September 2, 2025 • 20 mins
The Book of Tea, written by Okakura Kakuzo in the early 20th century, is a profound exploration of the art and philosophy surrounding tea in Japanese culture. First published in 1906, this timeless work has captivated readers across generations. Kakuzo introduces the concept of Teaism, illustrating how tea has permeated nearly every aspect of Japanese life, from thought to aesthetics. His unique background‚being born and raised in Japan yet fluent in English‚allows him to bridge cultural gaps, making the book accessible to Western readers. Within its pages, he delves into the intersections of Zen, Taoism, and the secular dimensions of tea culture, emphasizing the simplicity that Teaism imparts. This simplicity, he argues, has profoundly influenced Japanese art and architecture. The book culminates with insightful reflections on the Tea Masters, particularly Sen no Rikyu, and his pivotal role in shaping the Japanese Tea Ceremony. (Summary from Wikipedia)
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Speaker 1 (00:01):
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information are to volunteer, please
visit www dot LibriVox dot org. The Book of Ta
by Okakuracacuzo, Chapter six, Flowers in the trembling gray of
(00:26):
a spring dawn, When the birds were whispering in mysterious
cadence among the trees, have you not felt that they
were talking to their mates about the flowers? Surely, with mankind,
the appreciation of flowers must have been coeval with the
poetry of love. Where better than in a flower sweet
and unconsciousness, fragrant because of its silence, can we imagine
(00:46):
the unfolding of a virgin soul. The primeval man, in
offering the first garland to his maiden, thereby transcended the brute.
He became human. In thus rising above the crude's necessities
of nature, he entered the realm of art when he
perceived the subtle use of the useless in joy or sadness.
Flowers are our constant friends. We eat, drink, sing, dance
(01:08):
and flirt with them. We wed and christen with flowers.
We dare not die without them. We have worshiped with
the lily. We have meditated with the lotus, We have
charged in battle array with the rose and the chrysanthemum.
We have even attempted to speak in the language of flowers.
How could we live without them? It frightens one to
conceive of a world bereft of their presence. What solace
(01:31):
do they not bring to the bedside of the sick,
What a light of bliss to the darkness of weary spirits.
Their serene tenderness restores to us our waning confidence in
the universe, even as the intent gaze of the beautiful
child recalls our lost hopes. When we are laid low
in the dust. It is they who linger and sorrow
over our graves. Sad as it is, we cannot conceal
(01:54):
the fact that, in spite of our companionship with flowers,
we have not risen very far above the brute scratch
the sheepskin, and the wolf within will soon show his teeth.
It has been said that man at ten is an animal,
at twenty a lunatic, at thirty a failure, at forty
a fraud, and at fifty a criminal. Perhaps he becomes
(02:16):
a criminal because he has never ceased to be an animal.
Nothing is real to us but hunger, Nothing sacred except
our own desires. Shrine after shrine has crumbled before our eyes,
but one altar forever is preserved, that whereon we burn
incense to the supreme idol ourselves. Our God is great,
and money is his prophet. We devastate nature in order
(02:38):
to make sacrifice to him. We boast that we have
conquered matter, and forget that it is matter that has
enslaved us. What atrocities do we not perpetuate in the
name of culture and refinement? Tell me, gentle flowers, teardrops
of the stars, standing in the garden, nodding your heads
to the bees as they sing, of the dews and
the sunbeams, Are you aware of the fearful doom that
(03:00):
awaits you? Dream on sway and fraleic while you may
in the gentle breezes of summer. Tomorrow, a ruthless hand
will close around your throats. You will be wrenched, torn asunder,
limb by limb, and borne away from your quiet homes.
The wretch she may be passing fair. She may say
how lovely you are, while her fingers are still moist
(03:21):
with your blood, Tell me, will this be kindness? It
may be your fate to be imprisoned in the hair
of one whom you know to be heartless, or to
be thrust into the buttonhole of one who would not
dare to look at you in the face were you
a man. It may even be your lot to be
confined in some narrow vessel with only stagnant water to
quench the maddening thirst that warns of ebbing life flowers.
(03:46):
If you were in the land of the Mikado, you
might sometime meet a dread personage armed with scissors and
a tiny saw. He would call himself a master of flowers.
