Sipping Sencha Under the Cherry Blossoms at a Traditional Tea Room in Japan

“In the embrace of cherry blossoms, find solace for your weary soul and let their beauty heal your heart.” – Unknown

My daughter and I had the privilege of attending a traditional tea ceremony in Kyoto, a memory I knew would stay with us forever. We were greeted by a young lady in a beautiful silk kimono, who would guide us through the entire experience. Her name was Mei, and she explained that she had been chosen to accompany us because she had studied under the tea master, a petite middle-aged woman named Aiko. 

Aiko’s family had a long history with tea ceremonies, and her mother had a special fondness for visiting the Arashiyama Bamboo Grove, a serene place known for its deep connection to nature.

Entering the tea room, or chashitsu, I immediately felt a sense of calm settle over me. Every detail of the room had been thoughtfully arranged, and I couldn’t help but admire the tatami mats beneath my feet. Mei gently guided us to step carefully, shuffling as we walked, avoiding the joins between the mats — a sign of respect for the space and its history. The tea master was dressed in a sedate kimono, but it was second nature to her: every measured movement, poetry in motion. The traditional attire connected me to centuries of tea practitioners.

The room’s tokonoma alcove, adorned with a small hanging scroll and a simple flower arrangement, caught my eye. Mei explained that the scroll often displayed Zen wisdom or calligraphy related to tea, and today it featured the four principles of the tea ceremony: harmony (wa), respect (kei), purity (sei), and tranquility (jaku). These principles guided every action during the ceremony, grounding the experience in mindfulness.

Aiko, the tea master, entered with quiet grace and began preparing the matcha tea with great precision. Watching her, it felt like each movement was part of an intricate, ritualistic dance. She began by pouring warm water into a small bowl to prepare the utensils, then, with a bamboo whisk known as a chasen, she mixed the finely powdered matcha tea. The rhythmic whisking motion created a frothy, fragrant tea that filled the room with its earthy, rich aroma. It was captivating to observe Nalla’s calm, deliberate movements as she carried out each step with intention.

As she prepared the tea, Nalla shared with us the history of the ceremony. She told us about a Buddhist monk named Eisai, who introduced tea to Japan in the 12th century as an art form, medicine, and Zen philosophy. However, it was Sen no Rikyū, a successor of Eisai, who truly transformed the tea ceremony into what it is today. Influenced by Zen principles, Rikyū emphasized simplicity, purity, and humility. Over time, these principles not only shaped the tea ceremony but also permeated all aspects of Japanese culture. 

As Aiko spoke, I couldn’t help but marvel at how deeply rooted the practice was in Japanese history, a tradition that had captivated generations with its grace and profundity. (But I was saddened by the knowledge that Rikyu was forced to commit seppuku because of the jealousy of his patron Hideyoshi at Rikyu’s popularity.)

Before the tea itself, we were offered sweets — either higashi (dry sweets), not the moist omogashi. Mei guided us to accept them only when offered, a gesture of respect for the ceremony’s flow. It was clear that every detail had been thoughtfully planned. 

When it was time to drink the tea, Aiko’s movements were nothing short of mesmerizing. She placed the bowl in front of me with quiet precision, and I gently took it with my right hand, placing it on my left palm. I turned the bowl so that the front would not face me, as was the custom, then took a sip. The tea was rich, earthy, and deeply satisfying  — its flavor seemed to embody the entire experience. After drinking, I wiped the rim with a cloth to maintain cleanliness and passed the bowl back to Nalla.

Throughout the ceremony, Mei’s soft guidance helped us understand the significance of every gesture. She explained how even the smallest action held meaning — how Nalla folded the red fukusa cloth, adjusted her obi, and sat in seiza — each gesture deliberate and purposeful. My daughter was particularly enchanted by Aiko’s movements, which were both quaint and serious as she came in and out of the alcove, attending to the details of the ceremony. The grace with which she carried herself, paired with her unwavering focus, was truly mesmerizing.

Though we were dressed in comfortable, flowing clothes, we kept our socks on, and at first, we sat on our knees in the traditional seiza position. Later, we shifted to a more relaxed posture, mindful not to touch one another with our feet, as a sign of respect.

The ceremony was more than just about tea; it was a spiritual practice. It was a way to connect with the moment, with the people around me, and with the surroundings. The calmness of Aiko, the thoughtful guidance from Mei, and the sense of quiet wonder from my daughter helped me realize that the tea ceremony was not just a ritual, but a way of life—one rooted in mindfulness and harmony.

As we bowed to Aiko and Mei at the end of the ceremony, I reflected on how this experience had brought us all together in the ancient Land of the Rising Sun. The tea ceremony reminded me that sometimes, the most meaningful connections are made in the quietest of moments.

While sipping fragrant sencha tea in the Japanese tea garden in San Francisco recently at the gorgeous gardens of the Golden Gate Park, overlooking a koi pond, I was reminded of that day in Kyoto. The delicate pink sakura blossoms were in full bloom. As the delicate petals fluttered around us, resting on children, plump fish,  playful turtles, and elderly couples as they basked in the peaceful spring air. The image of the Japanese people came to mind—so diffident, careful, and respectful, yet with a quiet strength. 

There was something about their culture that struck a delicate balance between progress and tradition, making them incredibly polite, easy to embarrass, but also incredibly gracious.

It was in those quiet, thoughtful maneuvers of the tea ceremony that I saw the essence of Japanese life — attentive, humble, and always mindful of the people and the environment around them. And it was in that moment that I truly understood the depth of the ceremony and the culture that had created it. 

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With one foot in Huntsville, Alabama, the other in her birth home, India, and a heart steeped in humanity, Monita Soni writes as a contemplative practice. She has published hundreds of poems, movie reviews, book critiques, and essays, and contributed to combined literary works. Her two books are My Light Reflections and Flow Through My Heart. You can hear her commentaries on Sundial Writers Corner, WLRH 89.3 FM.