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INTRODUCTION

They say it was the Divine Farmer, Shen Nong, who first sipped the Leaf, sitting in idle meditation beneath its great boughs when a single leaf fluttered calmly into his hot water. Others believe a tea sprout sprang up from the discarded eyelids of Bodhidharma, torn off by the stern sage for betraying him with a drowsy flutter during his nine-year vigil. In following the great tea scroll down from these times of legend, before even the calligraphy of history was first stroked, we might find the wizened jungle shamans who carried its leaves in their medicine pouches; further unraveling Daoist mendicants passing a steaming bowl of truth between them, the wind passing through the soughing brazier all the sermon they would ever need; past other bearded sages, monks and nuns sipping green tea in unison as the summoning gong drifts out the temple doors to the point where its vibrations meet silence; and then only would this hoary silk roll, saffroned with age, reach the point where the great tea sage Lu Yu first brushed the Classics of Tea, starting the library of tea words that fill this book, inspiring us with a “Tea Wisdom” as true now as it ever was.

All the wisdom of this book, spanning centuries and continents is but a single steeped and poured truth: that at its center the calmness inherent in this ancient herb, steaming gently in water, unfurls not in a pot, but in our Heart.

Beyond that calm place where we all drink tea—out of friendship, meditation, or to our health—we might say that tea is inspiration, spirit, ceremony, and breadth, calm comfort and amicable joy: Its liquor having fueled a long list of poets, painters, and calligraphers who created under its influence; mendicants, monks, and nuns who tended its leaves, drinking for meditation and as an expression of an ineffable wisdom passed from master to student; not to mention the museums of ceramics, woodwork, metal-smithing, and other arts explicitly devoted to the utensils used in tea preparation. Tea has christened weddings and funerals, been offered to gods and demons both, sat steaming between friends, enemy generals and their nighttime stratagems, and the first meeting of lovers—entwining itself around the human story in a romantic and spiritual sentiment as fragrant as its own aroma.

From East to West, in mythic lands, ancient mountains, or modern tea houses that harbor peace amidst bustling cities, we drink tea because it makes us civilized; we drink it because of its inherent quietude, that we share in a moment of peace away from all the trials and tribulations of life; we drink tea because it affirms an ancient dialogue between Man and Nature through the earth, sky, wind, and rain that bore it. Tea brings together friends and lubricates social discourse with a calm joy that lets us be ourselves in the spirit of sharing. Why else would so many cultures so separated by age and distant in space make tea a time for relaxation, contemplation, meditation, or at least a good chat? Could more be said of Wisdom?

No matter what one believes about the greater movements of our world and lives within it, a human life passes by in so many ordinary moments—all filled up with our daily works. And if we don’t find our wisdom in any of these, whether in part or complete epiphany, we’ll have passed the greatest part of our lives by, never having celebrated the small pleasures like a quiet cup of tea on a cool evening, as the sun sets behind the distant mountains. There is a way of experiencing what we’ve learned of ourselves, the universe and truth through the most ordinary quotidian moments, and Nature has offered us more than one catalyst to that quiet at its center.

Ancient healers and wise men knew the importance of living in tune with Nature, and most all our current social, political, psychological, and environmental problems relate at least in part to the fact that we’ve made this conversation one-sided, turning a deaf ear to Nature. How few of us know the stars, the trees, or even the weather as intimately as even the lowliest farmer once did? These sages knew that to be truly healthy—mind, body, and spirit—a human must alternate between periods of stillness and activity just as Nature herself does. In the hustle and bustle of modern life, we often forget to take the time to be still, to the point where it is often uncomfortable and alien to us. Through tea, we might achieve a deep serenity and equanimity in ourselves. The nature of the cup is without a mind, without worries and cares, and its fragrance entices us into that space effortlessly. If we but take the time and relax into our senses, we’ll find the mountain air and sunshine, the wind and rain and the calm stillness of Nature in every sip. A cup of tea has always been about this, wherever and whenever it has been drunk, regardless of whether it is called “peace” or “wisdom.” Even the modern news about tea’s health benefits is but another way of showing that those who drink it wish to be free of the concerns that come with a physical body in a worldly life.

Tea has always meant different things to different people, though looking at the long scroll of tea history, one must recognize that its ultimate expression is as a meditation—a step towards the deep and silent space just beyond the threshold of our hearts, when they’re opened. A life without meditation is as barren as the dingy streets of a world that has lost touch with itself, in need of some balming herb that can be brewed to quietude and equanimity. After that, less significant but also important, I think tea can be about enjoying special places, gathering wood and water from a mountain, sipping a cup while the sun rises or sets, or perhaps in a moonlit bamboo grove as the ancients were wont to find, their tea sets bundled up in baskets. If not these, then at least tea is famous for gracing a conversation like nothing else, letting us put down our pretensions—hang our outer kimonos on the Cherry tree—and show our true faces to friends and family. It inspires us to be civilized, to talk through our problems, share and give, ideally resulting in well-mannered, respectful, and humble people.

In this book you’ll find wisdom of all these kinds and more. I’ve tried to capture the poetry of tea, from the forest to the farm, to the European drawing room; the simplicity and celebration of the fact that even the smallest aspect of life can be divine; the dialogue between Man and Nature occurring through the cup, as well as the tradition of passing on transcendental experiences through tea. The ancient Daoists said that tea was “Daoism in disguise,” the Japanese have the well-known adage that “the taste of tea is the taste of Zen,” and one need not look to the East alone for tea wisdom, as even the first missionaries to China and Japan recognized its worth and, especially in Japan, began tea rooms in their own convents—let alone the great poets and scholars like Emerson, Pope, James, Adams, and more who found inspiration sipping tea.

Tea speaks to the individual, as it should, because it is wise; and its language isn’t Eastern or Western, but natural and primordial. When we hold a cup of tea with mindfulness and focus on it, the moment becomes real and true, which means we become real and true. May you find in this book the cup that these bits of wisdom were inspired by, for only in drinking of it will you have an understanding and affinity with the great men whose names fill this book. For each quote, I would wish there is a quiet cup of tea, seeking out the wisdom that the author suggests. You can’t read of tea, not really; though you can be inspired to put the kettle on and reach for your old friend the pot one more time. In that way you’ll travel through the centuries, from East to West, and experience for yourself why a simple leaf and water can combine, Alchemically—magically—and realize that the highest truths can be had in this cup of tea.