We were at the end of the March spiritual travel program on Hopi — always entrancing. On another level, I’d been handling some complex situations over the last couple of months and, in the background, was running on empty. My program partner Charlene Joseph was in the same state. Living as a traditional Hopi lends incredible meaning to a life, but it’s not a breeze. The Hopi Way contains many ongoing responsibilities, especially for women. Char abides by all of them. I’ve frequently told her I don’t know how she does it. But she’s dedicated, working always for family, community and the greater good.
The ability to detach from some things, or at least push them into the background, in favor of fully engaging in the present moment is a human attribute…and a skill. This strategy will be particularly familiar to women. The problem is…we can’t do it ongoing without paying a price.
Char and I left the group for an hour in Harold Joseph’s capable hands where he would share further storytelling before our closing circle. I needed to go talk with a Hopi candidate about sponsorship on the October Peru journey and drove to his studio. While engaged with him, there was a knock on the door. I was surprised to see a slightly built Japanese man. Earlier in the day, we’d been with Hopi artisans listening to them present their work when the same thing had occurred. The same Japanese man had knocked, zipped in, said a few words to one of the artisans and disappeared.
This time as the door opened, he greeted our host, saw us and apologized for interrupting our discussion. We were basically finished. Char and I said so and made to get up from our chairs. It appeared as though there was business to be transacted. But he looked at us and said in heavily accented English, “Can you wait? Just a few minutes?” There seemed to be some urgency in the way he asked.
Char and I looked at each other, having no idea what he intended, and agreed. A nod of the head and he zipped out the door. Glancing out the window we could see him rummaging around in his car.
Soon he reappeared holding a shoebox. Char and I exchanged glances. He went over to a counter and began carefully unpacking what turned out to be the implements of a traveling tea ceremony. Now we had two hosts — one Hopi and the other Japanese. Our Hopi host pulled over a small table and went to heat water. Our Japanese host carried over the most delicate small cups, a bamboo whisk and finely powdered green tea then waited, never raising his eyes. He said, “I only have two cups. I am sorry.” When Char and I started to say, it’s okay indicating they should serve themselves, he said, “This is for you.”
Our Japanese host proceeded to pour heated water into the cups and whisked the tea with concentration until foam formed in each cup. The exquisite attention he gave to this process and the fine way he lifted the cups, gently setting them down in front of us, touched me at a level where I have no words. Having completed his task, he sat back, still never raising his eyes to ours.
Tentatively, we took a sip of tea. Char and I paused. I think we were both surprised. I’d only ever had green tea that was too earthy and bitter for my taste. Clearly, I’d never had fine ceremonial Matcha before. We sipped and ate the tiny chewy cookies offered as accompaniment. Both of us remarked how delicious it was and thanked him immensely. All too soon we’d consumed the treat. Throughout, our Japanese host said almost nothing but had an unspoken fashion — offered with great humility — of honoring us and this precious moment in time. I felt completely renewed like I’d consumed some ethereal elixir.
There’s a word the English use that’s uncommon in the US. Gobsmacked…meaning overcome with wonder, utterly astounded. This was the only word I could think of later that precisely described my state.
While our Hopi host plainly knew this Japanese man. Char and I had never laid eyes on him save the fleeting moment earlier in the day. But he could not have distinguished us then, his eyes never even scanned the group.
It seemed like one of those mysteries of the Universe…how he dropped in at precisely the time he did…when it was just us…having finished our discussion. Why he spontaneously decided to surprise us — perfect strangers — with such an enduring ceremony in an unlikely setting is another.
I do know the effect it had on me though. So do others. Char and I returned to the group where I told the story. I’m quite sure I was still in that state of “gobsmacked-ness.” I continued to tell the story…to family…friends…and now to you. Maybe at least a little of what I felt has been passed on.
We all could use that kind of pure wonder where we’re touched to the core…shaken awake in a sense…that we’re being acknowledged in a deeply respectful, unassuming manner for no apparent reason…not because we’ve done something that deserved reward necessarily. But because Magic has come unbidden. A gift from the Universe delivered in an unconventional, unforeseen method when we most need it.
When I returned home, I did my research and guessed at which ceremonial Matcha would best duplicate what I’d tasted. I ordered it along with the appropriate implements. After the package arrived, I remembered that many years ago someone had given me a Japanese tea service. I found where I’d squirreled it away, never used, and washed one cup.
Now when I perform my own private ceremony and sit…pausing in my day…savoring the taste, not just of the tea but the sense of wonder that returns, I remember that most unanticipated time on Hopi when my good friend Char and I were acknowledged with beautiful intent. I’m so glad we said yes.
Masayoshi Watanabe, ありがとうございます. Thank you. You honored us with your gift.