Learning the Beauty of Living from the 'Seven Transformations' of Hagi Ware

Half a year ago, on a whim, I purchased a Hagi ware tea bowl and teapot.

I was drawn to their appearance, known as the 'Seven Transformations of Hagi,' and their somewhat ephemeral, pale hues. Although I already had tableware I was using, I decided to take the plunge and bring these into my life, thinking, 'I want to spend many years growing old alongside these pieces.'

Today, when I opened my notebook from that time for the first time in a while, I found these words written down:

'Earth, fire, water, and the hands of the artisan. Everything meets and takes shape within a grand flow. Everything is a personality bestowed upon the vessel by that grand flow.'

It does not try to become perfect porcelain; it follows the nature of the clay honestly, exposes itself to the intense flames of the kiln, and quietly accepts the pink spots that are born there by chance.

It does not reject them, saying, 'I don't like these spots.' It does not pick and choose, saying, 'I don't like this owner.' It simply accepts what it is given as it is, and exists right there.

And over many years, it absorbs tea stains, transforming even what the world calls 'dirt' into a unique depth of flavor or 'personality.'

The 'kannyu' (cracks), a characteristic of Hagi ware, can sometimes cause leaks, absorb colors easily, or be prone to chipping. From the perspective of modern standards, which demand convenience, efficiency, and durability above all else, these might appear to be 'flaws' or 'difficulties.'

However, tea masters of the past found 'wabi-sabi' in that very imperfection, and enjoyed the rich time spent 'nurturing' vessels that changed their appearance the more they were used.

Seeing the vessel in that state, my heart is moved, and I think, 'I really should learn from this.'

Aren't human beings exactly the same?

We don't have to stretch ourselves to become a 'correct' shape that is perfect and without a single scratch. The scars formed during the course of life, the clumsiness that might look like a 'flaw' at first glance, or the unexpected stains and dents on our hearts.

Instead of excluding them by saying, 'I don't like this version of myself,' we should simply accept them as 'my own unique flavor' bestowed upon us within the grand flow of life.

To cherish and carefully nurture our changing selves, while remaining imperfect.

Like a piece of Hagi ware woven from earth, fire, and water, I, too, want to quietly transform every event that comes my way into flavor, and simply let my own existence bloom beautifully.