No`da`te

The image of chanoyu performed out of doors (nodate) is a delightful one to most onlookers. It is usually held in a beautiful garden with a manicured lake in the background. The table is black, accented with orange cords and is set off by a very large, richly red umbrella. It is a methodical dance carried out in a slow stately manner.

Women in floral kimono’s flit around like so many butterflies. Going from one flower to the next, gathering nectar. The seated guest, one imagines as cognoscente of a private privileged world. Never too hot or too hurried.

For me at least the reality of nodate creates feelings of apprehension bordering on queasiness. Chanoyu is a well-practiced, organized discipline where the practitioners devote hours, days, even months to preparing for an event. Besides practicing the specific tea to be done, there are menus to decide on and decisions as to the most appropriate scroll, utensils and flowers to be used must be made.

To complicate the situation further chanoyu is practiced predominately while kneeling in the comforting geometric surrounds of the chashitsu (teahouse) on a square of four to eight tatami mats with very definite borders. The vistas in the teahouse are internal rather than majestic. It is a way to garner a little peace in a very chaotic world.

One thing most people do not notice while watching chanoyu is that things balance: the chashaku (tea scoop) on top of the natsume (tea caddy); the ladle on the furo (portable brazier); the cover of the mizushashi (water jar) lying slightly to the side. Most of the objects are light as a feather, barely weighting an ounce put together.

Though tea in the great out of doors is as much fantasized by tea folk as by anyone else, the thought is tempered by, well by the great outdoors: sun, heat, bugs, lack of electricity and water, uneven surfaces, rain and worse of all, the wind.

The women and men in kimono wilt and need to be revived; bees are shooed off the sweets; extension cords found; water is carried in by the bucket full; wedges even out the tables and the rain is waited out. But the wind is most troublesome. If only some of utensils were made of cast iron.

Every thing seems to take flight including all the ash in the furo which coats the precious objects with dust and it is especially obvious on the black mirror-like surface of the table-impossible to ignore, difficult to clean.

The worse of the offending utensils when it comes to the wind is the most obvious of all-the umbrella. This was designed perfectly to take flight and in accordance with Murphy’s Law it usually starts to soar in the middle of tea. It is such an expensive and fragile device that it keeps everyone on edge till it is taken down.

In the true spirit of chanoyu none of this ever deters anyone from nodate. Fret as everyone may, no one ever says no. They just say where, when and for how many. In practicing chanoyu one develops a real can do mindset. People are presented with a problem and they go about solving it. I hear very little whining from tea folk. Their years of training and the example of their teachers prepare them to be positive and practical. So everyone steps up to the challenge.

Learning chanoyu is a bit like my medical training in that you are never alone. Every thing you do during the years of training is done in front of numerous people with different levels of expertise. There is no way to cover-up your missteps and thus the cloak is pulled off and one gets used to many pairs of eyes watching your every move.

It is also a bit like bringing a boat into a dock. Bystanders and fellow boaters alike are watching, critiquing and analyzing your every move. We all begin to “feel their pain” and in doing so become a stronger community.

So even though nodate seems like a walk in the park to most, it teaches strong lessons in perseverance, adaptability and provides many opportunities to practice one of the four tenets of chanoyu-humility.

Chanoyu As Ceremony

A few years back Sen Soshitsu, the 15th generation Grand Tea Master of the Urasenke tradition of Tea stated in an article his wish that chanoyu be referred to as just that, chanoyu and not the tea ceremony. I did not comprehend the significant of his request at that time but on further reflection it is beginning to make sense to me.

Chanoyu, I have found, is used as the center or showpiece for many activities. It seems to be bedazzling in an odd sort of way. Participants in beautiful garb, exotic utensils (rustic as they may be) and the flowers and scrolls lend themselves to well, lets just say spectacle.

Chanoyu holds a certain allure for westerners. It is one of the only parts of Japanese culture, other than comic books and sushi that seems accessible on a superficial level. To many Catholics, and I imagine other denominations that have the mass as their primary mode of worship, chanoyu is familiar even if they do not comprehend it at the time: the tea bowl as the chalice, sweets as the host,
tea as the wine, the flowers and scroll in the tokonoma as the statues of the saints in the alcove. It puts Japanese culture in a familiar surroundings. Even the use of Japanese in a call and response way during chanoyu reminds me of the use of Latin by the church many years ago.

