This year autumn has been a slow burn. As I write this on 11/08/2021, the leaves are still changing and it is over 60 degrees. There has been one wimpy frost in Chicago that finally ended the tomato crop but there is still swiss chard and the last of the peppers.
This time of year, tea folk switch from the Furo to the Ro. The fire moves from the outer part of the room to the middle, so we can huddle around it for heat. Of course, living in America with central heat turns this into a symbolic gesture rather than a practical one. But there are other reasons for the move.
It breaks up the monotony of doing the same procedure repeatedly. It allows us with the blessing of having the proper utensils a chance to get them out of the closet. It challenges us to recreate ceremonies left behind 6 months ago. It stimulates the neurons and hopefully in so doing delays the onset of dementia in the older of us.
In the geometrically arranged tearoom, all the angles change. Now instead of sitting straight towards the furo and the mizushashi we are at angles to them. An added benefit of this is that we are closer to our guest. It seems cozier. The Ro ideally sits below the mats but in most of our homes, it sits above, as cutting a hole in the floor is not a practical solution.
There are many boundaries in a tearoom. An outer and an inner frames surround the Ro. The alignment of our bodies to this frame denotes the level of formality: more formal the outer edge, less formal the inner edge.
The tea utensils cascade from the mizushashi centered on the host’s mat along an imaginary line created by the above with the outer or inner border of the Ro. It is a matter of centimeters in which a millimeter out of alignment is obvious. The placement of the tearoom in space is another topic in itself and one that I am only mildly familiar with.
When I am in my makeshift tearoom, I think of walking down the side streets of Kyoto. Unlike Tokyo’s disarray, Kyoto is based on a grid system similar to Chicago. Maybe that is why I feel comfortable there. The streets meet up at right angles and the addresses make linear sense. It is a well ordered city.
And tea is a well ordered pastime, though pastime is too casual of a term. Lifestyle may be better, but even that misses the mark. It verges on religion but that is not it either. The correct word is bouncing around in my mind but I cannot quite grasp it. In fact, it is giving me a headache.
I will let it rest for now and it may present itself in an intuitive flash. Besides, I have more important things to think about. Do I sit facing the outer or the inner border? Have I aligned the tea container and the chasen properly in space? Is the mizushashi centered and sixteen spaces from the front of the Ro’s upper border? Have I been able to fit my large kneeling self into the demarcated space?
I use to dread the coming of winter but tea’s natural cycle creates the excitement of change and renewal. Everything may be dark and gloomy outside while in the tearoom the Ro’s red glow beneath the simmering kettle of water warms the soul. Wisps of steam rise and infiltrate the space where host and guest are drawn closer together.
