One time long ago in China there was a white-haired priest famous for his greeting. As students would arrive for Zazen he would say to them, “Have a cup of tea.” When an old monk would come to his room, the greeting would be the same. Often strangers would stroll by the temple gate, and after asking them to come in and seating them on tatami near the Buddha, he would have a cup of tea with them. Eventually his young assistant grew weary of the repetition of “Have a cup of tea” night and day, and so said to the priest: “Why do you have to keep repeating the same thing over and over again?” Looking into the young man’s eyes the old priest replied: “Have a cup of tea.”
Zen monks are unique people—fanciful and bizarre, spontaneous action comes naturally to them. They are full of whimsy and surprise. Though conventional people consider them eccentric and strange, they sail on through, oblivious to the world’s opinions and judgments, like ships keeping an even keel on high seas. I am one of these strange monks; I too like to say, “Have a cup of tea.”
Once you have lifted your cup, turn it twice and bow. Something happens in the taking of tea that is more than tea and more than politeness. Two can turn to one and the taste be filled with wonder.
One day at dusk an American tourist dropped some coins into a box at the entrance to a Japanese Buddhist shrine. After pulling the cord, to which a bell was attached, she bowed before the Buddha. A priest came out from the shadows and, bowing in turn, beckoned to her. As she went toward him he said, “This is the first time I have ever seen a tourist bow. Won’t you come in and have a cup of tea?” They sat together on tatami behind the huge bronze Buddha. He lit some incense and a candle, and placing them on a low table close by, began to talk. He had been to America ten years before. He wondered how life was there now. With television and highways, all of that speed and power, he wondered what effect such things were having on the individual citizen. Speaking with affection of Whitman, Thoreau and James, remarking how Zen they were, he said: “American youth will learn from them.” Then in silence he whisked the tea—young leaves from old trees grown in the shade, old leaves from young trees grown in the sun. The sun had gone down; dark shadows moved across the paper door. As his guest prepared to leave, he placed a bundle in the palm of her hand. Prayer beads. His own. “These beads are old. I am old. Please take them to America and keep them near you.” She looked up at him and bowed.
Yes, it is the taste that matters—the flavor of the moment, of people and places. When I make a cup of tea for a guest, I become a servant; when my guest receives the cup with naturalness and ease, he becomes the host. This is the taste of tea and the essence of ceremony.
Most Zen monks are indifferent to formal skills, styles and techniques. They prefer to improvise, in accordance with place, mood and people. Once a friend of mine—a monk from another temple—took five Zen students to the country, where they walked in the woods, rode bicycles, swam and danced in the moonlight. When the air became chilly and darkness descended, they lit lanterns and retired to a rustic shelter. In a cluster of pines, facing a walled—in garden, they picnicked around a low wooden table next to a burning stove. When the water began to boil it sounded like a soft breeze coming though a pine forest. The night was shadowy and still. My friend the priest turned to his hostess and asked her to bring him the largest bowl she had. She went to the kitchen and returned with a vegetable dish made of clay in the shape of a giant cup. Sitting at the head of the table, my friend looked out into the night, smiled a quiet smile to the guests—most of whom had been trained in ceremonial tea; one was even a teacher from Tokyo—and bowed. “I will now present a most presumptuous bowl of tea,” he said. With precise gestures and a gentle elegance he folded paper napkins and placed one in front of each person. The student next to him picked up her sandwich, breaking the bread into small pieces which she passed around the table. With a simple but courtly grace the priest picked up a tin spoon and scooped out seven portions of powdered green tea. Then he poured boiling water into the bowl, whisked it until a jade-green froth appeared on the surface. He turned the bowl twice, putting the most beautiful side away from himself and toward his guests—some of whom were old, some young, some Eastern, some Western, some Jewish, some Buddhist and some Christian. Each in his turn took the bread and ate. Each one drank from the same cup. Then the priest began to chant, the soft tones of his voice flowing through the very blood streams of the assembled guests. At that moment, everybody was nobody. Like the table. Like the bowl and sky. A sip of Zen. A sip of tea. Or was it wine and a wafer?
Nyogen Senzaki was the first great Zen master to live and teach in the United States. Trained in both the Zen and Shingon traditions, he worked at mostly menial jobs for the first 17 years after his arrival in 1905, giving occasional Zen talks when he could afford to hire a hall. In 1931, he established the Mentorgarden Zendo in Los Angeles; from 1942-1945 he was interned as an enemy alien. Nyogen Senzaki died in 1958. These talks and poems are from Namu Dai Bosa: A Transmission of Zen Buddhism in America, by Nyogen Senzaki, Soen Nakagawa and Eido Shimano. ©1976 by The Zen Studies Society.
Forgive me for posting this story from Nyogen Senzaki as a blog entry but it’s a rare gem from a great teacher and I think worthy of being presented here and commented on.
Zenmonk,
Beautiful post–beautiful story. I actually felt myself relaxing as I read it, and it has set an excellent tone for my meditation. I feel like I was there, sipping. Perhaps the point.
Bob
Ah Bob, your cup is bottomless and the tea is unsurpassable.
)
zenmonk…i am in heaven on earth. beachgirl
Lovely warm story, thanks for sharing, I felt like I was there
Dear Zenmonk,
My friend had an art exhibition called "Tea, Glorious Tea", it included various art forms depicting tea, tea cups, there was art on canvas, aluminium foil art, wood carvings, poster art, tea bags as art, and many types of tea. It was a celebration of tea. I wish I had read your story before I went, I would have stayed to partake of the Authentic Japanese tea ceremony. I will certainly share your story with the Revolution Gallery.
Thanks,
Hey Zenmonk,
If I could entice you to continue the last conversation maybe we can dial up some good dialogue.
What is your idea of enlightenment?
If enlightenment is not the act of being and seeing God, then what else could it be?
What else could possible explain it, you must have something for me?
What else is more glorious than that? And what else could drive the point home to the illusion better than that?
This point must have eluded you and many people, because of all the false teachers, which is common and unfortunate for me.
My teachers told me; and Yogiraj Vethathiri Maharishi my dear teacher writes about this in many of his books, and if you keep digging this will eventually come to light with the words of the truly realized teachers.
Guru games are cute though!
It takes a lot of earnestness without the mind/ego getting in the way and when it happens it does wipe out your unwanted desires, fears, issues, attachments and the illusionary identity. It does it not in a bang but in a very subtle way that strips you of your identity and the rest follows accordingly. So, I guess you can say: In one shot and the search is over.
A shot in the dark that kills you (the illusion) in a mist that dissipates and opens into Eternity, Awareness, Absolute Space or the Kingdom of heaven. It is mind boggling, but very true and it cannot be denied, for it is overwhelmingly real and radically different from anything made of energy here. When it happens the characteristics (if you will) are undeniable.
Kurt
One thing nice thing about it is that it gives you tons of confidence, which breeds an authority into it, and I apologize if I come over too strong, I can
Dear Kurt, have a cup of coffee.
)
Tea is probably healthier than coffee for most circumstance.
ed
That it is but I'm not attached to health luckily. Though a coffee ceremony doesn't seem to have quite the same gravitas certainly.
Dear Zenmonk, what a series of touching stories! I found myself so much absorbed reading them that finally lost the feeling of surrounding: the only thing that remaind was the faint aroma of the tea and shadows of bowing people.
Thank you.
Rouzanna
Just got one, thanks. Guess I'm talking to myself, they say that's healthy, probably because everyone does it.
Alright then, enough about Tolle, that setup didn't work so well, nice work.
I loved reading this…I hope you continue to write more, you have indeed been gifted.
Thank you,
xo