And as the mass is used ceremonially, with many people only participating during holy days, weddings and funerals, so chanoyu is used. We have done tea during festivals, to honor visiting dignitaries, to herald the start of a world religious conference, but rarely do any of the events lead to a deeper understanding of the philosophy behind chanoyu. Chanoyu is viewed in these circumstances as one would go to a concert or watch a ballet company go through its motions - a temporary amusement.

Several years after I started studying chanoyu I made a switch from the physical aspects of chanoyu to the intellectual basis of Tea. Of course my knees still hurt and I needed as much practice balancing the sumi in the basket, but I became aware of the four principle that chanoyu is based on. It was curious, what did harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility have to do with the kneeling, whisking and drinking that seems so much of what Tea is about.

The utensils and environment of Tea are but the outward representation, though inseparable, of the ultimate truth that chanoyu is striving for. Chanoyu is a way to live your life, a way to interact with and participate in the complexities of the world on a real time basis. Hence the saying often repeated, ichigo, ichie (one time, one meeting).

There are no cover-ups in chanoyu only truth. The way to practice is to be honest and transparent. Now I am not so naïve to imagine that the world actually runs this way. Individually we all have many faults but structurally, as a philosophy I believe chanoyu transcends our petty attempts to use chanoyu for our own ends.

Harmony-Wa, Respect-Kei, Purity-Sei and Tranquility-Jaku; these principles keep us centered. My second teacher, Minnie Kubose, was a living example of this. There was no way, though I often tried in the grips of paroxysmal muscle spasm to shortcut my practice. I never succeeded and usually only prolonged my misery. I did not understand the agonizing that Minnie and later her daughter Joyce would go through over every detail till I understood the intellectual basis for chanoyu. In fact I am still working on the details, not being quite as meticulous about things as I should be.

Chanoyu has taught me that there are no shortcuts in life. You have to put your time in and be aware of your surroundings. This is the basis of luck. Not the arrangements of the planets or the use of lucky charms but the fact that you are aware and truthful with your self and ready to capitalize on the opportunities presented to you.

So next time you get to see the “Tea Ceremony” remember the Grand Tea Master’s wish - to put the four principles of chanoyu into action in your daily life and of course, enjoy the beautiful dress, the rustic utensils and the sweets and tea.

STUFF

Part of getting involved with any culture is appreciating and acquiring stuff, stuff that is particular to that culture.  I am Italian-American and when I think about it I have five espresso machines, grow garlic, oregano and basil in the garden, order olive oil and vinegar from Alberto who lives in a small town outside of Florence and should be collecting all my mother’s mothers’ aphorisms. She tells me these approximately three times per week, the most recent in honor of my 50th birthday. It is concerned with the fact that after fifty you wake up with a new ache and pain every morning.  The unfortunate part of most these pearls of wisdom are that they are usually true.  Thanks Ma. 

Once I became interested in oriental culture, it took quite awhile to differentiate between the different Asian cultures.  I find that most objects I come in contact with are Chinese and seldom Japanese that is if you exclude Sony’s. The Japanese stuff I do manage to find is usually very well made and expensive.  There are a few stores in Chicago that I have bought many a Christmas present in, but mostly Japanese stuff is hard to find. 

When I started taking lessons in the Tea Ceremony I was overwhelmed by the amount of stuff there was.  These objects are the stuff of legend:  scrolls, flower vases, ceramic and cast iron vessels, whole rooms, and that pen ultimate Japanese treasure, the tea bowl.

There is a dilemma in the practice of Tea in the west if one is trying to use the traditional utensils or dogu.  It is almost impossible to have all the utensils and would be very expensive to obtain them.  The utensils you get here might not even be appropriate in Japan, but because they are the only things you can find, they get used.

My wife Charlotte and I wander around the country and whenever we are out-and-about, Charlotte will take me into whatever antique or junk store she can find.  We snoop around and look for things.  She looks for some priceless antique to take to the Antique Roadshow, while I am looking for tools but also I keep an eye out for objects that I might somehow use in the practice of Tea.

I have always thought that we, practicing Tea in the West, need to create our own Tea culture and provide our own utensils. With that thought in mind I am always looking for something that might substitute for Japanese dogu. In my quest for western dogu I have done everything from making tea stands out of recycled barn wood from Southern Illinois to purchasing American crafts and antiques, which I perceived, would substitute for the Japanese utensils.  This usually turns out to be a mistake.  I have collected some very interesting objects but most have not been usable for Tea. 

