The Hands of a God
I participated in a formal Ikebana workshop given by Mishoryu’s current headmaster this morning. The English term “workshop,” however, doesn’t do justice to such an event. The Japanese call this a “家元研究会,” which translates as “Headmaster’s research session”. Such events typically occur once or twice every season and are reserved for practitioners holding a certain rank in the world of flowers, most often that of a Master.
Our headmaster applied his unbelievable skill to white and purple prairie gentians. As the rules of such workshops dictate, it was the first time the participants had worked on this somewhat fragile plant, and we soon discovered that imitating our headmaster’s hands and moves was a challenge.
His ability to seamlessly select, bend, and finally combine branches into the traditional “Kakubana” shape left us all in awe. The headmaster’s hands genuinely are those of a god, and his skill keeps fascinating me forever more each time I am blessed to see it.
As for me, I tried to let each flower live in my vase despite the nerve-wracking speed at which we had to complete the task, despite the stress of the event’s formalities. I also attempted to apply the technique my mistress had taught me for so many years.
Before I knew it, the work session was over. As I walked back to the station on the banks of the O River, the autumn chill seemed to whisper in the bright mid-day air that I had stepped a little closer to the souls of petals.
As a response, I wondered if anything else truly mattered.
