Sunday, March 23, 2014

Simply



A common refrain is K.I.S.S. — Keep it simple stupid. It is a noble pursuit, probably one powerful enough to devote a life too. But as with many an aphorism its brevity betrays its complexity. A common saying in chanoyu, the tea ceremony, is Ichigo, ichie — One time, one meeting. These statements come close to summing up the entire philosophical foundation of chado and maybe even Zen Buddhism on the unsophisticated level of my understanding.

That a lifetime of study is needed to realize the above principles does not belie the fact that unpretentious simplicity does exist and is attainable.

I have observed many people prepare tea in thirty years of studying tea; from two grand tea masters, many full tea professors and teachers, advanced students, mid level adherences such as myself and rank beginners. Once the fumbling stage has been overcome it seems the flourish stage begins. There is something of the ballroom dance in tea. The basic steps are mastered and then Fred Astaire starts to be channeled. Teachers are usually quick to squash this tendency.

My first teacher — bless her — was a wonderfully ebullient person. My tea began to look like a fencing match in a French B-movie. What did I know? Then because of her death I moved on to another teacher; I was nervous but smug in my abilities. My first lesson was a lesson in humility. My new teacher parried every flourish of mine with her hishaku handle (the cup had fallen off many years ago).

I came away from that first lesson dazed and confused. How could I make tea in the rigid fashion I was being asked, really commanded, too? There was no a place for my style, my interpretation in this ascetic style of tea. I floundered at first. I cannot put a time on it but it took years to relearn tea and that is a lot of knee time!

Slowly, painfully it occurred to me that my version of the practice of tea was hindering my further growth. I was too wrapped up in my performance to comprehend the nature of tea. Tea, as is nature, is simply there. The ospreys I watched hunting at the Canaveral Seashore in Florida a few weeks ago were not performing for me, they were putting food in the nest. Their shaking as they emerged from the water with a fish was not part of a dance routine. The way they turned the fish head in their claws was not part of an artistic statement. It is just what they do. No one had to choreograph it. We are not so lucky.

In 2010 a senior teacher from Kyoto came to instruct us and as I watched him I saw that he just made tea. If some matcha fell he cleaned it up. If a utensil slipped out of place he straightened it. If one fell he picked it up. When he noticed that some of the students had trouble standing he had the tea taken to them. To use an overworked word, at least for me it was enlightening.

So with amazement I watched him this one time keep it simple, and then understood that chanoyu is simply to make a bowl of tea and serve it with humility.

March 2014