There are a couple of concepts that are prominent in Tea and in Japanese fine arts—Wabi and Sabi.  I have translated these to mean rustic elegance.  It is the difference between a beautifully crafted Wedgwood teapot and a raku tea bowl that at first looks to the untrained eye like it was thrown together haphazardly.  The difference lies in their use and in the aesthetics.  I have tired to use Western objects in Tea but they usually do not work.  And by work I mean they are too tall, too short, too wide; there is no place to comfortable to hold on to them, they get to hot, there is no place for the lid or there is no lid.

At first glance some of the structure of a Tea room and the utensils look down right a-symmetrical and random, sort of like a raku Tea bowl, but once put together and used as a cohesive unit, they function perfectly.  I do not know why this surprises me because all of this stuff has a 400 plus year history of development and design that follows the Zen principles of fukinsei and kanso (asymmetry and simplicity), plus a history of crafts persons working in tandem with the practitioners of Tea to make objects that are elegant in form and function. 

In a world of general consumer goods, I have always thought that Sony from Japan and HP from the US have this aesthetic down.  Besides the way they work, they are usually beautiful objects.  Ergonomically made to function intuitively, being made out mostly of plastic, they are made with attention to texture, color and feel such as Sony portable CD players and the HP 11c calculator.

Then we come to the packaging of Japanese stuff.  It is very exciting to receive a gift from Japan. I know that opening it is going to be a compelling experience regardless of what it contains.  Layer upon layer of complicated textures and designs on beautiful paper.  Even in a box of cookies there are multiple sleeves of paper with much writing.  I only wish I could understand them. But as with many things understanding might take some of the mystery away.  I am assuming some of these sheets of calligraphy are ingredient lists: flour, sugar, hydrogenated vegetable oil, MSG, etc.  It is probably better off not knowing what they say and retain the illusion.

Tea utensils are stored in wooden boxes, wrapped in their own silk napkins and closed with a colorful ribbon. The boxes are made out of a light in color and weight, open grained wood with meticulous joinery and handwritten calligraphy adorning the top stating the provenance of the object. 

My experience is that most Japanese stuff is not out in the open but packed lovingly away and living in their handsome wooden boxes out of sight, waiting for the time to come out and see the light of day for some special purpose. In the Tea Ceremony a lot of time and effort is devoted to the different dogu that is chosen for each event. The dogu is picked specifically for each occasion, time of year and guest. They may be family heirlooms or valuable antiques and you may never see them again.  This unlike most Western homes where our nick-knacks are always on display.

A protocol exists for when to use, how to handle, describe and appreciate Tea dogu.  With most of these objects it requires some knowledge to appreciate them.  Important facts such as which generation of the crafts person produced it, from what region does it come from and did someone special, such as a Grand Tea Master, give the object a name.  This information always offered during Tea.

One of the more interesting tea proceedings is called Chabako.  It consists of a series of tea ceremonies from the very simple to more complex and presents an opportunity to collect multiple little objects.  Chabako refers to a box, which I think was originally developed to transport the necessary utensils for Tea in a small self-contained package. All the stuff is contained in a small box about three quarters of the size of a tall box of Puffs.  The box is made out of clear wood held together with complicated Japanese joinery.  They can be unfinished or lacquered, always has a lid and many times another small shelf inside.

Inside live the natsume (a small tea caddy), chawan (tea bowl), chakin (small linen cloth) and its porcelain holder, chasen (bamboo wisk) and its wooden container, chashaku (wooden scoop) in its cloth case, and sweets in a porcelain vessel.  The chabako is carried into the tearoom on a round lacquer tray to where a cast iron teakettle rests.  So you get my point.  You can go on and on searching for and acquiring stuff, in fact you can make a life’s work out of it. 

Chabako was one of the first types of Tea ceremonies I was exposed to and having some wood working skills I made two boxes to fit my collection of tea gear it. One being as bit to big and crudely made, the other constructed much better (experience pays off) but probably a bit too small. That brings me back to one of my first points, that even if many tea utensils look somewhat rough hewned, they are designed to very exact tolerances. When I made the boxes myself and was able to measure “real” ones, I still was not quite able to get them exactly right.

The acquisition of Japanese stuff has filled every corner of my home, much to wife’s dismay.  Being that we do not own any curio cabinets, my stuff is distributed throughout the house on every available shelf.  The boxes, the dogu should be living in, fill all the closets and all the stuff, instead of hiding, is out collecting dust and providing me with a wonderful visual palette, along with our painted saws from Southern Illinois. 

