Everyday Tea

     I recently saw a picture posted on the internet, in which a person decided to go to Nunavut in the minus 40 temperature and toss a cup of boiling tea up in the air. The purpose of the "experiment" was to see how long it would take for the tea to freeze. Actually, it didn't take very long after all: the temperature is so cold that the tea freezes almost instantly in mid-air, forming a spectacular crown of radiating lines around the person who is throwing the tea. Not only did the experiment say something interesting about the temperature in Nunavut--it also made an incredible scene which went viral. Apparently, tea can look very artistic when it freezes in mid-air.
       I am not sure how this experiment would be regarded by Zen practitioners, who tend to place a high value on the art of making tea. In his article "Please Call Me By My True Names" Ven. Thich Nhat Hanh notes:

 In Japan, in the past, people took three hours to drink one cup of tea. You might think this is a   waste of time, because time is money. But two people spending three hours drinking tea, being with each other, has to do with peace. The two men or two women did not speak a lot. They exchanged only a word or two, but they were really there, enjoying the time and the tea. They really knew the tea and the presence of each other. (p.107)

I think this quote is interesting, for many reasons. One is that there is nothing magical about the tea itself. Thay describes the tea as a kind of background object, through which people can co-exist together in a single place. But in another sense, tea becomes an opportunity for people to enjoy each others' presence. It points to something that is unspoken or unseen, and that is often taken for granted by people in a shared space, unless it is kept bare and minimal.
    Another aspect of the situation that Thay describes is that the tea itself becomes an opportunity for the simple enjoyment of the normal and ordinary. People can even converse about what they taste, what they smell, or what is interesting or distinctive about the way the tea is brewed. In that moment, something simple is truly being felt by both people, and the shared taste becomes an opportunity to converse on the subtleties of an experience.
       It is not very often, in my opinion, that our experiences are simple enough to be analyzed in this way. I think more often than not, I experience an opposite tendency in myself of wanting to 'plan a lot' into an experience, for fear that it won't be stimulating enough. But 'not stimulating enough' is just a thought, and it's based on a desire for something that is not present at all. If only one can just be fully in the room, imagine how interesting and enjoyable things can be. And how restful it would be as well.
       Thay contrasts this experience with another, where people don't pay attention to the simple experiences of drinking tea. Comparing contemporary society with that of historic Japan, he notes,

Nowadays, we allow only a few minutes for tea, or coffee. We go into a café and order a cup of tea or coffee and listen to music, and other loud noises, thinking about the business we will transact afterwards. In that situation, the tea does not exist. We are violent to the tea." (p.107)

It may seem odd here to think of ignoring one's tea as a form of 'violence'. But I think Thay is suggesting that violence always begins with neglecting the things of the mind. How often do I miss the everyday in favor of a thought that points to some future that never materializes? This focus on the imaginary is often a great source of violence and perpetuates the fear of things that never happen. And such imaginary thoughts lay waste to the things that truly are.

Hanh, T. H (1996) "Call Me By My True Names", from Engaged Buddhist Reader (Ed. Arnold Kottler). Berkeley, CA: Parallax Press.