Wispy mist and thick clouds The afternoon stretches on, endlessly in sadness Sweet incense rises from a golden brazier On this auspicious festival day—Chongyang. As evening fall, the chills slips in Through silken curtains to my little jade pillow
Sipping wine that evening—there by the eastern fence The fragrance of the chrysanthemums filling up my sleeves, secretely, quietly How can I not be distraught? The autumn wind fills the curtains I have grown thinner than the chrysanthemums.
Li Qingzhao--longing for her husband who was faraway on business, spent the day in bed-- drinking wine and composing poems, in the shadow of the flowers by the eastern fence(採菊東籬下).
Sending him the poem, it is said that when he read it, so impressed was he that he vowed to not leave his room until he had composed a poem back of equal perfection. Refusing all food and all visitors for three days, he composed poem after poem. Later, he would incorporate her words with words of his own in a poem that a friend would remark about, "there are only three good lines in this one" (and those three good lines were, of course, the ones he had borrowed from his wife's masterpiece!)
She was the greatest poetess in Chinese history. And like all great poets, she sought to refine her emotions in elegant and edifying metaphors about nature. Lady Li loved flowers and by situating her emotions in seasonal images, personal emotions were therby refined and made universal. But at the same time, she saw things in the flowers themselves that were admirable and worthy of emulation; for not only are flowers beautiful and joyous but they also symbolize strength and nobility of character-- attributes that we can all learn from. Or, in the words of my ikebana teacher, when a flower blooms, it either blooms in its fullest capacity and with all its might, or it’s a dud.
No half measures for flowers. --with Ting-Jen
Interesting article on emotion, nature and japanese Buddhism--here. Photo and video by the Great Ninagawa Mika
Be like a flower, from Sri Aurobindo's The Spiritual Significance of Flowers
Be like a flower. One must try to become like a flower: open, frank, equal, generous and kind. Do you know what it means? A flower is open to all that surrounds it: Nature, light, the rays of the sun, the wind, etc. It exerts a spontaneous influence on all that is around it. It radiates a joy and a beauty. It is frank: it hides nothing of its beauty, and lets it flow frankly out of itself. What is within, what is in its depths, it lets it come out so that everyone can see it. It is equal: it has no preference. Everyone can enjoy its beauty and its perfume, without rivalry. It is equal and the same for everybody. There is no difference, or anything whatsoever. Then generous: without reserve or restriction, how it gives the mysterious beauty and the very own perfume of Nature. It sacrifices itself entirely for our pleasure, even its life it sacrifices to express this beauty and the secret of the things gathered within itself. And then, kind: it has such a tenderness, it is so sweet, so close to us, so loving. Its presence fills us with joy. It is always cheerful and happy. Happy is he who can exchange his qualities with the real qualities of the flowers. Try to cultivate in yourself their refined qualities
Back from three weeks on the road, I immediately consult my Japanese almanac. To my delight, I see we are now in the Time of White Dew(白露):
Falling just prior to the Autumnal Equinox, the sun is said to have passed the 165th solar degree on its journey south. Although the afternoons are still dominated by the lingering heat of August and September, Autumn-like weather can increasingly be felt, deepening with each passing rain shower, especially noticeable in the mornings and evenings as the equinox approaches.
It's like clockwork. Every year, by mid-September, the dew point is reached and suddenly there are glistening dewdrops --like diamonds-- scattered in the morning grass.
This was true in Tokyo and it's true in Los Angeles.
In Japan, these pearly gems are not only treasured for their gem-like beauty, but they are also appreciated for their fleetingness; which, like scattering cherry blossoms, are likened to the transience of our human existence. For life, like the disappearing dewdrops in the morning sunlight, is too often cut short. In this way, dewdrops have been considered, since ancient times, along with “scattering flowers and fallen leaves” (飛花落葉) as a poetic metaphor for impermanence, or mujo (無常).
Have you heard of the dewdrop world?