Thoughts On Japanese Culture

As far as I can remember my first exposure to Japanese culture was in my parent’s home. Not that I ever noticed much interest in oriental arts from them, but amongst their collection of nick-nacks there was a shelf on which lived a small collection of Japanese and Chinese objects. My father also obsessively cleaned two white Chinese porcelain figures that were on the mantle piece. These were dusted religiously to the point that he was always gluing the broken fingers back on to them. To this day I still have them, glued fingers and all, on my mantel.

The shelves contents included an oddly shaped colorful Chinese spoon and a bamboo figurine that depicted a cormorant fisherman in Japan. It took me years to figure out what these characters were actually up to. There were several other objects, but in a house with very few books this collection occupied a large part of my imagination. All the other nick-nacks had familiar shapes and decoration but not these. They were a kind of puzzle to me.

Many years went by. I attended Catholic grade school and two years of Catholic high school. There was no mention of oriental culture in either of their curriculums. But, despite our best efforts to keep the high school open it closed and I attended the local public high school. There I was exposed to, lets just say, more alternative thoughts, read my first book, Catcher in the Rye and somehow was introduced to the British author Alan Watts. Through him I discovered Zen Buddhism. After devouring all of his works I felt I needed a more direct connection. This led me to a study of Chinese poetry, D.T. Suzuki, R.H. Blyth and the work of the haiku poets. I even tired my hand at writing haiku; those 16 syllables gems that freeze a pin point in time, a nano-second, though mine were more like an afternoon.

Anyway, like the infamous computer in the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe, I was in Deep Thought for years. I even purchased a shakuhachi that I played late into the night in my college apartment to try and settle my mind before sleep. The more I read about oriental culture the farther away I seemed to be getting from the ideal, from a true understanding. It seemed that all theses westerners that had obtained some status with their honorific Japanese names were grasping something that I was not.

I finally understood that to understand a culture you have to participate in it. I had to do something, not just read and contemplate my navel. I could not just experience it intellectually but had to experience it physically. I needed a way into it, and there enters all the –do’s: Judo, Kendo, Akido, and for me Chado.

Other than reading the pop classic Shogun and watching the mini-series of the same name starring Richard Chamberlin, I had never been exposed to Chado. (Chado is also known as Chanoyu or Japanese Tea Ceremony.) In western culture it is somehow linked to geisha’s, samurai and the images of Hiroshige’s wood-block prints of the Floating World. But one day on a early Sunday afternoon in the Spring of 1984, I found myself in the front room of a 3-flat on Sheffield Avenue in Chicago, fumbling with a fukusa, the silk napkin that hold such an important place in the practice of Chanoyu.

Never having any ability at sports. Never being able to ice skate, roller skate or ride a skateboard because of a complete lack of coordination and balance, I somehow took to the physical aspect of the Tea Ceremony. I was able to pick it up almost instantly. That is other than the kneeling! After taking the four introductory classes twice in one year I was asked by the teacher’s senior student if I wanted to become a student of Tea.

From an American point of view where teachers are often held in low regard and even the lowliest of students think they know more than their professors, I did not grasp what being asked to become a student really meant in Japanese culture. I assumed I’d take a few extra lessons and then just get on with my life. Tea would end up just like the shakuhachi, which is carefully wrapped up and sitting on a shelf in my dining room.

The Japanese concept of the relationship between the teacher and student is much more comprehensive than in the west. Teachers hold a very important place of respect in Japanese culture. Once deciding to enter into a relationship with a teacher, one is committing to a lifetime of studies, knowingly or not. This relationship is not just to learn some specific discipline, that is almost beside the point. The relationship, the study is away towards a certain level of spirituality. It is a gateway or a stepping-stone to a spiritual path.

Now I may be belaboring the concept of spirituality here, I do not think of it in religious terms. In Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugene Herrigel, the point is not to get the point of the arrow into the center of target or to gain some higher level of spirituality; the point is to be totally aware and committed to the process. To the reality and truth of each moment and if one is successful in that, there is no other alternative than the arrow hitting home.

The goal in the study of the “Way’s” is not to obtain a honorific name; to hang another title on one’s self. It is to practice and in practicing, become worthy of it. So in my frivolous beginnings at trying to adopt Japanese culture, I ended up developing skills in how to interact with the world. In every interaction that I have throughout the day this “Way”, I came to realize through the actual physical preparation of tea, has completely altered my perception of the world and how I interact with it.

