Step one: Go to the bathroom.

Step two: Put on tabi.

. . . and then it gets more complicated.

The first time I was dressed in kimono for Japanese tea ceremony, I simply stood still with my arms held outstretched while my Sensei did the work. The process, which feels something like transforming from a caterpillar into a butterfly, involves 15 separate pieces and takes approximately 15 minutes for an experienced person to accomplish. Dressing oneself, especially when just learning, takes a bit longer. It goes something like this:

There are two layers of underwear. First put on the one piece slip and then the two piece juban (underkimono). Don’t forget to insert the collar stiffener. Be sure to cross the left side of the juban over the right and tie snugly. If you do not already possess a “cylindrical” figure, you will have to pad your middle to create a uniform shape. No hourglass figures allowed!

The word Kimono literally translates to “thing to wear.” Traditionally, kimono were made of silk, but today they are also available in a variety of synthetic fabrics and come in many patterns and styles. With the underwear securely in place, it is time to put on the kimono.

Take the kimono and put your arms through the sleeves, tucking the sleeves of the juban into the sleeves of the kimono so that they line up evenly. Standing with feet shoulder-width apart, adjust the fabric of the skirt so that it hangs just above your ankles and fold left side over right. Wrapping a thin tie around your waist, secure the kimono so that it will stay closed, with the skirt hanging evenly. Smooth out the material to eliminate any wrinkles.

The obi is a straight piece of cloth, generally made of silk and sometimes elaborately embroidered. The obi is wrapped around the ribcage, leaving a tail which is then folded and tucked to create the traditional “drum” bow. Insert the obi stiffener to create a nice, smooth shape. The obi-age, a silk cloth, covers the pad that helps to shape the back of the obi and is tied in the front and tucked into the obi. Caution! Do not let too much of the obi-age show. This is considered to be quite flirty! Finally, the obi-jime, a braided cord, is tied in a square knot securing the entire creation.

Next, look in the mirror and behold the work of art that you have created. Wearing kimono is more than a series of folding fabric and tying knots. It creates a certain sense of elegance and a requirement for proper posture and dignified demeanor. Enjoy this other-worldly feeling.

Incidentally, I am not joking about using the bathroom first. If nothing else, heed this advice. You'll thank me later.

Today's characters are sometimes seen on scrolls in the tea room. They read, fushiki, in translation: I know not.

Reaching out into the unknown is a scary thing. I think of explorers, who had to go beyond where anyone else had been. (yes, the final frontier). It drives some people to explore and it terrifies others to go or do or experience something that they had not done before.

For me to try something new and not know the outcome is like exploring, too. Terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. My good friend Larry Toda says, "If your palms are not sweaty occasionally, it means that you are not really living." Really, trying something new is how we stretch and grow.

There was a study done on salespeople and performance. They took high performing salespeople and put them in low yielding territories and took low performing salespeople and put them into high yielding territories. Within a year, the high performing salespeople were back to their income and low performing salespeople were also back to their low sales records. The point of this is that we each have a comfort zone. If we are comfortable with a certain outcome (in this case income level) then we will gradually gravitate to that level. Even when people are miserable, they will only have what they feel comfortable with. It is called the comfort zone.

It seems that high performing people will take risks outside of the comfort zone and low performing people will not. It is not like taking big risks will make you a high performing salesperson, but the attitude of taking small risks helps build confidence in further risk taking. The risk can be as small is finding a new way home from work. The point is to try something that you don't always know what the outcome will be. If one approaches small risks with the attitude, "it will be interesting to see how this turns out," rather than one of success/failure, it takes a lot of the pressure off and one can look at the endeavor as a learning opportunity, no matter what happens.

Risk taking can take many forms, from the physical risks of extreme sports, to being vulnerable enough to love someone. So maybe today you will find a new way home and discover part of your neighborhood you had never seen before. What will the outcome be? Fushiki, I know not.

I just got back from the Friends in Tea conference and I am exhausted, but full to the brim in my heart for tea. The conference was held at Dai Bosatsu Zen Monastery about 3.5 hours drive from New York City in the Catskills. It is so isolated that cell phones and GPS do not work there. When we reached the entrance gate after driving for miles on a one lane road that turned into a dirt road, I thought we had arrived, but we still had to drive 2 more miles to the monastery. Then we crossed a small bridge and there on a beautiful lake in the mountains was Dai Bosatsu. The long journey was like going through the roji before entering the tea house, and helped to shed the dust of the world and clear our minds for what was about to take place.

I will be writing more about my experience there in the coming days, but I would like to take this opportunity to thank all who planned and participated in the conference, and thank the Roshi and residents and helpers at Dai Bosatsu who made our stay there memorable, unprecedented and unrepeatable. Thank you.

