I would like to introduce a guest blogger, one of my newer students, David. He generously agreed to write a post about his experience of our recent 35th Anniversary Chakai in Portland, Oregon.
As I write this, I’m sitting in my sunny tea nook, surrounded by special gifts, each of which is in some way connected with tea.
To
my left sits a tiny ceramic frog on a tiny ceramic watermelon, which —
after being soaked in water — will spit when you pour hot tea on it.
This was given to me by a friend I met through my love of puer. Next
to it is a lovely Persian jar made of embossed, enameled metal, given to
me by a friend I met through practicing the Taiwanese Wu-Wo Tea
Ceremony.
To my right, I’m burning incense that was a gift from my Sensei in a holder that was a gift from one of my Senpei, Michelle.
And,
at the center of my tea table, I have a beautiful ceramic bowl, all
earth- and water-tones, dappled both in its glaze, and with afternoon
sunlight filtered through leaves.
This bowl was
given to me at Urasenke Tankokai Portland’s 35th Anniversary
Celebration. And to me, the bowl feels like an emblem of the generosity
that is at the core of the Spirit of Tea, as well as of the care,
consideration, and thoughtful attention to detail with which that whole
event was imbued.
The Preparations
I’d
never been to a chakai of this size before, let alone helped plan one,
so it was fascinating to get a tiny glimpse into the shocking amount of
work and preparation that goes into creating a peaceful, easy
environment for each and every guest.
Margie
Sensei always tells us students that you face yourself in the tearoom,
and I’ve been on the lookout for The Thing that will be my personal Oni
to face. When we started gearing up for this event, I thought I might
have found it in the form of Big, Public Tea Events.
At
the planning and practice meeting I attended prior to the big day, I
had the experience of being a foreigner in my own city — at a loss
linguistically, culturally, and in terms of how I could possibly be of
any use to this endeavor.
Much of the spoken
and written communication that day was in Japanese. I felt disoriented,
and wondered not only if I would come away with any more insight than
that with which I’d arrived, but also if I would have any idea what I
was supposed to do at the time of the actual event.
By
the end of the day, however, I felt reassured. After the practice
set-up, and the primary meeting, we broke up into our assigned work
groups. I’d be in the mizuya for Ryurei.
Margie
Sensei helped me figure this out, as well as who and where my fellow
workers were. When I joined them, I was relieved to find that none of
us knew what was going on with perfect clarity, but — together — we
figured it all out. My mizuya cho, Ouchida Sensei, asked me if I could
whisk tea. I said I could, with a feeling of near-elation that I might
actually be able to do something worthwhile, and she told me, “Good!
That’s what you’ll do.” It was decided.
As
one of the lowliest members of our Tankokai, very little of the overall
burden fell on my shoulders. But, when the big day arrived, I found
that the event was so carefully crafted that I ended up feeling my small
jobs were truly significant.
Along with making
tea in the Ryurei mizuya, I had been assigned the post of greeting
guests at the roadway, to make sure they knew where to turn. The turn
was a lot harder to miss if there was someone in kimono standing there
with a look of anticipation. (It was also fun to watch the faces of
other drivers as they passed, staring quizzically, or doing full-on
double-takes.)
Once I’d guided the last of the
guests into the lovely, winding drive, my Sempai, Sean, came and brought
me back down to the venue, where we workers all dispersed to our
stations to prepare for tea.
My mizuya ran very
smoothly under Ouchida Sensei’s direction, and I even got some useful
instruction to take back with me into my own practice. We stood
preparing sweets plates, and whisking bowl after bowl of tea for the
guests at Ryurei. Between warming bowls, we could catch a fleeting
glimpse or two of the people we were serving, as well as hear snatches
of David Sensei’s thoughtful tea room greetings and discussion of the
tokonoma and dogu.
There were at least four
seatings scheduled in our room, and I’d been a little worried about us
workers’ ability to get a lunch break. I needn’t have been; it all
worked smoothly into the schedule, and we got to enjoy the buffet that
had been laid out for our guests in a little nook set aside just for us.
To
be honest, much of the setup, service, and breakdown of the actual
chakai passed in a bit of a blur. We were each focused on our jobs,
and on the comfort of our guests, which is just as it should be.
However, after tea had ended, and we were well on our way to having the
rooms returned to their original state (what a magical transformation that had been!), I got the chance to join my sempai Stephanie and
Michelle for a stroll around the lovely grounds of the place we’d
selected for the event. There were ponds, connected under a wooden
bridge, in which a pair of swans had taken up residence. There were
ancient looking evergreens, and rhododendrons in full-bloom. The honey
locusts were snowing their white petals down on us, and I think each of
us had the chance to really breathe in the tranquility of the place.
The Banquet
Along
with the chakai, I had chosen to take part in the banquet at Portland
City Grill. And — again — I became a bit nervous; this time because it
turned out I’d be the only one of my cohort of students attending.
And
— again — I had nothing to worry about. Every aspect of the evening
had been built around our comfort, and the celebration of the occasion.
There was food and drink ready for us when we arrived; a beautiful,
expansive view of Portland and its surrounds; and friendly faces ready
to include me in the warm mood.
Once all the
guests had arrived, we found our seats, and found that our seating
arrangements had been given the same care as everything else. I had
only met one or two of my table mates once or twice before, but by the
end of the night, we were laughing and sharing stories like we’d known
each other for years.
I was so proud to be
Margie Sensei’s student as I watched her dispatch her duties as our
Master of Ceremonies for the evening. She set a wonderful tone, gave
warm introductions to our special guests, and took care of all the
logistics and other announcements that needed to be conveyed.
We
had several very special speakers: Senior members of our own
organization, sharing their love for the tea and community that chadō
provides, and passing down precious bits of our history to younger
students such as myself; the Consul General of Japan for Portland, who
gave a very heartfelt speech, telling of his own relationship with tea
and Japan; and a representative from the Urasenke foundation and Oiemoto,
who gave a lovely talk of her own, and presented us with generous
sentiments and a generous gift from Iemoto himself.
At
the end of the evening, Margie Sensei led a few of us in thanking and
bowing our guests on their way as they left. Far from feeling I’d been
useless (or worse), I came away with the feeling I’d contributed to a
really special day for a great number of people, a day they could
remember fondly as they went about their lives. And as I sit here,
warming a teapot in my simple, beautiful bowl, it occurs to me that this is exactly the reason I’m spending my time and energy to learn
these complex and eternal procedures: It’s so I can give people I care
about the simple, ephemeral, but somehow enduring pleasure of a bowl of
tea.
