Faith & Vow in Zen Practice

Practicing Zen, Practicing Tea

Lecture by Josho Pat Phelan

I would like to look at some of the similarities between the practice of Tea and the practice of Zen in Japan. The 15th Master of the Urasenke Tea School, from 1964 until 2002, wrote two books on tea that have been translated into English. The Tea Master goes by a title rather than a name, so I will refer to him as the Tea Master. In his book Tea Life, Tea Mind, he quoted this passage: "A man spends his entire life sitting in meditation at the peak of a great mountain. His deepest gratitude is for being able to sit in such a manner. Without such thankfulness, whatever we may do will amount to nothing." He said that the attitude expressed in this passage was especially emphasized in his training.

His book begins, "The simple act of serving tea and receiving it with gratitude is the basis for a way of life called Chado, the Way of Tea." As the Way of Tea was developing in Japan, it was strongly influenced by Zen, especially in the 15th and 16th centuries; and many heads of the Tea School since that time practiced zazen and some were also ordained as Zen priests. The well-known 16th century Tea Master Rikyu is an example of a Tea Master who was also a Zen priest. In Tea, the tea bowls, utensils, the room and even space in the room are treated with respect, the same respect we might show to something that’s alive. Each aspect of Tea is fully engaged, beginning with the cleaning that’s done before making Tea. The Tea Master described the importance of cleaning as a way for the host to prepare himself for the Tea Ceremony, saying that "...clearing the dust from a room and dead leaves from the garden path represent clearing the ‘dust of the world,’ or worldly attachments [and preoccupations] from one’s heart and mind.... When the host is cleaning and arranging the areas that the guests will occupy, he is also establishing order within himself;" and he said, "this order is essential. As he attends to the details of the tea room and garden path, he is no less attending to his own consciousness and to the state of mind in which he will serve his guest." This reminds me of zazen practice where, over time, the boundary between inside and outside becomes less distinct. In zazen, what’s going on within and without tend to be treated as one whole experience. Suzuki Roshi’s disciple, Jakusho Kwong, wrote in the book No Beginning, No End, that "The words outside and inside are ways of describing the same thing."

A Tea Room can be a room in a house or it can be a tea hut – a simple building of four walls and a roof needing no plumbing or electricity. It usually has tatami mats or thick straw mats on the floor and a Tokonoma, which is something like a secular altar with a scroll and a simple flower arrangement – often a single flower or piece of foliage from nearby that reflects the season. In Tea Life, Tea Mind the Tea Master said, the "beauty hidden in all flowers can be experienced in one. In other words, rather than looking indiscriminately at an arrangement of many flowers, know the precious life of all flowers represented in a single blossom." In the simplicity of the Tea Room where there is little talking with the focus on the present, and sound – the sounds of the kettle heating, the water being poured into the tea bowl, the powdered tea or matcha being whisked – these sounds come to the forefront, and support an open, empty mind. The qualities of simplicity, respect, gratitude and consideration for others arise, almost naturally in this environment. When I was a newer student at the San Francisco Zen Center, I remember a woman who practiced tea saying that when she entered the Tea Room, for that period of time, the rest of her busy world disappeared.

Sometimes in Zen we talk about becoming intimate with the Way, through intimacy with one’s self and intimacy with all things as oneself. I think in Zen that experiencing intimacy, wholeheartedness, and selflessness are arrived at by just doing whatever we are doing, through and through, with nothing extra – no self, or self-consciousness – to get in the way. In the book Enjoyment of Tea the Tea Master said that the experience of doing a tea ceremony that you feel good about "depends upon your being ‘empty.’" He said, "There are no thoughts at all. It is ... simply focusing on doing your utmost ... to create that bowl of tea," for the person you are serving. We can bring this attitude to the activities we do at the zendo – to sutra chanting, serving meals, to work and to just about anything else. And, of course, the practice is not limited to only what we do in the zendo. In the book, The World in a Bowl of Tea by Vitell, she recounts the story of the Tea Master Rikyu being asked the secret of Tea Ceremony, to which his response was very practical and concrete, saying that the secret of Tea Ceremony is, "Lighting the fire. Boiling the water. Whisking the tea." As in some Zen stories, the person commented, "Well, that seems easy to do." And Rikyu said, "If you can truly do this, then I will become your student." Another Tea Master, Takeno Jo-o said, "Let there be not a single act divided from heart and mind." Again, I think the meaning of intimacy, wholeheartedness, and selflessness are related, and they share the common characteristic of experiencing things directly, in the first moment, before our thinking, judging, commentary and all our other baggage arise.

Like Zen practice, the practice of Tea ideally is a way of life, rather than something done for an hour or two a week, or an hour or two a day; and the Tea Master wrote, "The principles of the Way of Tea are directed toward all of one’s existence, not just to the part that takes place in the tea room....the test lies in meeting each occurrence of each day with a clear mind, in a composed state. In a sense, even one’s smallest action is the Way of Tea." Similarly, Zen teaches that each of our actions is a direct manifestation of our state of mind and presence in that moment.

