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Yesterday I went to one of my favorite places in Japan, Kita-Kamakura. It's one stop north of the more famous temple town of Kamakura, but gets fewer tourists and so has a far more mellow atmosphere and no tourist-trap tacky souvenier stands. There's a main road lined with temples, old-fashioned tiled-roof houses with traditional Japanese gardens, a little brook, and a handful of shops. You can walk down the road into Kamakura, visiting temples as you go. I had intended to do just that, but the first Zen temple I visited, Enrakuji (the first kanji is the one for "en" or "yen"-- easy to recognize) was so big and so lovely and had such a peaceful atmosphere that by the time I left, it was night and time to go back to Tokyo.
I had been to Enrakuji before, on my first trip to Japan. There were monks practicing kyudo (Japanese archery, and a form of "moving meditaton") in the garden. I didn't see those monks, but I did see their targets stashed away for the day. Kyudo is a type of kata, or set form: there is a correct way to pick up the bow, to lift the bow, to draw back the arrow, to stand and to shoot. Doing that correctly is more important than hitting the target.
I think that a lot of the old arts of Japan are based around kata of various kinds, and there are still a few hold-overs. The tea ceremony is a form of kata: it's making tea, then drinking it and eating little dumplings and admiring the tea bowls, but there is a proper way to do every single thing that you do once you enter the tea house. You can think of it as slavery to an arbitrary set of rules, or as a sophisticated art/performance form, or as a communal activity, or as a way of making yourself pay attention to each moment at a level that we just don't do in ordinary life. And within that set form is individual expression, beyond just levels of perfection and technical expertise.
To put it in terms that I, at least, am more familiar with, martial arts have kata: set forms in which a single person performs techniques against an imaginary opponent or opponents. They are the same moves in the same order with a set rhythm, but even among people at the same skill level with similar body types, the katas do not look exactly the same. My Bassai Dai is not Don's Bassai Dai is not Jackie's Bassai Dai.
Even now, to write Japanese correctly, you have to make the strokes in the correct order and starting from the correct side; you can't just draw the shapes, the way in English it doesn't matter how you draw the letters as long as they look the way the letters should look. In Japanese writing, the process is as important, or more important, than the product. Also, if you use the wrong stroke order, even if it looks right to you, people who can write correctly will be able to see that just copied the image of the letter rather than really writing it.
I climbed a trail at Enrakuji up a hill, passing a hollowed bamboo cup holding rain water, a mossy statue of Buddha with bees buzzing around it, and another, tiny statue with a bamboo cup holding a single red flower. At the top of the trail was a man playing a flute, and a monk in robes, and two women in kimono, and a handful of visitors. Next thing I knew, I was being seated for an impromptu tea ceremony overlooking a view of the entire temple complex and a snow white cherry tree. The tea was matcha, whipped bright green tea in a red bowl, and atop the bean paste bun was a preserved cherry blossom.
I had been to Enrakuji before, on my first trip to Japan. There were monks practicing kyudo (Japanese archery, and a form of "moving meditaton") in the garden. I didn't see those monks, but I did see their targets stashed away for the day. Kyudo is a type of kata, or set form: there is a correct way to pick up the bow, to lift the bow, to draw back the arrow, to stand and to shoot. Doing that correctly is more important than hitting the target.
I think that a lot of the old arts of Japan are based around kata of various kinds, and there are still a few hold-overs. The tea ceremony is a form of kata: it's making tea, then drinking it and eating little dumplings and admiring the tea bowls, but there is a proper way to do every single thing that you do once you enter the tea house. You can think of it as slavery to an arbitrary set of rules, or as a sophisticated art/performance form, or as a communal activity, or as a way of making yourself pay attention to each moment at a level that we just don't do in ordinary life. And within that set form is individual expression, beyond just levels of perfection and technical expertise.
To put it in terms that I, at least, am more familiar with, martial arts have kata: set forms in which a single person performs techniques against an imaginary opponent or opponents. They are the same moves in the same order with a set rhythm, but even among people at the same skill level with similar body types, the katas do not look exactly the same. My Bassai Dai is not Don's Bassai Dai is not Jackie's Bassai Dai.
Even now, to write Japanese correctly, you have to make the strokes in the correct order and starting from the correct side; you can't just draw the shapes, the way in English it doesn't matter how you draw the letters as long as they look the way the letters should look. In Japanese writing, the process is as important, or more important, than the product. Also, if you use the wrong stroke order, even if it looks right to you, people who can write correctly will be able to see that just copied the image of the letter rather than really writing it.
I climbed a trail at Enrakuji up a hill, passing a hollowed bamboo cup holding rain water, a mossy statue of Buddha with bees buzzing around it, and another, tiny statue with a bamboo cup holding a single red flower. At the top of the trail was a man playing a flute, and a monk in robes, and two women in kimono, and a handful of visitors. Next thing I knew, I was being seated for an impromptu tea ceremony overlooking a view of the entire temple complex and a snow white cherry tree. The tea was matcha, whipped bright green tea in a red bowl, and atop the bean paste bun was a preserved cherry blossom.
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This is true of Korean too. My writing of Korean is really horrible, but even I've been known to wince when I see the strokes drawn in the wrong direction/order.
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The importance of kata reminds me of when I studied tai chi -- you have to pay attention to each movement, how it relates to the next movement, how you're performing it but at the same time keep it fluid and graceful -- which also reminds me of ballet (studied it a bit growing up).
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