In Japan, human transience became so associated with the autumn dew that our frailty was referred to as our “dewdrop world” (tsuyu no yo 露の世); or as our “dewdrop lives” (tsuyu no inochi 露の命), our “dewdrop bodies” or “dewdrop selves” (tsuyu no mi 露の身). One of the most famous haiku written on this theme is one by Issa who, devastated after the loss of his beloved one-year old daughter, lamented:
露の世は露の世ながらさりながら 一茶
this world of dew- is yes, a world of dew and yet... -Issa
The above translation is by Patricia Donegan. I really like the translation since she emphasizes the sorrow of things. "Yes," says Issa, life is fleeting and precarious. filled with sadness. Like dewdrops fated to fade away in the morning sunshine, our lives are all too fragile. Yet even in knowing this, still the poet whispers "and yet..." This is something you can't help but feel in early autumn. After all, the world itself seems to be in a process of death and decay:
秋風に なびく浅茅の 末ごとに おく白露の あはれ世の中
White dew poised at the tips of grass, fluttering in the autumn wind- What a fragile, fleeting world - Semimaro, Shin-kokinshu
The above poem is from the second imperial anthology of court poetry, compiled in the 15th century. What a fragile and fleeting world, says the poet. But so beautiful too. For indeed, precisely what is fragile and fleeting is what is considered beautiful, as Japanese monk Yoshida Kenkō remarked in his Essays in Idleness :
If man were to never fade away like the dews of Adashino.... but lingered on forever in the world, how things would lose their power to move us!
Buddhism, of course, also teaches that nothing in life can escape the law of anitya or “necessary change” and that all life inevitably must perish.
The Heart Sutra teaches that, All that appears before us is as a dream, an illusion, a bubble, a shadow. All is like the dew or lightening. It should thus be contemplated that nothing has reality. That everything is in flux and that all must eventually perish is a sad but inevitable fact that somehow seems all the more apparent in this season of sparse autumn grass, disappearing dewdrops and sudden, passing thunderstorms.
2.
We know from classical Chinese poetry that the appreciation of mid-autumn dewdrops and late-autumn to early-winter frost dates back at least to the Warring States Period (BC 453-221) This ancient Chinese love of dewdrops also becomes apparent when we take a look at the calendar itself. Of the six seasonal names of autumn, three are named after the dew or frost:
August 8th 立秋 The Time of First Day of Autumn August 23rd 処暑 The Time of Manageable Heat September 8th 白露 The Time of White Dew September 23rd 秋分 The Time of the Autumnal Equinox October 9th 寒露 The Time of Cold Dew October 24th 霜降 The Time of Frost Falling
Because dewdrops become especially noticeable around the time, when the autumn leaves change colors, I suppose it was inevitable that the ancients connected the changing leaves to the dew, and wondered if it wasn't it perhaps the abundant dew which, seeping into the leaves of the trees at night, somehow stained them the many different autumn colors? Not only was it the dew that was thought of to be the reason behind the spectacular brocade of autumn foliage, but frost and the autumn rain showers were also posited as possible causes for why the leaves changed colors so dramatically around this time of year.
As an aside, my personal preferred explanation for why the leaves changed colors doesn't involve the dew at all, but rather the tears of passing geese:
秋の夜の 露をば露と 置きながら 雁の涙や 野辺を染むらむ Might it not be that the dewdrops forming on Autumn nights are only just that- dewdrops And that it’s the tears of passing geese which stain the fields red – Mibu no Tademine Kokinshu 258
In the world of tea ceremony, or chanoyu, where purity is one of the four main principles, the garden path leading to any tearoom is called the “dewy ground” (or roji, 露地) and the origin of this name can be traced back to one of the most well-known stories in the Lotus Sutra about how the children of a wealthy man were made to flee a burning house. This parable extols us to escape the burning house of the “three worlds” (of worldly title, position and attachments) and to dwell in the purity of “white dewy ground.”