He would claim the rights of a doctor, and you
would instinctively hate him, for you know a doctor always
seeks to prolong the troubles of his victims. He would cut, bend,
(04:06):
and twist you into those impossible positions which he thinks
it proper that you should assume. He would contort your
muscles and dislocate your bones like any osteopath. He would
burn you with red hot coals to stop your bleeding,
and thrust wires into you to assist your circulation. He
would diet you with salt vinegar, alum, and sometimes vitriol
(04:28):
boiling water would be poured on your feet when you
seemed ready to faint. It would be his boast that
he could keep life within you for two or more weeks,
longer than would have been possible without his treatment. Would
you not have preferred to have been killed at once
when you were first captured? What were the crimes you
must have committed during your past incarnation to warrant such
punishment as this. The wanton waste of flowers among Western
(04:53):
communities is even more appalling than the way they are
treated by Eastern flower masters. The number of flowers cut
daily to adorn the ballrooms and banquet tables of Europe
and America to be thrown away on the morrow must
be something enormous. If strung together, they might garland a continent.
Beside this utter carelessness of life, the guilt of the
(05:14):
flower master becomes insignificant. He at least respects the economy
of nature, selects his victims with careful foresight, and after death,
does honour to their remains. In the West, the display
of flowers seems to be a part of the pageantry
of wealth, the fancy of a moment whither do they
all go? Those flowers when the revelry is over. Nothing
(05:35):
is more pitiful than to see a faded flower remorsely
flung upon a dung heap. Why were the flowers born
so beautiful and yet so hapless? Insects can sting, and
even the meekest of beasts will fight when brought to bay.
The bird whose plumage is sought to deck some bonnet
can fly from its pursuer. The furred animal whose coat
(05:56):
you covet for your own may hide at your approach.
Alas the only flower known to have wings is the butterfly,
All others stand helpless before the destroyer. If they shriek
in their death agony, their cry never reaches our hardened ears.
We are ever brutal to those who love and serve
us in silence. But the time may come when for
(06:17):
our cruelty we shall be deserted by these best friends
of ours. Have you not noticed that the wild flowers
are becoming scarcer every year? It may be that their
wise men have told them to depart till man becomes
more human. Perhaps they have migrated to heaven. Much may
be said to favor him who cultivates plants. The man
(06:39):
of the pot is far more humane than he of
the scissors. We watch his delight and concern about water
and sunshine, his feuds with parasites, his horror of frosts,
his anxiety when the buds come slowly, his rapture when
the leaves attain their luster. In the east. The art
of floriculture is a very ancient one, and the low
(07:00):
loves of a poet and his favorite plant have often
been recorded in story and song. With the development of
ceramics during the Tang and Sung dynasties, we hear of
wonderful receptacles made to hold plants, not pots, but jeweled palaces.
A special attendant was detailed to wait upon each flower
and to wash its leaves with soft brushes made of
(07:21):
rabbit hair. It has been written that the peony should
be bathed by a handsome maiden in full costume, that
a winter plum should be watered by a pale, slender monk.
In Japan, one of the most popular of the no dances,
the Hachinoki, composed during the Ashikaga period, is based upon
the story of an impoverished knight who, on a freezing
(07:44):
night in lack of fuel for a fire, cuts his
cherished plants in order to entertain a wandering friar. The
friar is in reality no other than ho Jo Tokiyori,
the haroun al Rashid of our tales, and the sacrifice
is not without its reward. This opera never fails to
draw tears from a Tokyo audience. Even today. Great precautions
(08:08):
were taken for the preservation of delicate blossoms. Emperor Huensung
of the Tang dynasty hung tiny golden bells on the
branches in his garden to keep off the birds. He
it was who went off in the springtime with his
court musicians to gladden the flowers with soft music. A
quaint tablet, which tradition ascribes to Yoshitsune, the hero of
(08:31):
our Arthurian legends, is still extant in one of the
Japanese monasteries. It is a notice put up for the
protection of a certain wonderful plum tree and appeals to
us with a grim humor of a warlike age. After
referring to the beauty of the blossoms, the inscription says,
whoever cuts a single branch of this tree shall forfeit
a finger. Therefore, would that such laws could be enforced
(08:54):
nowadays against those who wantonly destroy flowers and mutilate objects
of art. Yet, even in the case of pot flowers,
we are inclined to suspect the selfishness of man. Why
take the plants from their homes and ask them to
bloom mid strange surroundings? Is it not like asking the
birds to sing and mate cooped up in cages? Who
(09:15):
knows but that the orchids feel stifled by the artificial
heat in your conservatories and hopelessly long for a glimpse
of their own southern skies. The ideal lover of flowers
is he who visits them in their native haunts, like
Dao yuen Ming, who sat before a broken bamboo fence
(09:35):
in converse with the wild chrysanthemum or ling Wu Shing,
losing himself amid mysterious ragrances as he wandered in the
twilight among the plum blossoms of the western Laketis said
that Choo Mu Shi slept in a boat so that
his dreams might mingle with those of the lotus. It
was this same spirit which moved the Empress kom Yo,
(09:58):
one of our most renowned Nata sovereigns, as she sang.
