My Little Teahouse

          

 

 

 

 

Teahouse /Alisa McLaughlin

    In Japan a teahouse is built in a garden to perform the tea ceremony as a form of meditation and relaxation. I decided to build one in my back yard as a serene place to write, meditate and practice mindful Ki breathing as part of my martial arts training.

           I had never built anything from scratch but having done carpentry for years, I had confidence enough that I could do it with careful planning. The construction would be a great way to develop my physical and mental skills as well.

         Noble project but in reality it fought me the whole time. Pieces refused to go together, measurements changed constantly. Frustrated with failures I would throw my tools down in anger and stalk off in tears.

         After days or weeks of stubborn inactivity I would realize a new approach and try again. It was slow going. Sometimes I had to wait to get the supplies or work was delayed by weather. For months it was boarded up with plywood while I figured out a new plan as the design changed due to time, energy or money. I tried to be patient and yet it still fought me. What am I doing wrong?

         I got help along the way, my brother the contractor framed in the windows and door, a friend helped with the roof--with no problem. Why was I having trouble, I swore as I stuffed insulation in the rafters.

         The traditional teahouse has a low door one must kneel to enter as a sign of humility. There was no way me or my arthritic friends were going to get thru a small opening so I made it tall enough for me but others would have to bow humbly. I was being smug and the teahouse reminded me every time I bashed my head on the header.

        There were achievements too. I got two tatamis- traditional floor mats and I was proud of the round hole I cut for the moon window. Old fence boards gave it a rustic exterior. A nice herb garden was planted on the south side.

         Finally it was finished enough for a grand opening. I was delighted to see so many friends show up, one made a wood sign with Japanese art, a Buddhist monk gave a blessing.

         At last I had a place to sit in contemplation and escape from the every day world. That turned out to be impractical. There was no electricity, it was too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer. Instead of enjoying what I did, I nagged about what needed to be done next. The acoustics carried the traffic noise from the street nearby. Dogs barking, fire trucks and train horns added to the din.         Eventually I avoided it altogether. I would glance out my bedroom window and rue the whole construction as a waste of time, energy and money and was damn near tempted to tear it down. So much for gaining tranquility.

           Someone suggested the teahouse was a metaphor of my life with all the ups and downs. I scoffed at the idea as simplistic.

          Then something happened. I made peace with the little shed as I rid myself of old emotional baggage. We started to get along and it agreed with the changes I made. A reframed window and door made it lighter and insulated from noise.

         I began to see the metaphor. All the struggles and gains of making life up as I went along. A dialog emerged. Let's do that, no that won't work. Let's wait until a better idea comes, yes that will do.        

         One day while I was sitting there, instead of fretting what to do next, I relaxed. It was fine just as it was and it became a real refuge. I have electricity for a light and a heater along with a cozy little bed and a table.

         My little teahouse.