Sometimes when I host a morning tea meditation no one comes. Sitting in an empty and quiet room, I still make tea. This, too, is a meditation. As the Korean Seon Buddhist monk and tea master Cho’ui mused in his 1830 茶神傳 Dashinjeon (“The Story of the Tea God”), “drinking tea by oneself is feeling the wonders of god”. Perhaps I was doing this.
Time passed slowly, the light crawled across the room, and the stick of incense burned down to dust. Afterwards, Lina, owner of Floating Mountain Tea House, arrived and opened her tea space. In the brief moment before customers came for tea, she treated me to a wonderful 野紅茶 yě hóngchá (“wild red tea”) from Wuyishan. Set upon a hand-carved teascoop made by master carver Ondrej Sedlak, the leaves looked wild, their twisting and curling shapes somewhere between a fine 岩茶 yánchá (“cliff tea”) and a feral tea.
To brew the tea, Lina selected a vintage drum-shaped Yixing teapot, upon which was inscribed the words of the Heart Sutra, something felt like the brewing of this tea was meant to become today’s true meditation.
Tea between two friends began at a leisurely pace. The tea was placed into the teapot. Water was added.
A brief moment to pause.
Afterwards, water was poured over the little vessel.
Tea was brewed. Time passed.
Decanted into two cups, the leaves were left to rest. Their warm, sweet fragrance could be detected rising from the open teapot.
Two cups sat side-by-side as did two friends on a Sunday after a silent meditation. The flavor of the tea was simple and satisfying. A balance of what tasted like baked apples, incense wood, and dark honey. Flavors not found in one particular tea of this region but, rather, something that could only arise from a wild plant. The exquisite and unexpected.
Note: The quote from the Dashinjeon was from The Book of Korea Tea by Yang-Seok (Fred) Yoo (Myung Won Cultural Foundation, 2007). If you are interested in reading this and learning more about writing on tea, I recommend visiting the Education section on Scotttea.