Way of Tea and the Art of Listening
By Yukari Yamano
Shoseian teahouse at the Seattle Japanese Garden. (Photo by Chie IIda)
Once upon a time, when I was youngster in Japan, I loved eating rice crackers. I ate a lot of them. Of course, I liked how they tasted, but the main reason I ate so many was to listen to the crunching sound. To me, it was a divine sound, and I could have—given enough crackers—listened to it all day! My sisters and I used to compare the acoustics of different rice crackers and rank them based solely on their crunching sound!
Sound
Growing up in the countryside in Japan, from an early age, I learned that sounds are incredibly diverse, and many are worth paying attention to. They include the sound of rain, the sound of waves, the sound of frogs and cicadas in the summer, and the sound of insects in the fall. There is the gentle sound of bamboo swaying, and the brisk sound of wind in the pine trees. As a child, I learned that listening to a sound was an active behavior—that in order to fully enjoy the sound, I needed to be silent.
Chanoyu
Chanoyu (茶の湯) or Sado (茶道), the Way of Tea, demands participants to be keen about many things—and one of them is sound. In traditional practice, there are five stages to boiling water. In the final stage, the water reaches the most desirable temperature for making a cup of tea, and the host and guests identify this with a poetic word. This last stage, marked by a distinct sound, is called Shohu or Matsukaze (松風), which translates to “pine wind.” This quietly steaming, whistling sound—“shun, shun”—resembles that of a breeze passing through a grove of pine trees.
In fact, the tea kettle used for Chanoyu is a special iron pot designed to make a sound resembling a breeze blowing through pines. A thin piece of iron is fitted to the bottom of the kettle, and the slight gap between the two creates a gentle whistling sound when the water temperature reaches around 190 degrees Fahrenheit. Listening to the low, whistling sound of water boiling in a tranquil teahouse builds anticipation in guests for a fine cup of tea.
A winter flower for a tea room is Camellia. The garden has many varieties of Camellia. (Photo by Chie Iida)
Zen
There is a Zen phrase describing the sound of wind passing through pine trees. You may have seen it on a hanging scroll at an alcove of a tea room.
松風颯々聲
Shohu Satsu Satsu no Koe
Shohu (松風) means a “brisk wind passing through pine trees.” Satsu Satsu (颯々) are onomatopoeic words, formed to imitate a thing’s sound—in this case the pine wind, “Shun, Shun.” Koe (聲) means “sound” (or voice.) Altogether, the phrase means “the sound of brisk wind passing through pine trees, ‘Satsu, Satsu.’” It’s an instruction telling you to listen quietly to the sound of wind passing through pine trees. Then, your mind and body will be surrounded by the sound. You will forget the time, and the worries of daily life, and enter into a fresh and calm state of mind.
松聲庵, Shoseian
Shoseian
The teahouse at the Seattle Japanese Garden is called Shoseian (松聲庵), “Arbor of Murmuring Pines.” The name was bestowed by Dr. Soshitsu Sen, 15th Grand Master of the Urasenke Foundation of Japan, when the teahouse was unveiled on March 8th, 1981.
We invite you to come listen to the sound of wind passing through pine trees—both in the Garden and in the teahouse—and enjoy a ceremonial cup of matcha tea. If you haven’t done so already, subscribe to our monthly enewsletter to get regular updates about our 2023 tea demonstration schedule. The Garden will reopen in March. Until then, enjoy a cup of your favorite tea at home and keep yourself warm through the winter time.
Yukari Yamano is an event coordinator at the Seattle Japanese Garden, a native Japanese and a Japanese history buff.