The spirit of Tea is characterized by four basic principles. The first is harmony in the interaction between the host and guest, of the food served, and the rhythms of nature, which are all reflected in an attitude of humility and balance. Since the tea hut is a simple wooden structure with paper covering its sliding doors, the weather and seasons and what is going on outside the hut are heard and felt as part of the total experience of the Tea Ceremony. The second principle of Tea is respect or the sincerity of heart that enables an open relationship with the immediate environment, with other people, and nature, recognizing the innate dignity of each. The third principle is purity expressed though the simple act of cleaning that allows one to sense the purity and sacredness of things, people, and nature. The Tea Master wrote, "Silently purify yourself as you go through the procedures of making tea. Listen and acquire a sensitivity to the sounds of water poured from a bamboo...ladle... In this pure sound is the realm of nonattachment." He said, "To enter this realm is one reason why we practice over and over...the same procedures in making tea. Making and drinking a bowl of tea involves no right and no wrong. It is a simple, open, and honest meeting of minds, beyond wisdom, experience, and point of view." The fourth and last principle is tranquility which comes with the practice of these first three in our everyday lives. According to the Tea Master, tranquility "is the faith that allows one to remain centered." He described it by saying, "Sitting alone, away from the world, at one with the rhythms of nature, liberated from attachments to the material world and bodily comforts," sensitive to the sacredness of everything around us, one reaches a sublime state of tranquility. But, strange to say, this tranquility will deepen even further when...another person enters...the tearoom and joins the host..." He said, "That we can find a lasting tranquility within our own selves in the company of others is the paradox." Similarly, I think that many of us experience a deeper settling in our zazen when sitting together, especially in longer retreats.

Often in Western culture things on the floor are treated as inferior or dirty; but in traditional Japanese culture, people sat and slept on the floor — there weren’t chairs or raised beds. In the zendo, we sit on the floor, bow on the floor, eat on the floor; and we try to keep the floor clean enough so when we walk barefoot, our feet stay clean. Although our cushions are down on the floor, I suggest moving your zafu and zabuton with your hands instead of pushing them around with one of your feet. You can experiment and see if there is a difference in your attention between using your feet and using your hands. In monastic practice, we tend to carry things – our cushions, eating bowls, sutra books – with two hands. I have found when I do things with two hands instead of one, it helps bring my undivided attention to what I’m doing, unifying body and mind. This may sound simplistic, but this is the craft of practice; its how we take the idea of practice and bring it into our body. Similarly, the Tea Master said, "...always hold things carefully with both hands, as if you were making an offering to the Buddha."

Everything I have been talking about in the practice of Tea can be applied to Zen practice, but now I would like to talk directly about Zen. Two teachings that are emphasized in Zen are: we aren’t a discreet entity – there is nothing in the universe that we are separate from; and everything is inherently Buddha. These two teachings give our practice two directions, either treating everything as ourselves or treating everything as Buddha, including ourselves. Dogen Zenji, the 13th century founder of Soto Zen in Japan said, "everything we encounter is our life. Because of that, we put our life into everything we encounter. Our life and what is being encountered become one."

Tassajara, the San Francisco Zen Center’s monastery, is located in a remote wilderness area deep in a mountain valley at the end of a steep dirt road, more than two hours from the closest store. When I lived at Tassajara, the electricity was supplied by a generator and used sparingly, and the cabins were unheated and lighted with kerosene lamps. I found using and maintaining kerosene lamps to be an activity that lends itself to simplicity and care. By simplicity I don’t mean doing things that are quick and easy, I mean not being split – activity in which our body, mind, and what we are doing are unified. This means doing one thing at a time. Doing one thing at a time and completing each activity is especially emphasized in monastic practice.

At Tassajara, there was time scheduled each week for room cleaning which included time for refilling the lamps, cleaning the globes and trimming the wicks. After a while, I began to feel a satisfaction in cleaning and filling the lamps which is much different from how I feel about changing a light bulb. Filling kerosene lamps at Tassajara began and ended with a half block walk to the shop where the kerosene was stored. Pouring the kerosene without spilling it and handling the globe and the lamp without breaking them, demanded attention and it took time. The time and attention needed doesn’t begin to compare to the unconscious activity of turning a light switch off and on.

Because the kerosene lanterns and globes are glass, it’s actually dangerous to try to rush through the activity the way we might rush through other kinds of cleaning. So, cleaning the lamps became primary activity. I found that cleaning the lamps became satisfying when I accepted it and gave up my ideas of what I wanted to be doing instead. When I surrendered myself to cleaning the lamps, I no longer felt like I needed to hurry to get it over with so I would have time to do something "fun." Accepting whatever we are doing allows it to be the complete activity of our life, at that point in time. The simplicity and immediacy of "completing each action," again, connects our attention, our body, and the activity.

In Zen, sometimes we say, there’s no place where you can spit. When we spit, we tend to spit behind themselves, in the gutter or in an out of the way place, a place that’s not cared for or that doesn’t matter. But in practice, there is no place that doesn’t matter, that is OK to trash. Buddha nature or the light of wisdom is everything, everywhere.

Sometimes people are surprised when they hear that some Zen students drink coffee or smoke cigarettes. I think they confuse practice with a kind of purity. There is a relationship between practice and purity, but they aren’t identical. When I was at Tassajara, a few of the students there smoked and some rolled their own cigarettes. When they were done, they emptied the tobacco left in the butt onto the ground, which was wooded, so it could decompose and threw the paper or filter in the trash. I have never had the habit of smoking, but I have sympathy with those who do because it can be such a very hard habit to stop. On the other hand, I find that I’m pretty intolerant of people throwing trash, including cigarette butts, on the ground. Cigarette butts, or the filter, is not biodegradable – it lasts a long time. So, if you do smoke, practice with it by bringing your attention to it, acknowledge it, be alive for it, and complete the activity. Likewise, when you spit, do it with care and attention, it’s a part of you, part of your life. Don’t ignore your life. This is one way to work with the precepts: don’t ignore your life. Wake up, acknowledge what you are actually doing and try to understand what you are getting out of it, and is it worthy? Worthy of this precious life?