WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY
Compiled & Edited by Rob Chappell
(@RHCLambengolmo)
Vol. 3, No. 7: December 13, 2023
Celebrating 16 Years of Friendship and
Learning at Japan House
Editor’s
Note
There
are many hidden gems on the University of Illinois campus, and I have enjoyed
searching them out ever since I matriculated as a freshling in the fall of 1986.
Sixteen years ago today, I discovered my favorite “hidden gem” on the
Urbana-Champaign campus – Japan House, which I first visited in December 2007
for an experience of chado
(the way of tea) in the Japanese tea ceremony.
The
greatest tea master in Japanese history, Sen Rikyu (1522-1591), described the
four ideals of chado over 400
years ago: harmony, respect, purity, and tranquility. The core concept behind
the tea ceremony is the realization of the principle, “Ichigo, ichie” (which
means “one life, one opportunity” in Japanese). Through applying this principle
(and the four ideals of chado)
in everyday life, we can learn how to savor the numinosity in every moment of
our days, because each moment is truly unique and will never come again.
Inspired
by my friends at Japan House, over the last sixteen years, I have enjoyed
learning about Japanese culture and its spiritual foundations, which are rooted
in the Buddhist, Confucian, Daoist, and Shinto traditions of East Asia. I have
brought many friends to visit Japan House for tea ceremonies, and I have forged
many lasting friendships there as well. I am delighted to participate in the
annual writing competition that Japan House offers to its class of student
interns each fall. In addition, I have also been honored to share some of my
research about early accounts of Japan in Middle Eastern legends from late
antiquity and their significance for our contemporary multicultural society.
I
would like to encourage everyone to visit Japan House’s website (listed in the
webliography at the end of the following article) to learn about all the
excellent programs that they are currently offering. Japan House and its
wonderful staff continue to carry out their intercultural educational mission,
both in person and with online resources, to enrich our lives and our
appreciation for the numinosity that can be found in our everyday world.
“My
First Visit to Japan House”
By
Rob Chappell, M.A.
Reprinted
& Slightly Updated from the Author’s Presidential Column in the April 2008 Issue
of the Illinois Administrative Professionals’ Newsletter
In
December 2007, ACES James Scholar Shannon O’Laughlin invited me to visit Japan
House to take part in a tea ceremony hosted by its Director, Professor Emerita
Kimiko Gunji. Shannon was enrolled in Gunji-sensei’s ARTJ 209 (Chado: The Way of Tea) course during the fall semester.
According to its catalog listing, the course:
Explores
the Japanese Tea Ceremony and its relevance to everyday life. Students will
acquire a better understanding of Japanese culture and a new appreciation of
their own cultures through the study of the Tea Ceremony and the Zen worldview
that informs it.
On
a cloudy Thursday afternoon [December 13, 2007], we arrived at Japan
House, which is located at 2000 South Lincoln Avenue in Urbana (not far from
the College of Veterinary Medicine). As Shannon and I hung up our coats and
removed our shoes in the cloakroom, we (along with the other guests) were
greeted by a Japan House volunteer: Dr. Morton Weir, Chancellor Emeritus of the
Urbana campus. Dr. Weir gave us a tour of the house (including the tearooms)
and showed us (through the large glass windows) the gardens that surround it (a
traditional Japanese garden on one side and a Zen rock garden on the other). We
then entered the classroom where academic courses are taught; there, we were
introduced to Gunji-sensei and received an overview of the tea ceremony before
it began.
The
Japanese tea ceremony is a beautiful and complex art form that has been
developing in East Asia for over a millennium. Gunji-sensei, as our host,
prepared the tea – a special variety of green tea called matcha,
imported from Japan. Before the tea was served, however, we each received and
ate a small sweet; then, after the tea had been prepared with a bamboo whisk
and other ceremonial utensils, tea was served to each guest in a bowl decorated
with traditional designs (such as flowers). It is customary for the guests to
take a few moments to admire the artwork on the bowl before drinking the tea.
We then proceeded to savor the matcha
tea, which was delicious! J
The
tea ceremony created an atmosphere that was both contemplative and mindful. It
was wonderful to participate in a time-honored ritual that opens the door to
new levels of intercultural understanding. Each portion of the ceremony was
conducted gracefully and graciously by our host, and although the basic form of
the ceremony is fixed, it was unhurried, and the format invited each
participant to watch, learn, and appreciate the ceremony in every detail. One
lesson (among many) that I took away with me from the tea ceremony is that
“simple” things, such as enjoying tea with friends, can have a numinous beauty
all their own, and so we need to keep our eyes open for this “everyday
numinosity” lest we miss out on the enchantment that it can bring into our daily
lives.
In
the bleak midwinter, I had discovered a profound source of warmth and
enlightenment – a shared experience within the all-welcoming community that is
Japan House – and that experience has had a long-lasting, positive effect on my
life ever since. I invite all my readers to explore and appreciate all that
Japan House has to offer for people for all ages and backgrounds.
