I have become accustom to subtlety: The quiet ring of water simmering in an iron kettle, A faint hint of incense when entering a tearoom, The rustling of tabi on straw mats, A fine misting of water that slowly evaporates on flowers and leaves.
Years spent surrounded by the trappings of the tea ceremony has left me ill prepared for the spectacle of modern sport. Sitting in $120.00 seats at The United Center, watching what I have been led to believe is an especially lackluster Bulls team, it is difficult to take the entire spectacle in.
I ask myself, what could this place have been like when Michael Jordon was playing? Prior to the game I stood and watch people of all caste stand in hysterical reverence gawking at the statue of Mike gliding over a vanquished opponent. Tiberius could not ask for a more fitting tribute.
As the game proceeds I wonder why even have a game. The most enthusiasm shown by the fans is for the Dunkin Donuts race displayed on mega TVs hovering, Blade Runner like, above us. And as in the movie there is even a blimp the size of a small delivery truck purposely gliding through the stadium.
It turns out I win, or I should say the coffee cup wins the race and I am assured a free cup of joe. I will probably never avail myself of it, but it does get me into the spirit. I try to relate, but it is hard when you have spent the last twenty years kneeing on tatami mats. No cheering, just a hushed enthusiasm; no sirens, just quiet banter.
Tea is ephemeral. There is no core of TV, radio and print press lined up to report on every nuance. Once over, tea exist only in the minds of the participants and in that sense there is certain fragility to it. And though you have the physical memory of the utensils, it is hard to grasp their reality.
We try to understand even as we hold the objects. They are as much concepts as physical beings. That may be why we find it so hard to comprehend the nature of a Raku chawan even though it be in our hands. There is an uncertainty inherent in it bespeaking the fragile nature of time and substance.
What are tea utensils but a little clay, a bit of bamboo, a slip of minerals fired on earth, raw iron molded into vessels? They contain the beauty and the spirit of their makers. They are their history of use. They develop character as they age, just like the people who use them to draw closer to the pure essence of life.
Life is about experience and not about living through others even if it be in surround-sound and HDTV. I fear the flash of the electronic media has duped us. What have we done, what have we experienced that is not second hand?
Life is a balance between action and contemplation. In the ebb and flow of tides there is a slack moment when all lies still. In tea we have a moment, when the chawan is in place, where we stop just for a second to breath deeply and consider what we are about to do.
It is harder to do this than you might imagine. Much nervous energy has been spent preparing for tea. There is momentum and then, even though there are others in the room, you are suddenly alone with your thoughts.
It is only a bowl of tea you think to yourself, but you know what you are about to do represents the entirety of humanity. It represents the development of culture. It represents our interaction with the outside world. It represents our ties to nature.
But back to the hilarity of the Bull's game, for had I never gone would I be drawn into this path of introspection? So my advice is to go to a game. Go stand before Mr. Jordan’s image and gawk. Go have a beer and a brat, and cheer to your hearts content. Join in the spectacle of sport and then plot the quiet spectacle of your life.
Volume 5713 (21), 5/16/2008
