We had been training at the dojo together for some time and it was through the movement that I noticed her presence.
She was observing everything in the dojo, observing as in an awareness, awareness that cultivated presence.
She was watching me.
Watching when I set up the dojo before class, when I was uke for the teacher, how I moved my body.
So I decided to watch her.
In class we would practice together so it couldn’t be there.
After class we would often all go to the pizza shop or Japanese restaurant to hang out and socialize so it couldn’t be there.
It had to be a place that existed between the two.
As uchi deshi it was my responsibility to keep an eye on the clock during class to make sure certain things happened at certain times. Ten minutes before class ended was one of those things.
I would stop training with my partner after they finished the technique we were practicing and apologize for excusing myself from practice. Quietly walking along the wall of the dojo as not to disturb the other student I would pause at the threshold of the floor and wait for one of the senior students to see me.
When they did, a slight nod between us, an acknowledgment that I was leaving the floor.
Crossing to the room next to the dojo floor I’d begin the preparations.
After cleaning the teapot out with hot water, it would be filled with fresh cold water and set on the hot plate to start boiling.
Tea would be selected and prepared.
Cups would be checked, cleaned, and set out on a small table.
Calligraphy would be hung on the wall to appreciate during the ceremony.
When class ended, the students would begin to leave the training floor and get changed back to street clothes before hanging out and waiting for the teacher to enter.
It was a time to talk about class, socialize and hang out.
Continuing my responsibilities with mixing the tea I would quietly move among the students.
Most would be talking among themselves about current events or popular movies.
Some would be discussing martial arts.
The senior students would be somewhere in the middle, talking to the other students, but also keeping an eye out for things for when the teacher arrived.
The teacups were all set, but I lingered over near the table, arranging them again to keep myself busy so I could watch.
Two of the junior students were talking loudly over near one of the benches against the wall and they didn’t’ even notice her sitting there, their bodies moving as they talked to each other, entering her space.
Sitting there in her gray suit, white shirt, and black shoes she slowly folded her training uniform in the required specific way, but it was more than this.
Most student, including myself when I wasn’t fully aware would fold it as we were shown just following the formula.
Arms over the chest, each side in half, tuck the bottom, roll it from top to bottom and secure it with your belt.
She would pause between each step and each fold to check the precision of the symmetry it created as the uniform was folded.
Watching this I began to think who else did this in the dojo?
The senior students?
When the teacher entered the room, the senior students went into action directing students to take their cup from the table, and find a seat on floor.
The teacher would always sit at the same place, the start of the circle, the senior students would continue the circle around him, the most senior of them on each side.
This time I hung back and watched her take her cup.
When she approached the table, she didn’t just grab her cup and rush to find a good place in the circle. Rather, she paused and observed the other cups also on the table. The symmetry of them, the designs on the side, what cups were next to hers.
Her eyes lingered for a moment over my cup.
Cup in hand, she wouldn’t sit right away, but rather observe where there was an opening to sit.
How many of us just found a place and sat down?
The teacher had his place, the senior students had theirs, but for us there was no assigned point in the circle.
You just tended to sit where you sit.
She would orbit the circle finding a place to sit.
The place where she could observe.
With my responsibilities completed, I would be the last to sit down in the circle before the tea was poured, and I would sit wherever there was space, often coinciding with her directly across from me.
But not this time.
I clumsily forced my way to the other side of the circle across from her so I could watch her.
Once the tea was poured one would sit with it for a bit, and a silence would take hold over the circle.
The texture of the cup in your hand, the heat from the tea, the scent of the tea.
Admiring the calligraphy.
Just being able to sit with your martial arts friends.
Some would break the silence as it was uncomfortable, other once the teacher started talking and taking questions,
She would still linger, gazing into the cup.
After the first cup, the circle became more informal, a chance to relax.
Postures shifted from seiza to kind of whatever you wanted, whatever was comfortable.
Even the teacher became less formal and sat cross legged.
But not her.
The entire time she kept her composure and posture.
The night would end with me cleaning and rinsing the tea pot, putting the seating cushions back, and carefully rolling back up the calligraphy. I’d often have to chase down misplaced teacups and organize them on the shelf for next time, but this time I noticed something that happened every time.
Her cup was always already on the shelf, washed, dried, and perfectly faced.
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