I
have revisited Japan House many times over the last several years. This photo
was taken on 2/20/2014 following a tea ceremony. From left to right: Professor
Jennifer Gunji-Ballsrud (current Director of Japan House), Maria Pauls Flannagan
(ACES James Scholar Class of 2014 & Bronze Tablet Scholar,), and myself.
(Photo Credit: Japan House Staff)
Webliography
·
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japanese_tea_ceremony (Japanese Tea Ceremony)
·
https://japanhouse.illinois.edu (Japan
House)
·
http://www.sacred-texts.com/bud/tea.htm (The Book of Tea by Kakuzo Okakura)
Poem
#27: “The Phoenix”
By
Claudian (ca. 370-404 CE)
Editor’s Note: This Latin poem, presented here in a slightly updated public
domain English translation, may contain the earliest references to Japan in
Western literature. The poet refers to the phoenix bird’s homeland as the
easternmost land in the known world, in the Eastern Ocean (the Pacific). This
is the “Land of the Dawn” or the “Country of the Sun” – epithets for Japan that
were taken up by later Middle Eastern storytellers and loremasters in their own
writings.
There
is a leafy wood fringed by Ocean's farthest marge beyond the Indies and the
East where Dawn's panting coursers first seek entrance; it hears the lash close
by, what time the watery threshold echoes to the dewy car; and hence comes
forth the rosy morn while night,
illumined by those far-shining wheels of fire, casts off her sable cloak and
broods less darkly. This is the kingdom of the blessed bird of the Sun, where
it dwells in solitude defended by the inhospitable nature of the land and
immune from the ills that befall other living creatures; nor does it suffer
infection from the world of men. Equal to the gods is that bird, whose life
rivals the stars and whose renascent limbs weary the passing centuries. It
needs no food to satisfy hunger nor any drink to quench thirst; the Sun's clear
beam is its food, the sea's rare spray its drink — exhalations such as these
form its simple nourishment. A mysterious fire flashes from its eye, and a
flaming aureole enriches its head. Its crest shines with the Sun's own light
and shatters the darkness with its calm brilliance. Its legs are of Tyrian
purple; swifter than those of the Zephyrs are its wings of flower-like blue
dappled with rich gold.
Never
was this bird conceived nor springs it from any mortal seed, itself is alike
its own father and son, and with none to recreate it, it renews its outworn
limbs with a rejuvenation of death, and at each decease wins a fresh lease of
life. For when a thousand summers have passed far away, a thousand winters gone
by, a thousand springs in their course given to the husbandmen that shade of
which autumn robbed them, then at last, fordone by the number of its years, it
falls a victim to the burden of age; as a tall pine on the summit of Caucasus,
wearied with storms, heels over with its weight and threatens at last to crash
in ruin; one portion falls by reason of the unceasing winds, another breaks
away rotted by the rain, another consumed by the decay of years.
Now
the Phoenix's bright eye grows dim and the pupil becomes palsied by the frost
of years, like the Moon when she is shrouded in clouds and her horn beings to
vanish in the mist. Now his wings, wont to cleave the clouds of heaven, can
scarce raise them from the Earth. Then, realizing that his span of life is at
an end and in preparation for a renewal of his splendor, he gathers dry herbs
from the Sun-warmed hills, and making an interwoven heap of the branches of the
precious tree of Saba he builds that pyre which shall be at once his tomb and
his cradle.
On
this he takes his seat, and as he grows weaker greets the Sun with his sweet
voice; offering up prayers and supplications, he begs that those fires will
give him renewal of strength. Phoebus [Apollo], on seeing him afar, checks his
reins and staying his course consoles his loving child with these words: “You
who are about to leave your years behind upon yon pyre, who, by this pretense
of death, are destined to rediscover life; you whose decease means but the
renewal of existence and who by self-destruction regain your lost youth,
receive back your life, quit the body that must die, and by a change of form
come forth more beauteous than ever."
So
speaks he, and shaking his head casts one of his golden hairs and smites
willing Phoenix with its life-giving effulgence. Now, to ensure his rebirth, he
suffers himself to be burned and in his eagerness to be born again meets death
with joy. Stricken with the heavenly flame, the fragrant pile catches fire and
burns the aged body. The Moon in amaze checks her milk-white heifers and heaven
halts his revolving spheres, while the pyre conceives the new life; Nature
takes care that the deathless bird perish not, and calls upon the Sun, mindful
of his promise, to restore its immortal glory to the world.
Straightway
the life spirit surges through his scattered limbs; the renovated blood floods
his veins. The ashes show signs of life; they begin to move though there is
none to move them, and feathers clothe the mass of cinders. He who was but now
the sire comes forth from the pyre the son and successor; between life and life
lay but that brief space wherein the pyre burned.
His
first delight is to consecrate his father's spirit by the banks of the Nile and
to carry to the land of Egypt the burned mass from which he was born. With all
speed he wings his way to that foreign strand, carrying the remains in a
covering of grass. Birds innumerable accompany him, and whole flocks thereof
throng in airy flight. Their mighty host shuts out the sky wherever it passes.