If I pluck thee, my hand will defile thee o
flower standing in the meadows. As thou art, I offer
thee to the Buddha of the past, of the present,
of the future. However, let us not be too sentimental.
(10:18):
Let us be less luxurious, but more magnificent, said Laotseai.
Heaven and earth are pitiless, said Kobodaishi. Flow flow, flow flow.
The current of life is ever onward, Die die, Die die.
Death comes to all destruction faces us wherever we turn.
(10:39):
Destruction below and above, destruction behind and before. Change is
the only eternal. Why not as welcome death as life?
They are but counterparts one of the other. The night
and day of Brahma. Through the disintegration of the old,
recreation becomes possible. We have worshiped death, the relentless goddess
(11:00):
of mercy, under many different names. It was the shadow
of the all devouring that the Gebers greeted in the fire.
It is the icy purism of the sword's soul before
which Shinto Japan prostrates herself. Even today, the mystic fire
consumes our weakness. The sacred sword cleaves, the bondage of
desire from our ashes springs the phoenix of celestial hope.
(11:25):
Out of the freedom comes a higher realization of manhood.
Why not destroy flowers if thereby we can evolve new
forms ennobling the world idea, We only ask them to
join in our sacrifice to be beautiful. We shall atone
for the deed by consecrating ourselves to purity and simplicity.
Thus reasoned the tea master when they established the cult
(11:47):
of flowers. Anyone acquainted with the ways of our tea
and flower masters must have noticed the religious veneration with
which they regard flowers. They do not not call at random,
but carefully select each branch or spray with an eye
to the artistic composition they have in mind. They would
(12:08):
be ashamed should they chance to cut more than were
absolutely necessary. It may be remarked in this connection that
they always associate the leaves, if there be any, with
the flower, for their object is to present the whole
beauty of plant life. In this respect, as in many others,
their method differs from that pursued in Western countries. Here
(12:29):
we are apt to see only the flower stems, heads,
as it were, without bodies stuck promiscuously into a vase.
When a tea master has arranged a flower to his satisfaction,
he will place it on the tokonoma, the place of
honor in a Japanese room. Nothing will be placed near
it which might interfere with its effect, not even a painting,
(12:51):
unless there be some special esthetic reason for the combination.
It rests there like an enthroned prince, and the guests
or disciples, on entering the room will salute it with
a profound bow before making their addresses to the host.
Drawings from masterpieces are made and published for the edification
of amateurs. The amount of literature on the subject is
(13:11):
quite voluminous. When the flower fades, the master tenderly consigns
it to the river or carefully buries it in the ground.
Monuments even are sometimes erected to their memory. The birth
of the art of flower arrangement seems to be simultaneous
with that of teaism in the fifteenth century. Our legends
ascribe the first flower arrangement to those early Buddhist saints
(13:34):
who gathered the flowers strewn by the storm, and, in
their infinite solicitude for all living things, placed them in
vessels of water. It is said that Soami, the great
painter and connoisseur of the court of Ashikaga Yoshimasa, was
one of the earliest adepts at it Djuko, the tea Master,
(13:55):
was one of his pupils, as was also Senno, the
founder of the House of Ikenobo, a family as illustrious
in the annals of flowers as was that of Kanos
in painting. With the perfecting of the tea ritual under
Rikiu in the latter part of the sixteenth century, flower
arrangement also attains its full growth. Rikiu and his successors,
(14:18):
the celebrated oda Uraku, Puruta, Uribei, Koyetsu, Kobori, Enshiu, Katagiri Sekishiu,
vied with each other in forming new combinations. We must remember, however,
that the flower worship of the tea masters formed only
a part of their esthetic ritual, and it was not
a distinct religion by itself. A flower arrangement, like other
(14:42):
works of art in the tea room, was subordinated to
the total scheme of decoration. Thus, Sekishiu ordained that white
plum blossoms should not be made use of when snow
lay in the garden. Noisy flowers were relentlessly banished from
the tea room. A flower arrangement by a tea mast
or loses its significance if removed from the place for
(15:03):
which it was originally intended for. Its lines and proportions
have been specifically worked out with a view to its surroundings.