Wearing Kimono

Some twenty years ago, after a lifetime of interest in oriental culture, I discovered Chanoyu, the Japanese Tea Ceremony. At the time I was living Wisconsin and well let’s just say bored. I found myself driving back to Chicago every weekend to take a Tea lesson. The study of Tea at first is very cryptic. You are expected to do things that make no sense. One of these is the way you walk in shuffling short steps.

Years went by and I dutifully moved in the prescribed way. My first teacher, an exuberant woman almost childlike in her enthusiasm for the Japanese culture arts, continued to enforce the choreography that is Tea. And probably because she spoke limited English no explanation was ever forthcoming. When she sadly pasted my new teacher began a discussion with me, of all people, about getting a kimono. I had never imagined I would be wearing kimono. I barely had a suit. So where does a guy like me get a kimono? By this time I knew enough that the usual flamboyant kimonos that you see on women in the movies and in the few stores that sell them would never do. And then there is the question of size.

In Western terms I am perfectly average: heght-5’9”, weight-170lbs, waist-38” and inseam-32”. But in my Tea world I am, well not Michael Jordan but close. Many times over the years while standing with a group of Tea ladies it is commented on how tall I am, great for my ego but bad for procuring a kimono. Right about then one of my classmates, who was much larger in girth than I, was moving to San Francisco to a new life and offered me one of his kimonos. It was a dark brown cotton garment that as I know now is a bit like wearing your sweats to a wedding, but nonetheless I was thrilled to accept it.

This started a completely new chapter in my study of Tea and Japanese culture. It turns out that the kimono is only one part of the ensemble. With the help of my teacher’s daughter, newly returned from studying Tea in Japan, the search was on for the remaining items: obi, hakima, two inner garments, tabi, shoes, etc. One by one the articles were obtained. The inner garments and hakima from my teacher’s trip to Japan; and the obi, tabi and shoes from a local shop.

Now there is not a class in wearing kimono offered in Chicago. Most of the practitioners of Tea are women and the few men that do practice are well men, not given to overly detailed description. So when it was time to attempt dressing myself, other than a few instruction sheets given to me, I was on my own.

Alone in a room with a mirror the first three layers went on, left over right. Then the first hint of a cool breeze whistling around my thighs was the first many new sensations. Most men will understand when I say that this feeling is not the most comforting, but carry on I did. Next came a sash to hold the three layers in place and over that the obi is placed.

If you can pardon a small digression here, I have sailed on Lake Michigan since childhood and cannot help but compare many of my experiences to sailing. Parts of Chanoyu involve knots, very intricate ones and the kimono is no exception. The obi, a four inch wide ten foot long piece of stiff material, is not the easiest thing to imagine a knot in. But a type of square knot is tied into it. The obi and knot, once wrapped around my waist and tied, becomes the foundation for the kimono’s stability.

If it is too loose you are terrified to do anything least it fall apart and run the risk of the kimono becoming completely inoperable. Not the most comforting of feelings, especially if one is seeking tranquility. If too tight, as I would find out one afternoon in front of 100’s of people at Japan Day, you are barely able to breath or move without grimacing.

I could go on but wearing a kimono is a bit like life, a real balancing act. If it is too tight it is completely uncomfortable and restricts you. If too loose you are terrified to do anything least it fall apart an exposure you for who you really are. But if it is just right and balanced one hardly even thinks about it.

Back to my original point, why am I walking like this? The first time I wore kimono, stood up and walked it was a revelation. Suddenly I realized that the movements I had been making, all the short little steps, the kneeling and standing were being taught in terms of these yards of cloth that make up a kimono. It is as if Chanoyu is choreographed to deal with the peculiarities of kimono.

More years have gone by and now gainfully employed, one of the first things I bought was a custom made silk kimono which proved to be as much as a revelation as my first cotton kimono.

Wearing kimono has made me very aware of other people’s garb. From the young Grateful Dead hippy want-to-be to the Sikes on Devon Avenue. Whenever I am about to comment on someone’s dress I always stop and think about what people are thinking of me, this bearded Westerner appearing in his kimono. So, in this way kimono has taught me respect.

Wearing kimono, with the way all the different pieces need to fit together for it to function, has taught me harmony. And, as one learns to care for and store the various parts of the kimono purity is realized. If it is all on, done right with the right mindset a certain feeling of tranquility washes over you. After all, the four tenets of Chanoyu are Purity, Respect, Harmony and Tranquility and I think without the kimono one would be hard pressed to fully realize them.