But from among so vast an assemblage none dares outstrip the leader; all follow
respectfully in the balmy wake of their king. Neither the fierce hawk nor the
eagle, Jove’s own armor-bearer, fall to fighting; in honor of their common
master a truce is observed by all. Thus the Parthian monarch leads his
barbarous hosts by yellow Tigris’ banks, all glorious with jewels and rich
ornament and decks his tiara with royal garlands; his horse’s bridle is of
gold, Assyrian embroidery embellishes his scarlet robes, and proud with
sovereignty he lords it over his numberless servants.
There
is in Egypt a well-known city celebrated for its pious sacrifices and dedicated
to the worship of the Sun. Its temples rest on a hundred columns hewn from the
quarries of Thebes. Here, as the story tells, the Phoenix is wont to store his
father’s ashes and, adoring the image of the god, his master, to entrust his
precious burden to the flames. He places on the altar that from which he is
sprung and that which remains of himself. Bright shines the wondrous threshold;
the fragrant shrine is filled with the holy smoke of the altar and the odor of
Indian incense, penetrating even as far as the Pelusiac marshes, fills the
nostrils of men, flooding them with its kindly influence and with a scent
sweeter than that of nectar perfumes the seven mouths of the dark Nile.
Happy
bird, heir to your own self! Death, which proves our undoing, restores your
strength. Your ashes give you life, and though you perish not, your old age
dies. You have beheld all that has been, have witnessed the passing of the
ages. You know when it was that the waves of the sea rose and overflowed the
rocks, what year it was that Phaëthon’s error devoted to the flames. Yet did no
destruction overwhelm you; sole survivor, you live to see the Earth subdued;
against you the Fates gather not up their threads, powerless to do you harm.
The
rebirth of the phoenix bird, as pictured in the Aberdeen Bestiary from the 12th
century CE. (Image Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)
“Post
Tenebras, Lux = After Darkness, Light: Some Reflections on December 13”
By
the Editor
Even
before my first visit to Japan House, December 13 was a special day in my
annual calendar. It’s the feast of St. Lucia (or Lucy) of Syracuse (283-304 CE),
the patron saint of the blind and of people with low vision. 😊 Before the Gregorian calendar reform of 1582, December 13
was the date of the winter solstice – the shortest day and longest night of the
year. On this date, European Christians – especially in the Scandinavian
countries – celebrated the winter solstice with a festival of light, for the
name Lucia is derived from the Latin word for light (lux).
On
December 13, I like to remember all the people who have brought light and
warmth into my life, both before and after my first tea ceremony at Japan
House. Their names are too many to mention here, but I would especially like to
thank my best friend from grad school days, A.L.A., for enriching my life with
her friendship. She helped me to remember that light always follows darkness,
and that love and wisdom can be found in some very surprising yet ordinary,
everyday places. With these simple, yet profound lessons, taught by word and by
deed, she banished the malaise that had infected my soul during the annus
horribilis that was 1994. Two of my favorite quotes about these valuable
life lessons come from the popular culture of the 1990s and the 2010s:
·
“We are gray. We stand between the darkness and the light.” – J.
Michael Straczynski, Creator/Producer of Babylon 5
·
“There’s a light inside of me, just like on a Christmas tree.” –
Refrain from “Christmas Lights” by the Laurie Berkner Band
Since
we were both enrolled in Swedish 103 at the time, it was my distinct pleasure
to accompany A.L.A. on Saturday evening, December 9, 1995, to a Scandinavian
Yulefest, in which she portrayed St. Lucia in a candlelit procession, and I
walked just behind her, in the role of a “star boy,” singing seasonal carols in
Swedish. Numinous moments like that – in which the border between the supernal
and everyday worlds becomes very thin, and the two worlds intersect in ways
that we cannot explain or understand – make life truly worthwhile.
So
whether you are enjoying a tea ceremony at Japan House, taking part in a St.
Lucia procession, or just doing your ordinary daily routine today – savor the
numinous moments that come your way, and treasure them in your heart, so that
they can be preserved and shared with others throughout your lifetime.
A.L.A.
also introduced the Editor to the inspirational writings of the Swedish
scientist and theologian Emanuel Swedenborg (1688-1772), pictured above in this
portrait by Carl Frederik von Breda (1759-1818).
“The
Church of the Lord is spread over all the globe, and is thus universal; and all
those are in it who have lived in the good of charity in accordance with their
religion.”
à Emanuel Swedenborg: De
Caelo et Inferno (1758)
“Up
and Down”
By
George MacDonald (1824-1905)
Excerpted
from At the Back of the North Wind (1871) – Chapter 37
The Sun is gone down, and
the Moon’s in the sky;
But the Sun will come up,
and the Moon be laid by.
The flower is asleep, but
it is not dead;
When the morning shines, it
will lift its head.
When winter comes, it will
die – no, no;
It will only hide from the
frost and the snow.
Sure is the summer, sure is
the Sun;
The night and the winter
are shadows that run.
Further
Reading
·
St. Lucy of Syracuse @ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Lucy
·
St.
Lucy’s Day @ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Lucy%27s_Day
·
Swedenborg
Foundation @ https://swedenborg.com/
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