It was a little early for me to sit zazen at 4:30 am with the monks, but I did get up for the 6:00 Chabako tea that was planned for that morning. We were to have tea on the dock out on the lake, but it was pouring rain. The wood shed was the alternate location and among the resiny smell of the newly cut and stacked wood we had tea. With a thermos and chabako, tea can be anywhere, no need of tatami room.

The sound of the rain on the roof of the woodshed soothed us and as I sat there drinking tea, listening to the host and guest talk about the tea and utensils, I felt a profound sense of belonging, of coming home to be with people of my own family (tribe) where I could talk about tea, drink tea, be immersed in tea and not be thought crazy or obsessed.

I also was reminded again of an essential tea lesson: The best laid plans will somehow be altered and it is best to remain flexible, rely on your training and go with the flow. Oh yes, and it is always good to make alternate plans. As Rikyu said, "Prepare for rain."

Certainly I am not a Zen student, I know very little about Zen. But I was on my way to the yoga class at the Dai Bosatsu Zen monastery, andI didn't know how to get to the library where the class was held. I had already wandered around and run into a room where the monks were chanting and nearly smacked into the Roshi during the services, so I didn't want to disturb them any further.

I asked around and these were the instructions on how to get there: "Go up to the second floor and take a left before you get to the Buddha." It rather struck me as funny that I would have to take a left before I got to the Buddha in a Zen monastery, but I suppose we all take detours in our life. I can also see this as a metaphor in following teachings that tell you to take a left before you get to the Buddha. If you took that left you would end up in the library with lots of words, and words could become confusing (at least to me) about Zen.

On the other hand, the yoga class was just what I needed. I never had yoga before. I am so stiff I cannot sit half lotus when sitting zazen. I have never taken a yoga class, and Jimin our instructor, said that she would not get so hung up on correct positions but make it more of a meditative experience. Through gentle stretches, breathing and the sound of her voice, I opened up my body. In opening my body, I am sure that I opened my mind and my spirit as well, to take in what was going on around me. Not just the things that were planned and happenstance to do with the tea group, but I became aware of the monks as they went about their work and worship in the monastery. Ah, "Zen cha ichi mi" or Zen and tea, one taste.

During the Friends in Tea conference, there were two formally scheduled chakai, the opening chakai the first day and the closing chakai on the last day. In between, there was what they called open chakai. The tatami mat room upstairs at the guest house at Dai Bosatsu was divided in half and people could sign up to make tea, drink tea or help in the mizuya.

Many participants brought tea utensils to be used at these open chakai, and with the sweet making workshops going on, we always had plenty of sweets. Wild flowers were growing in abundance and thanks to Jan, the mizuya cho, tea and everything was available to put on chakai.

You could also put together impromptu chakai outside, in the meeting room, on the terrace or on the dock over the lake. More than a few people brought chabako, and there was always an early morning chakai in the woodshed.

I would say that there were about 10 scheduled chakai a day in the tatami room and at least 2-3 more chakai that you could attend in other places. And still, I couldn't get enough of making and drinking tea.

"Don't look with your eyes or cock your ears to listen, just dye your heart with Chanoyu . Look with your eyes and listen with your ears, smell incense and grasp their meaning with questions." ~ from Rikyu's 100 poems.

At the Friends in Tea conference, the tea space was improvised, so there was no mizuya to prepare for chakai. Thanks to our resourceful mizuya cho, Jan, she set up a temporary space upstairs near the tatami mats to make a working mizuya. I especially appreciated the fact that the mizuya was set up even though there was no running water or drain nearby. She did this by setting up tubs and buckets for clean and dirty water. These buckets and tubs had to be filled and emptied by hand. This was also a good reminder to be careful to conserve the clean water, and efficient in cleaning up so that the dirty tubs didn't fill up quickly and have to be emptied in the middle of a chakai.

With so many great utensils brought by the participants the cho had to double the mizuya space by setting up tables. Even though she did that, it still was tight to work there given that two chakai were scheduled at the same time. Part of tea training is to work efficiently and quietly in the mizuya.

Most mizuya that I have worked in are tiny spaces -- 1 to 3 tatami mats. That is 3 feet by 6 feet up to 6 feet by 9 feet. It begins to get really crowded in there when 3 or 4 people are all working to get things ready, or clean up from a previous chakai or lesson.

This is where training comes in. If you are not working in the mizuya, get out. The mizuya is no place for standing around and chatting. If you are working, do what you need to do quickly and efficiently and get out. Do not dawdle around or stay to look at things. Make sure your things are cleaned up properly and everything is put back in the proper place. If there is a kama with hot water coming, get up and out of the way. Most important, the cho is the head of the mizuya. You must do what the cho says without argument. There may be a meeting later about it, but at the time, the cho is in charge and what he/she says must be done immediately and without complaint. It is a big responsibility.