The adoration of the flower for its own sake begins
with the rise of flower masters toward the middle of
the seventeenth century. It now becomes independent of the tea
room and knows no laws save that the vase imposes
(15:24):
on it. New conceptions and methods of execution now become possible,
and many were the principles and schools resulting therefrom A
writer in the middle of the last century said that
he could count over one hundred different schools of flower arrangement.
Broadly speaking, these divide themselves into two main branches, the
(15:45):
formalistic and the natural esque. The formalistic schools, led by
the ike Bonos, aimed at a classic idealism corresponding to
that of the Kano academicians. We possess records of arrangements
by the early masters of this school, which almost reproduced
the flower paintings of Sansetsu and Tsunenobu. The Naturalesque school,
(16:06):
on the other hand, as its name implies, accepted nature
as its model, only imposing such modification of forms as
conduced to the expression of artistic unity. Thus we recognize
in its works the same impulses which formed the Ukiyoi
and Shijo schools of painting. It would be interesting, had
(16:27):
we time, to enter more fully now than possible, into
the laws of composition and detail formulated by the various
flower masters of this period. Showing as they would, the
fundamental theories which governed Tokugawa decoration. We find them referring
to the leading principle Heaven, the subordinate principle Earth, and
the reconciling principle Man, and any flower arrangement which did
(16:50):
not embody these relationships was considered barren and dead. They
also dwelt much on the importance of treating a flower
in its three different aspects, the formal, the semi formal,
and the informal. The first might be said to represent
flowers in the stately costume of the ball room, the
second in the easy elegance of afternoon dress, the third
(17:12):
in the charming dishable of the boudoir. Our personal sympathies
are with the flower arrangements of the tea master rather
than those of the flower master. The former is art
in its proper setting and appeals to us on account
of its true intimacy with life. We should like to
call this school the natural in contradistinction to the naturalesque
(17:34):
and formalistic schools. The tea master deems his duty ended
with the selection of the flowers and leaves them to
tell their own story. Entering a tea room in late winter,
you may see a slender spray of wild cherries in
combination with a budding camellia. It is an echo of
departing winter coupled with the prophecy of spring again. If
(17:54):
you go into a noon tea on some irritatingly hot
summer day, you may discover, in the dark and coolness
of the tokonoma a single lily in a hanging vase,
dripping with dew. It seems to smile at the foolishness
of life. A solo of flowers is interesting, but in
a concerto with painting and sculpture, the combination becomes entrancing.
(18:18):
Sekishiu once placed some water plants in a flat receptacle
to suggest the vegetation of lakes and marshes, and on
the wall above he hung a painting by Soami of
wild ducks flying in the air so hot. Another tea
master combined a poem of the beauty of solitude by
the sea, with a bronze incense burner in the form
of a fisherman's hut, and some wild flowers on the beach.
(18:41):
One of the guests has recorded that he felt in
the whole composition the breath of waning autumn flower stories
are endless. We shall recount but one more. In the
sixteenth century, the morning glory was as yet a rare
plant with us. Rikiu had an entire garden planted with it,
which he cultivated with assiduous care. The fame of his
(19:04):
convolvuli reached the ear of the taiko, and he expressed
a desire to see them, in consequence of which Rikiu
invited him to a morning tea at his house On
the appointed day. The taiko walked through the garden, but
nowhere could he see any vestige of the convolvulus. The
ground had been leveled and strewn with fine pebbles and sand.
With sudden anger, the despot entered the tea room, But
(19:26):
a sight waited him there which completely restored his humor.
In the Tokonoma, in a rare bronze of sung workmanship,
lay a single morning glory, the queen of the whole garden.
In such instances we see the full significance of the
flower sacrifice. Perhaps the flowers appreciated the full significance of it.
(19:48):
They are not cowards like men. Some flowers glory in death.
