Since ancient times, the presence of the full moon has represented an important moment. Especially true in Autumn, the mid-Autumn full moon bears great significance, heralding the harvest and the slow but inevitable shift towards Winter. Still warm during this time, enjoying the glow of the full moon during the night is refreshing, something to be celebrated.
In East Asia, many cultures observe this moment. In Japan, 月見 Tsukimi (lit. “Moon viewing”) is a big occasion, with festivities focused on enjoying the sight of the moonrise. In 茶の湯 chanoyu, tea takes on the “flavor” of the moon, with tea practitioners skillfully incorporating lunar elements into their tea gatherings. 月の茶 tsuki no cha (“tea for the moon”) is a popular event, with tea gatherings being held to the light of the moon, on moon-viewing platforms, open pavilions, and even on moon-viewing boats (月見船 tsukimi-bune). Some tea people go so far as to have a special “moon-viewing” window cut into the roof of their 茶室 chashitsu (“tea house”), special-built for such an occasion. Needless to say, the moon, with its ever-changing face and importance in marking the passing of the seasons, holds a special place in tea people’s hearts.
On this evening, as the moon begins to rise in the night sky, I sit with my partner for a bowl of tea. To open the intimate gathering, a large 月見団子 tsukimi-dango is offered, placed atop a shallow celadon bowl.
Next, as the soft rolling boil of the kettle rises in the still of the night, tea implements are brought out and cleansed. A white 刷毛目唐津茶碗 hakeme Karatsu chawan (brushed slip Karatsu teabowl) and small, perfectly round 文琳茶入 “bunrin” chaire (“bunrin” ceramic tea container) are brought together, along with a 茶杓 chashaku (tea scoop) with a mark upon its dark bamboo skin that resembles a bright glowing moon behind a veil of clouds.
Pulled from it’s brocaded silk 仕服 shifuku pouch,
the little ceramic tea container sits in the dim light of the tearoom,
itself looking like a small moon.
The teabowl, cleansed with the water from my boiling 茶釜 chagama (“tea kettle”) sits looking fresh, sparkling in the moonlit evening.
As I scoop the initial three scoops of 抹茶 matcha into the teabowl, my partner begins to eat the tea sweet, and we both enjoy the quietude of the night.
After three scoops are issued into the teabowl, I tilt the chaire sideways, letting the remaining matcha powder cascade down into the chawan. In this instance, I am reminded that the tea, too, contains a reference to the moon as it was given the poetic name 月“Tsuki” (“moon”) by its purveyor, Setsugekka, a local tea shop that ground it for me.
Pouring a small amount of hot water into the teabowl, I begin to knead the tea into a thick paste. Immediately, the scent of tea fills the small tea space, filling us both with joyful anticipation.
More water is added and I finish making the bowl of 濃茶 koicha (“thick tea”). As I pass the bowl to my partner, we enjoy how dark and lustrous the tea looks against the white, cloudy background of the hakeme chawan.
She takes a sip and wipes the rim. She then passes it back to me and I finish the bowl with a smile. As we enjoy the same moon together, we also enjoy the same bowl of tea. Terms like “host” and “guest” fall by the wayside and we sit together as dear friends.
With so much tea still left in the teabowl, I opt to finish the night’s celebration with a final informal bowl of 薄茶 usucha (“thin tea”), whisking the remaining dregs with more hot water. The soft, bright foam glows in the pale light of the night. Its flavor is sweet and relaxing.
Finally, before we settle in, a simple 拝見 haiken is held, offering us both a final instance to enjoy the tea objects before they are put away.
The round little bunrin chaire.
Its silvery blue shifuku. The moon-like glow upon the bamboo skin of the chashaku.
The moon, itself, making its journey across the Autumn night’s sky. When we look upon the moon tonight, we all enjoy the same moon.