Matcha at 3pm and the quiet cracks in the world
Matcha at 3pm and the quiet cracks in the world
It was three o'clock in the afternoon and I was in the tea room.
To be precise, I was in a place that resembled a tea room.
The smell of tatami mats and the light filtering through the shoji screens were incredibly soft.
It felt like time was moving at a slightly different speed there.
The tea ceremony is a strange ritual.
Boil water, make tea, and drink it.
Even though it's just that, there is some kind of "meaning" to it.
Rather than a meaning, it might be better to say it's a "presence."
The host silently hands over the bowl.
I accept it in silence.
They don't say "thank you" or "you're welcome."
But there's definitely something going on there.
It is much deeper and much quieter than words.
The matcha in the tea bowl is a deep green color.
That green appears in a short story by J.D. Salinger that I read when I was in high school.
It's a bit like the color of the grass in New York parks.
Of course, I don't tell anyone that.
Even if I said it, no one would believe me, and I only half-believe it myself.
On the surface of the matcha whisked with a bamboo whisk,
There are many tiny bubbles floating in the water, which look like stars in space.
As I looked at each bubble,
"What if we could give each of these bubbles a name?"
What a thought.
"This is Mars."
"This is John Coltrane."
"This is the umbrella I lost when I was 20 years old."
That's how you name the bubbles.
Of course, in reality, we don't do that.
But that's what's going on in my head.
Perhaps the charm of the tea ceremony lies in its "white space."
Don't say anything.
Don't assume anything.
Just accept that it's there.
It's similar to jazz improvisation,
It's similar to the noise of an old record.
Or it can be like sharing a long silence with someone.
In the tea room, time is slightly distorted.
The clock hands should be moving forward,
It feels like something inside me is flowing in the opposite direction.
After finishing my matcha, I look down at the bowl.
There's nothing at the bottom.
It's just a ceramic bottom.
But I feel like there's something there.
It's something I can't yet put into words.
That's what tea ceremony is all about.
A ritual in which one quietly accepts what cannot be put into words.
A way to gently place yourself in the quiet cracks of the world.
There was such a rift in the tea room at three o'clock in the afternoon.
And there I was.