On a cool autumn night in Kyoto, I sit on a bench outside a traditional tea house, with a dozen other guests. A young woman dressed in traditional kimono opens the sliding door and welcomes us inside. Quietly she asks us to remove our shoes; I place mine on a timber rack with the others and follow her into a dimly lit and sparsely furnished room.
We are invited to kneel on soft tatami mats and form a circle around a small collection of pots and utensils including a furo (portable brazier), kama (kettle), cha-ire (tea caddy), chashaku (tea scoop), hishaku (ladle), chasen (bamboo tea whisk) and chakin (white linen napkin).
As I kneel I can see that the room is spotless: prior to our arrival the tatami mats have been cleaned thoroughly with a houki (palm broom) and doors and windows checked for any dirt or holes — hygiene is imperative.
The young woman then introduces an older woman also dressed in traditional kimono; she is the devotee, the teishu (host) who will prepare the tea. A hush falls over the room as the teishu bows, kneels and begins the 'movement'.
The tea ceremony was perfected centuries ago. In 15th Century Japan a young man named Murata Shukou, who was studying for the priesthood, began to practice Zen philosophy. His teacher explained that the spirit of Zen was also present in the practice of tea-making, so Shukou began a journey of discovery into making and serving tea.
He spent the rest of his life refining the ceremony and passing on his knowledge to anyone interested in learning the art of cha-no-yu.
Shukou believed that serving tea should be an intimate affair, a simple act practised in a tranquil atmosphere. And today, a tea ceremony provides just such an opportunity, where guests can relax over a cup of tea with their host. But on another level it is said that participants in a cha-no-yu can reach deep spiritual fulfilment through silent contemplation as they observe the ritual.
Tonight in Kyoto, the Teishu removes lids and pours, wipes and ladles; then she scoops, pours some more, and whisks; folding and refolding the chakin as her hands move delicately, almost melodically. There are almost 40 steps involved in this ancient ritual; time stops and I am mesmerised by the rhythm and the silence, as if I am separated from the world and nought exists save for the movement.
"Upon entering the tearoom, all discrimination between self and other vanishes, a spirit of gentleness prevails, and that peace may be attained when modesty, respect, purity and tranquillity are understood." — Murata Shukou
After an indeterminate time the Teishu pours the brewed tea into a chawan (earthenware bowl) and offers it to me. I lean forward and bow. After receiving the bowl I return to my kneeling position and take a sip. At first I am surprised by the bitter taste of the matcha tea, but I am offered wagashi (sweets) as a welcome remedy. Through all of this there is absolute silence, and I feel an indescribable peace.
As we drink our tea, the teishu proceeds to clean the pots and utensils, almost noiselessly, replacing lids and using the hishaku and the chakin to pour and wipe. She then removes her dogu (tools) and withdraws to another room, leaving us with our tea bowls to linger a while, and ponder over what has been a truly memorable experience.
At last the teishu appears at the door, and bows. It is time for us to leave. I take with me the memory of the movement but more importantly, the desire to replicate this experience and these feelings in my own tea ceremony back home.
Shukou said that 'upon entering the tearoom, all discrimination between self and other vanishes, a spirit of gentleness prevails, and that peace may be attained when modesty, respect, purity and tranquillity are understood'. He was a very smart man.
Penny Garnsworthy writes for the educational market. She also loves to travel and share her experiences with others. She comes from the beautiful island state of Tasmania and blogs at: creativepennyg.blogspot.com.