Today was Robiraki.

Tim said the hearth is laid on the first day of the Boar because in East Asian mythology the boar protects from fire. So now the hearth is set in the floor. We celebrated en masse, all of us knee-to-knee along the perimeter of the outermost mat.

When I woke up this morning I didn’t want to go. That feeling was the strongest one, and you know it is easy to believe that the most powerful emotion is the sure one, so I was certain I should quit this hobby; by not quitting it seemed I was clinging to some pretension.

I have been so ambivalent about attending class. Sometimes in class I ache to leave, not just from sitting on my knees for hours, but from the growing disparity between the way I am becoming and the way I have been. The more distant the years that I lived in Asia, the less comfortable I am in Asian environments. Now, much of the time, the practice of a foreign way of being seems senseless.

Arriving to find all the little old ladies and the advanced students standing in the garden chatting, all wearing kimono, didn’t help things. But Ryan arrived and we talked a little. The crowd grew and the increased anonymity made it easier. The older Japanese-American woman next to me nudged reminders, which helped. So did tearoom humor. Some joked about choking on mochi. A few of us parodied haiken with a Canon digital camera.

As part of the celebration, some students received awards. Today I received my licenses—all of them, even though I’m still practicing at the beginning level. They’re beautiful: Handwritten kanji by the old ink brushes on exquisitely crafted slices of rice paper that each bear the same large and ornate watermark.

Along with the licenses came literature describing some fundamental facts about the structure of Chado. For the first time since beginning study, I saw the path laid out and it alleviated much of the confusion I’ve felt all this time.

So, I’m not giving it up yet. I’ll try to attend as consistently as possible for one more year. By next summer’s break, I should know if it’s just not part of me anymore.

Matcha is not my favorite tea to make. Being in class reminded me of how I used to make pu-er and oolong gong-fu style at least once a week. I haven’t made the stuff in months and the tea cups are full of dust. So tonight, still working on organizing photos, I got down the whole thing and wired up.