Ya-Ya's Tea Board

Sometimes we need to break with our habits to progress. Nothing is as effective for change as putting us in a situation where we can’t rely on our familiar bearings.
Completely unexpected, a run up to Mt. Oxford yesterday forced me to break with a bunch of my ingrained habits – and gain some new insights.

I’ve been meaning to get out of town to enjoy the phenomenal autumn weather and finally committed to a trip just an hour north of Christchurch, to Mt. Oxford. I like the walk up the mountain a lot and there are spectacular views from the top. I often bring some basic tea gear (i.e. a small teapot, some cups and a thermos of hot water) along for walks to enjoy a cup on the summit. Yesterday, I decided that I’d run the trail as much as I could, but still wanted to bring my tea basics – which made for a rather large running backpack.

While the weather was beautiful and calm in the city, it became clear pretty quickly on my run up the hill that a roaring Nor’wester would be blowing on the top. I’m not usually one to turn around before the summit, unless it gets dangerous. But something pulled me into the thicket just below the bushline – it might have been the call of a bellbird just overhead or it might have been my tired legs demanding a break. Whatever the reason, I ventured off the track (something I also rarely do) and ended up at the perfect tea spot: a bed of soft, deeply green moss underneath the canopy of wind-tossed beech trees.

I unpacked my tea-making equipment and put some leaves of a 20+ year old pu-erh in the bowl. As I poured hot water into the bowl and watched the liquid darken, the sensibility of my senses began to change. The urgency of my run retreated into the past and a sudden calmness came over me. As I drank the soothing tea, I started to notice details that I often miss. I observed how the trees swayed in the wind. The crowns moving extensively, while the roots provided a steady base. That’s what the Buddhist tenet to move like a blade of grass in the wind must refer to. Flexibility is the greatest source of strength. At least as long as the roots are firmly in the ground (literally or figuratively).

I watched the odd bee searching for some late season food, noticed the incredible intricacy of the moss, listened to the bird song. That is the meditation that tea in nature, celebrated with a simple bowl of tea, inspires. No distractions, no artificial sophistication in form of special teapots or cups. Just basic, honest simplicity. It felt like a holiday for the soul. No expectation, no distractions – just me and the tea. We spent the better part of an hour together there on the soft moss, listening to the sounds of the forest.

After I finished the last infusion and felt the need to get back off the mountain, I left the spent leaves to be reunited with the earth they once came from. A full circle which left its traces on those who got touched by it.