grades in English classes of my youth may have been an end in themselves. Being formal for formal's sake has little regard in the 21st Century, but while that may be more a factor of a desire to be genuine, there is a missed opportunity: what appeared to be "polite" for no reason is in fact an opportunity to experience something very human.

The reply to “Thank you!” varies across cultures. In some cases it casts a shadow of humility on the donor, saying that the gesture really did not cause any significant loss or was not a burden. Examples of “It’s nothing” or “No big deal” or “No problem” include “De res” (Catalan), “Walang anuman” (Tagalog) “De rien” (French) and “Nincs mit” (Hungarian). Thanking someone in such a way that is disproportionate to the relationship can provoke resentment, guilt and even anger.

Other replies can be “misunderstood or even misused to exert control over the receiver!” notes researcher Jeffrey J. Froh, assistant professor of psychology at Hofstra University in Hempstead, N.Y., in The Wall Street Journal. Thus, “Please” as “Bitte schön” (German), “Bevakesha” (Hebrew), “Prego” (Italian), and “Prosze” (Polish), can be inferred that the gesture is one way, or as children say in the game of tag, “No tag backs!”. In other cases, the giving might have been undertaken with the intention that, hopefully, it will promote pleasure, such as “Mi gusto” (Spanish) or “Gerdu svo vel” (Icelandic). The Danish “Selv tak” (Thanks yourself) and Swedish “Varsagod” (Be so good) makes the exchange more final.

Replying with “you’re welcome!”, however, is unique It can be said, or conveyed through a gesture, such as a bow in Japan or holding palms touching as if in prayer that is offered in many Southeast Asian and other Buddhist cultures.  There is often a break in the mute exchange during which time the cycle of give and acceptance actually achieves a fullness in the mutual experience and, thus, is complete. It promotes the idea that the recipient is literally welcomed into the exchange and deserving of our efforts.