Keep Your Beginner’s Mind

In his 1970 collection of essays on Buddhist meditation practice “Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind”, Sōtō Zen monk and founder of the San Francisco Zen Center, 鈴木 俊隆 Suzuki Shunryū wrote, “In the beginner’s mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert’s there are few.” 初心 shoshin (lit. “beginner” or “initial mind”) is a concept from Zen Buddhism, referring to the state in which one first approaches something. It is an attitude of openness and receptiveness to an experience. 

We can apply the concept of beginner’s mind to our practice of tea (as we can with any action). An easy way to do this is to remember back to when you first started drinking tea. Perhaps it was the first time you drank your first loose leaf tea, a cup of aged 普洱 pǔ‘ěr, or a bowl of freshly whisked 抹茶 matcha. Remember back to how that experience felt, to the first image of what the tea looked like, and what questions arose as you anticipated your first sip. Did the beverage look different that very first time you looked at it? How did the wet leaves and warm liqueur smell? How did you think it would taste? How did your expectations compare to the direct experience once you eventually took your first sip?

The challenge from here becomes, how does one continue to grow and deepen one’s tea practice while retaining one’s beginner’s mind?

Luckily, tea, as a subject, is boundless and, whichever way one looks, there’s ample opportunity for exploration. From delving into the history of tea, to trying something new, there is really no limit as to how one can interact with the beverage and still maintain their beginner’s mind.

Now that Spring is here, I shift my tea practice from using tea objects specific to Winter, to wares meant for warmer months. In chanoyu, I welcome the new season in a variety of ways: selecting a seasonably appropriate teabowl, moving the kettle up out of the sunken hearth of my tea space, and setting fresh Spring blossoms in a vase beside where I make tea. As I perform these changes, I challenge myself to reflect on my tea practice, to see the process with fresh eyes. Like so, even when making Chinese or Korean tea, I opt for an approach that leans into the season, brewing Spring-picked teas (once available), or selecting teapots and tea cups that might be more suitable for the growing warmth of early Spring. To encourage this sense of “newness,” I may even find an opportunity to make tea outside (something I could never do during the bitter cold of the previous season).

As I’m writing this piece, it is March 3rd. Traditionally, in the lunisolar calendar, the third day of the third month of the year was seen as auspicious, occurring as the last of Winter’s cold had waned, and the emergence of the first peach blossoms. In Japan, this is marked with 桃の節句 Momo no Sekku, “Peach Festival.” To celebrate, I prepare a bowl of matcha in a bowl that bears a strong resemblance to a ripe peach. It is round and coated in a glaze that shifts from colors of pink and orange, white and blush.