Certainly the Japanese cherry blossoms do as they freely surrender
themselves to the winds. Anyone who has stood before the
fragrant avalanche at Yoshino or adashi Yama must have realized this.
For a moment they hover like bejeweled clouds and dance
above the crystal streams. Then as they sail away on
(20:08):
the laughing waters, they seem to say, farewell, o spring,
we are on to eternity. This is the end of
the Book of t Part six by Ocacua Cacuzo.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information are to volunteer, please
visit www dot LibriVox dot org. The Book of Ta
by Okakuracacuzo, Chapter six, Flowers in the trembling gray of
(00:26):
a spring dawn, When the birds were whispering in mysterious
cadence among the trees, have you not felt that they
were talking to their mates about the flowers? Surely, with mankind,
the appreciation of flowers must have been coeval with the
poetry of love. Where better than in a flower sweet
and unconsciousness, fragrant because of its silence, can we imagine
(00:46):
the unfolding of a virgin soul. The primeval man, in
offering the first garland to his maiden, thereby transcended the brute.
He became human. In thus rising above the crude's necessities
of nature, he entered the realm of art when he
perceived the subtle use of the useless in joy or sadness.
Flowers are our constant friends. We eat, drink, sing, dance
(01:08):
and flirt with them. We wed and christen with flowers.
We dare not die without them. We have worshiped with
the lily. We have meditated with the lotus, We have
charged in battle array with the rose and the chrysanthemum.
We have even attempted to speak in the language of flowers.
How could we live without them? It frightens one to
conceive of a world bereft of their presence. What solace
(01:31):
do they not bring to the bedside of the sick,
What a light of bliss to the darkness of weary spirits.
Their serene tenderness restores to us our waning confidence in
the universe, even as the intent gaze of the beautiful
child recalls our lost hopes. When we are laid low
in the dust. It is they who linger and sorrow
over our graves. Sad as it is, we cannot conceal
(01:54):
the fact that, in spite of our companionship with flowers,
we have not risen very far above the brute scratch
the sheepskin, and the wolf within will soon show his teeth.
It has been said that man at ten is an animal,
at twenty a lunatic, at thirty a failure, at forty
a fraud, and at fifty a criminal. Perhaps he becomes
(02:16):
a criminal because he has never ceased to be an animal.
Nothing is real to us but hunger, Nothing sacred except
our own desires. Shrine after shrine has crumbled before our eyes,
but one altar forever is preserved, that whereon we burn
incense to the supreme idol ourselves. Our God is great,
and money is his prophet. We devastate nature in order
(02:38):
to make sacrifice to him. We boast that we have
conquered matter, and forget that it is matter that has
enslaved us. What atrocities do we not perpetuate in the
name of culture and refinement? Tell me, gentle flowers, teardrops
of the stars, standing in the garden, nodding your heads
to the bees as they sing, of the dews and
the sunbeams, Are you aware of the fearful doom that
(03:00):
awaits you? Dream on sway and fraleic while you may
in the gentle breezes of summer. Tomorrow, a ruthless hand
will close around your throats. You will be wrenched, torn asunder,
limb by limb, and borne away from your quiet homes.
The wretch she may be passing fair. She may say
how lovely you are, while her fingers are still moist
(03:21):
with your blood, Tell me, will this be kindness? It
may be your fate to be imprisoned in the hair
of one whom you know to be heartless, or to
be thrust into the buttonhole of one who would not
dare to look at you in the face were you
a man. It may even be your lot to be
confined in some narrow vessel with only stagnant water to
quench the maddening thirst that warns of ebbing life flowers.
(03:46):
If you were in the land of the Mikado, you
might sometime meet a dread personage armed with scissors and
a tiny saw. He would call himself a master of flowers.
He would claim the rights of a doctor, and you
would instinctively hate him, for you know a doctor always
seeks to prolong the troubles of his victims. He would cut, bend,
(04:06):
and twist you into those impossible positions which he thinks
it proper that you should assume. He would contort your
muscles and dislocate your bones like any osteopath. He would
burn you with red hot coals to stop your bleeding,
and thrust wires into you to assist your circulation. He
would diet you with salt vinegar, alum, and sometimes vitriol
(04:28):
boiling water would be poured on your feet when you
seemed ready to faint. It would be his boast that
he could keep life within you for two or more weeks,
longer than would have been possible without his treatment. Would
you not have preferred to have been killed at once
when you were first captured? What were the crimes you
must have committed during your past incarnation to warrant such
punishment as this. The wanton waste of flowers among Western
(04:53):
communities is even more appalling than the way they are
treated by Eastern flower masters. The number of flowers cut
daily to adorn the ballrooms and banquet tables of Europe
and America to be thrown away on the morrow must
be something enormous. If strung together, they might garland a continent.
