A Temple And A Ceremony

Jiri Mountains 
  

An explosion of autumn leaves trailed our path southward until we coasted to a stop under the shade of trees with strange, orange sweet globules I call temple fruits. Perched on Jirisan, the temple’s main gate opens directly towards a saddle of two distant mountains, as if built for special visitors coming from that direction. In the morning, the sun rose exactly from beneath the saddle! I realized, whoever constructed it had the grand plan of incorporating nature in its architecture.

Then he summoned us to come. We were ushered into an airy room where we can see though the wide open windows the rolling terrain of verdant green grass. It was so peaceful and quiet that we can hear the murmur of the river in the valley below. There was a low table with a teapot, a thermos, dried leaves and tiny cups and various other ceramics neatly piled on it. The table was small but long enough to accommodate the four (4) of us. Our host was seated cross legged on the other side. His head was shiny. He was wearing a robe and a lingering smile that seemed to be part of the garment of this congenial man – the temple’s resident Chief Monk. We squatted just like him on throw pillows. There was something about the man, it’s the state he’s in that’s so palpable, the kind we’ve always wanted to achieve – a state of contentment. As he started to talk in a soft but engaging low voice, tea started pouring in.

The ceramic cups on the low table were tiny and contain only half a gulp of tea poured three times from cup to pot and back again. As he poured, he raised the pot higher and higher until an unbroken stream of golden liquid filled the tiny cup to a bubbly brim. He handed one to me and gestured that I drink it. I was only too happy to oblige. He filled other tiny cups in the same fashion while the others eagerly wait for their turn. As the conversation progressed, he made more tea: putting dried tea leaves in the pot, adding hot water, covering it, pouring tea on the tiny cups, pouring it back in the pot, then doing it all over again. Nothing is spelt. His movements were precise and rhythmic and flowing, but without missing a beat of the conversation.

We looked at each other in total amazement! This was tea ceremony performed in front of us! It’s an age-old tradition passed down from generation to generation in China, Japan and Korea to entertain visitors. But this practice has now become a rarity, and done only in very special, formal occasions. To experience it intimately, and in such an unexpected occasion is a humbling experience. I looked at the Chief Monk once again. He was an image of serenity and quiet bliss. We held on to his every word as we became deeply immersed in this old ritual, in a temple deep in the Jiri mountains.