Poet Issa said it so beautifully:
朝露に浄土参りのけいこ哉 From the white dewdrops, Learn the way To the Pure Land -Issa
The translation is by RH Blyth, who explains:
Just as the wind is used as a symbol of the unknown comings and goings of the spirit of life, so water is the type of our own life, its swift, willing obedience, its bright, active desirelessness. Above all, the dew drop that disappears so soon, leaving not a trace of itself behind, is our own soul, that is devoid of all qualities, free of any kind of permanence, is the white radiance of eternity.
Sen Soshitsu, the Grand Tea Master of the Urasenke tradition, which I studied, explains the function of the roji as creating a special space where one can leave the cares of the world behind. He says: “The first thing the host and guests should do in the roji is too purify themselves, using the water in the basin, they should rinse off the dust of the world.”
The dewy garden, then, is really a path leading one out of the everyday world of dust into a world where purity is valued above all else:
露地はただ 浮き世のそとの 道なるに 心のちりを にちらすらん
The roji is simply a path leading from this floating world. Why bestrew it with dust from the mind? Sen Rikyu, Namporoku
My tea teacher once explained the words the famous Edo Period tea devotee, Matsudaira Fumai, who said that “Chanoyu is like a morning dewdrop poised on a seedling of rice”
This is another way of expressing one of the most famous maxims of chanoyu: “This meeting- once in a lifetime” (ichigo ichie, 一期一会), which extols tea practitioners to understand that every tea gathering is a once in a lifetime event, and therefore precious beyond value- very much like the beauty of the morning dew.
All this talk of dewdrops reminds me of a Vietnamese emperor.
Bicycling around Hue twenty years ago on our broken-down Peugeots, we traipsed into the Forbidden Purple City. It was so hot and hungry-- and tired. Sitting out by the small lotus pond behind what was the throne room in the palace, I overheard a guide telling a group of tourists that, "It was here that every morning servants gathered the dew that had collected overnight on the lotus leaves." Why, we wondered, would they collect the dewdrops? Before we could ask, the guide explained, the dewdrops were gathered to make the emperor's morning cup of tea.
My heart skipped a beat-- tea made from the water of dewdrops collected on the leaves of the lotus flowers: now that is something I would very much like to try someday....
++
Photographs by Tracey Parmley Nuki--dewdrops in the garden of the Getty
Everyday a Good Day: Fifteen Lessons I learned about Happiness from Japanese Tea Culture
East Wind Melts the Ice: A Memoir through the Seasons by Liza Dalby
Note: Liza Dalby explains why the dew is called white: "Shiratsuyu" has been a poetic term in Japan ever since the first poetry was written down. Shining like little jewels, "white dew" on the autumn grass is the image par excellence of transient beauty. The "white" does not mean the dew is turning into frost. Early in the morning or after the rain, if you look at leaves with lightly fuzzed surfaces, or with upturned edges, the water vapor balls up into large dewdrops. Reflecting the sunlight, they appear white rather than simply transparent."
In Hong Kong, he loved it because they had the best mooncakes. But in Japan, because he loved the way the moon would play hide and seek behind the clouds...
Oh, those Japanese autumn skies !
Every year, I would put pampas grass in a vase and buy some o-dango and we would wait for the moon to come out and play. One year, when he was around four, he grabbed the grasses and started waving them toward the sky, "come out a play, come out and play!" he screamed at the moon.
And the moon did just that!
Fast forward ten years.
Would you believe we can have mooncakes DELIVERED from a famous Hong Kong bakery that has a branch of their shop in Pasadena!
As always, I arranged mooncakes and bought sake (This year was plum flavored whiskey!)... But my astronomer, who long ago figured out that the top of my head makes for the perfect tripod, decided to balance his heavy astronomical binoculars on top of my head to try and get an iPhone shot of the moon...
Bucks bucking heads--clack! A hundred cars stop to watch On the road to Zion
++
The crash of their horns colliding reminded me a lot of the sound of bamboo swords meeting their opponent in kendo.
On the road out of Zion toward Bryce, there are countless bighorn sheep--some with collars, like these juveniles. Like movie stars, they can really stop traffic and bring out the paparazzi~!