Beside this utter carelessness of life, the guilt of the
(05:14):
flower master becomes insignificant. He at least respects the economy
of nature, selects his victims with careful foresight, and after death,
does honour to their remains. In the West, the display
of flowers seems to be a part of the pageantry
of wealth, the fancy of a moment whither do they
all go? Those flowers when the revelry is over. Nothing
(05:35):
is more pitiful than to see a faded flower remorsely
flung upon a dung heap. Why were the flowers born
so beautiful and yet so hapless? Insects can sting, and
even the meekest of beasts will fight when brought to bay.
The bird whose plumage is sought to deck some bonnet
can fly from its pursuer. The furred animal whose coat
(05:56):
you covet for your own may hide at your approach.
Alas the only flower known to have wings is the butterfly,
All others stand helpless before the destroyer. If they shriek
in their death agony, their cry never reaches our hardened ears.
We are ever brutal to those who love and serve
us in silence. But the time may come when for
(06:17):
our cruelty we shall be deserted by these best friends
of ours. Have you not noticed that the wild flowers
are becoming scarcer every year? It may be that their
wise men have told them to depart till man becomes
more human. Perhaps they have migrated to heaven. Much may
be said to favor him who cultivates plants. The man
(06:39):
of the pot is far more humane than he of
the scissors. We watch his delight and concern about water
and sunshine, his feuds with parasites, his horror of frosts,
his anxiety when the buds come slowly, his rapture when
the leaves attain their luster. In the east. The art
of floriculture is a very ancient one, and the low
(07:00):
loves of a poet and his favorite plant have often
been recorded in story and song. With the development of
ceramics during the Tang and Sung dynasties, we hear of
wonderful receptacles made to hold plants, not pots, but jeweled palaces.
A special attendant was detailed to wait upon each flower
and to wash its leaves with soft brushes made of
(07:21):
rabbit hair. It has been written that the peony should
be bathed by a handsome maiden in full costume, that
a winter plum should be watered by a pale, slender monk.
In Japan, one of the most popular of the no dances,
the Hachinoki, composed during the Ashikaga period, is based upon
the story of an impoverished knight who, on a freezing
(07:44):
night in lack of fuel for a fire, cuts his
cherished plants in order to entertain a wandering friar. The
friar is in reality no other than ho Jo Tokiyori,
the haroun al Rashid of our tales, and the sacrifice
is not without its reward. This opera never fails to
draw tears from a Tokyo audience. Even today. Great precautions
(08:08):
were taken for the preservation of delicate blossoms. Emperor Huensung
of the Tang dynasty hung tiny golden bells on the
branches in his garden to keep off the birds. He
it was who went off in the springtime with his
court musicians to gladden the flowers with soft music. A
quaint tablet, which tradition ascribes to Yoshitsune, the hero of
(08:31):
our Arthurian legends, is still extant in one of the
Japanese monasteries. It is a notice put up for the
protection of a certain wonderful plum tree and appeals to
us with a grim humor of a warlike age. After
referring to the beauty of the blossoms, the inscription says,
whoever cuts a single branch of this tree shall forfeit
a finger. Therefore, would that such laws could be enforced
(08:54):
nowadays against those who wantonly destroy flowers and mutilate objects
of art. Yet, even in the case of pot flowers,
we are inclined to suspect the selfishness of man. Why
take the plants from their homes and ask them to
bloom mid strange surroundings? Is it not like asking the
birds to sing and mate cooped up in cages? Who
(09:15):
knows but that the orchids feel stifled by the artificial
heat in your conservatories and hopelessly long for a glimpse
of their own southern skies. The ideal lover of flowers
is he who visits them in their native haunts, like
Dao yuen Ming, who sat before a broken bamboo fence
(09:35):
in converse with the wild chrysanthemum or ling Wu Shing,
losing himself amid mysterious ragrances as he wandered in the
twilight among the plum blossoms of the western Laketis said
that Choo Mu Shi slept in a boat so that
his dreams might mingle with those of the lotus. It
was this same spirit which moved the Empress kom Yo,
(09:58):
one of our most renowned Nata sovereigns, as she sang.
