The Way of Zen - Alan Watts [94]
If Christianity is wine and Islam coffee, Buddhism is most certainly tea. Its quietening, clarifying, and slightly bitter taste gives it almost the same taste as awakening itself, though the bitterness corresponds to the pleasing roughness of “natural texture,” and the “middle path” between sweet and sour. Long before the development of cha-no-yu, tea was used by Zen monks as a stimulant for meditation, and in this context it was drunk in a mood of unhurried awareness which naturally lent itself to a ritualistic type of action. In summer it refreshed and in winter warmed those wandering hermit-monks who liked to build grass and bamboo huts in the mountain forests, or by rock-filled streams in the gorges. The totally undistracting emptiness and simplicity of the Taoist or Zen hermitage has set the style not only for the special type of house for cha-no-yu but for Japanese domestic architecture as a whole.6
Bodhidharma. By Hakuin Zenji (1683-1768) Yamamoto Collection. Photo courtesy of Oak land Art Museum.
Two views of the rock and sand garden at Ryoanji, Kyoto.
Bodhidharma and Hui-k’e. By Sesshu (1420-1506).
Haboku Landscape. By Sesshu (1420-1506). Tokyo Museum.
The monastic “tea ceremony” was introduced into Japan by Eisai, and though its form is different from the present cha-no-yu, it was nonetheless its origin, and appears to have been adopted for lay use during the fifteenth century. From this the cha-no-yu proper was perfected by Sen-no-Rikyu (1518–1591), and from him descend the three main schools of tea now flourishing. Ceremonial tea is not the ordinary leaf tea which is steeped in hot water; it is finely powdered green tea, mixed with hot water by means of a bamboo whisk until it becomes what a Chinese writer called “the froth of the liquid jade.” Cha-no-yu is most appreciated when confined to a small group, or just two companions, and was especially loved by the old-time samurai–as today by harassed businessmen–as a frank escape from the turmoil of the world.7
Ideally, the house for cha-no-yu is a small hut set apart from the main dwelling in its own garden. The hut is floored with tatami, or straw mats, enclosing a fire-pit; the roof is usually thatched with rice straw; and the walls, as in all Japanese homes, are paper shoji supported by uprights of wood with a natural finish. One side of the room is occupied by an alcove, or toko-noma, the position for a single hanging scroll of painting or calligraphy, together with a rock, a spray of flowers, or some other object of art.
The atmosphere, though formal, is strangely relaxed, and the guests feel free to talk or watch in silence as they wish. The host takes his time to prepare a charcoal fire, and with a bamboo dipper pours water into a squat kettle of soft brown iron. In the same formal but completely unhurried manner, he brings in the other utensils–a plate with a few cakes, the tea bowl and caddy, the whisk, and a larger bowl for leavings. During these preparations a casual conversation continues, and soon the water in the kettle begins to simmer and sigh, so that the guests fall silent to listen. After a while, the host serves tea to the guests one by one from the same bowl, taking it from the caddy with a strip of bamboo bent into a spoon, pouring water from the kettle with the long-handled dipper, whipping it into a froth with the whisk, and laying the bowl before the first guest with its most interesting side towards him.
The bowls used for cha-no-yu are normally dull-colored and roughly finished, often unglazed at the base, and on the sides the glaze has usually been allowed to run–an original fortunate mistake which has been seen to offer endless opportunities for the “controlled accident.” Specially favored are Korean rice bowls of the cheapest quality, a peasant ware of crude texture from which the tea masters