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 On the other hand, wabi, from the verb meaning to feel forlorn, is to be retired, withdrawn from distractions.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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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.