If I pluck thee, my hand will defile thee o
flower standing in the meadows. As thou art, I offer
thee to the Buddha of the past, of the present,
of the future. However, let us not be too sentimental.
(10:18):
Let us be less luxurious, but more magnificent, said Laotseai.
Heaven and earth are pitiless, said Kobodaishi. Flow flow, flow flow.
The current of life is ever onward, Die die, Die die.
Death comes to all destruction faces us wherever we turn.
(10:39):
Destruction below and above, destruction behind and before. Change is
the only eternal. Why not as welcome death as life?
They are but counterparts one of the other. The night
and day of Brahma. Through the disintegration of the old,
recreation becomes possible. We have worshiped death, the relentless goddess
(11:00):
of mercy, under many different names. It was the shadow
of the all devouring that the Gebers greeted in the fire.
It is the icy purism of the sword's soul before
which Shinto Japan prostrates herself. Even today, the mystic fire
consumes our weakness. The sacred sword cleaves, the bondage of
desire from our ashes springs the phoenix of celestial hope.
(11:25):
Out of the freedom comes a higher realization of manhood.
Why not destroy flowers if thereby we can evolve new
forms ennobling the world idea, We only ask them to
join in our sacrifice to be beautiful. We shall atone
for the deed by consecrating ourselves to purity and simplicity.
Thus reasoned the tea master when they established the cult
(11:47):
of flowers. Anyone acquainted with the ways of our tea
and flower masters must have noticed the religious veneration with
which they regard flowers. They do not not call at random,
but carefully select each branch or spray with an eye
to the artistic composition they have in mind. They would
(12:08):
be ashamed should they chance to cut more than were
absolutely necessary. It may be remarked in this connection that
they always associate the leaves, if there be any, with
the flower, for their object is to present the whole
beauty of plant life. In this respect, as in many others,
their method differs from that pursued in Western countries. Here
(12:29):
we are apt to see only the flower stems, heads,
as it were, without bodies stuck promiscuously into a vase.
When a tea master has arranged a flower to his satisfaction,
he will place it on the tokonoma, the place of
honor in a Japanese room. Nothing will be placed near
it which might interfere with its effect, not even a painting,
(12:51):
unless there be some special esthetic reason for the combination.
It rests there like an enthroned prince, and the guests
or disciples, on entering the room will salute it with
a profound bow before making their addresses to the host.
Drawings from masterpieces are made and published for the edification
of amateurs. The amount of literature on the subject is
(13:11):
quite voluminous. When the flower fades, the master tenderly consigns
it to the river or carefully buries it in the ground.
Monuments even are sometimes erected to their memory. The birth
of the art of flower arrangement seems to be simultaneous
with that of teaism in the fifteenth century. Our legends
ascribe the first flower arrangement to those early Buddhist saints
(13:34):
who gathered the flowers strewn by the storm, and, in
their infinite solicitude for all living things, placed them in
vessels of water. It is said that Soami, the great
painter and connoisseur of the court of Ashikaga Yoshimasa, was
one of the earliest adepts at it Djuko, the tea Master,
(13:55):
was one of his pupils, as was also Senno, the
founder of the House of Ikenobo, a family as illustrious
in the annals of flowers as was that of Kanos
in painting. With the perfecting of the tea ritual under
Rikiu in the latter part of the sixteenth century, flower
arrangement also attains its full growth. Rikiu and his successors,
(14:18):
the celebrated oda Uraku, Puruta, Uribei, Koyetsu, Kobori, Enshiu, Katagiri Sekishiu,
vied with each other in forming new combinations. We must remember, however,
that the flower worship of the tea masters formed only
a part of their esthetic ritual, and it was not
a distinct religion by itself. A flower arrangement, like other
(14:42):
works of art in the tea room, was subordinated to
the total scheme of decoration. Thus, Sekishiu ordained that white
plum blossoms should not be made use of when snow
lay in the garden. Noisy flowers were relentlessly banished from
the tea room. A flower arrangement by a tea mast
or loses its significance if removed from the place for
(15:03):
which it was originally intended for. Its lines and proportions
have been specifically worked out with a view to its surroundings.
The adoration of the flower for its own sake begins
with the rise of flower masters toward the middle of
the seventeenth century. It now becomes independent of the tea
room and knows no laws save that the vase imposes
(15:24):
on it. New conceptions and methods of execution now become possible,
and many were the principles and schools resulting therefrom A
writer in the middle of the last century said that
he could count over one hundred different schools of flower arrangement.
Broadly speaking, these divide themselves into two main branches, the
(15:45):
formalistic and the natural esque. The formalistic schools, led by
the ike Bonos, aimed at a classic idealism corresponding to
that of the Kano academicians. We possess records of arrangements
by the early masters of this school, which almost reproduced
the flower paintings of Sansetsu and Tsunenobu. The Naturalesque school,
(16:06):
on the other hand, as its name implies, accepted nature
as its model, only imposing such modification of forms as
conduced to the expression of artistic unity. Thus we recognize
in its works the same impulses which formed the Ukiyoi
and Shijo schools of painting. It would be interesting, had
(16:27):
we time, to enter more fully now than possible, into
the laws of composition and detail formulated by the various
flower masters of this period. Showing as they would, the
fundamental theories which governed Tokugawa decoration. We find them referring
to the leading principle Heaven, the subordinate principle Earth, and
the reconciling principle Man, and any flower arrangement which did
(16:50):
not embody these relationships was considered barren and dead. They
also dwelt much on the importance of treating a flower
in its three different aspects, the formal, the semi formal,
and the informal. The first might be said to represent
flowers in the stately costume of the ball room, the
second in the easy elegance of afternoon dress, the third
(17:12):
in the charming dishable of the boudoir. Our personal sympathies
are with the flower arrangements of the tea master rather
than those of the flower master. The former is art
in its proper setting and appeals to us on account
of its true intimacy with life. We should like to
call this school the natural in contradistinction to the naturalesque
(17:34):
and formalistic schools. The tea master deems his duty ended
with the selection of the flowers and leaves them to
tell their own story. Entering a tea room in late winter,
you may see a slender spray of wild cherries in
combination with a budding camellia. It is an echo of
departing winter coupled with the prophecy of spring again. If
(17:54):
you go into a noon tea on some irritatingly hot
summer day, you may discover, in the dark and coolness
of the tokonoma a single lily in a hanging vase,
dripping with dew. It seems to smile at the foolishness
of life. A solo of flowers is interesting, but in
a concerto with painting and sculpture, the combination becomes entrancing.
(18:18):
Sekishiu once placed some water plants in a flat receptacle
to suggest the vegetation of lakes and marshes, and on
the wall above he hung a painting by Soami of
wild ducks flying in the air so hot. Another tea
master combined a poem of the beauty of solitude by
the sea, with a bronze incense burner in the form
of a fisherman's hut, and some wild flowers on the beach.
(18:41):
One of the guests has recorded that he felt in
the whole composition the breath of waning autumn flower stories
are endless. We shall recount but one more. In the
sixteenth century, the morning glory was as yet a rare
plant with us. Rikiu had an entire garden planted with it,
which he cultivated with assiduous care. The fame of his
(19:04):
convolvuli reached the ear of the taiko, and he expressed
a desire to see them, in consequence of which Rikiu
invited him to a morning tea at his house On
the appointed day. The taiko walked through the garden, but
nowhere could he see any vestige of the convolvulus. The
ground had been leveled and strewn with fine pebbles and sand.
With sudden anger, the despot entered the tea room, But
(19:26):
a sight waited him there which completely restored his humor.
In the Tokonoma, in a rare bronze of sung workmanship,
lay a single morning glory, the queen of the whole garden.
In such instances we see the full significance of the
flower sacrifice. Perhaps the flowers appreciated the full significance of it.
(19:48):
They are not cowards like men. Some flowers glory in death.
Certainly the Japanese cherry blossoms do as they freely surrender
themselves to the winds. Anyone who has stood before the
fragrant avalanche at Yoshino or adashi Yama must have realized this.
For a moment they hover like bejeweled clouds and dance
above the crystal streams. Then as they sail away on
(20:08):
the laughing waters, they seem to say, farewell, o spring,
we are on to eternity. This is the end of
the Book of t Part six by Ocacua Cacuzo.
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