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Lessons from a Zen Garden Master
- Shyn Yee Ho
- May 28
- 6 min read
Zen gardens are some of the most astonishingly beautiful and emotion-provoking gardens in Japan. Rock and stones are vital elements in any Japanese garden, and the ultimate expression of the beauty of stones lies in the sekitei, or rock gardens, expanses of raked white gravel, dotted with strategically-placed stones. Sekitei first became popular in the Kamakura Era (1185-1333), following the arrival of Zen Buddhism from China in the late 13th Century. These gardens continued to develop in the Muromachi period (1333-1573). Zen emphasised the importance of meditation, as well as a simpler, more mindful outlook. (Powell and Cabello, BBC, April 2022).
Amidst a hectic, always-on lifestyle, I have always found myself drawn to Zen Gardens. The simplicity, serenity and abundance of empty spaces seem to pose a quiet rebellion against the "addition" and "maximalism" culture of our generation; while the juxtaposition of the neatly raked gravel against the natural elements of the garden - the rocks, shrubs, trees and mountains in the background - seem so intentional and deliberate. For years, I kept a miniature Zen Garden on my desk which I'd rake mindlessly while on long conference calls. Colleagues who walked by would pause and spend a few moments raking patterns in the sand. Finally on a trip to Kyoto in 2022, I saw Zen Gardens in real life. They took my breath away and filled me with a calm that is, frankly, quite inexplicable. I thought, how incredible it would be to meet a Zen Garden Master one day and, perhaps, try raking a garden myself.
This dream came true earlier this month when I spent half a day with Zen Garden Master Noriyuki Takao, resident gardener of the beautiful Tofuku-ji in Kyoto. Master Takao, who is 65 years-young, has been faithfully raking the gardens at Tofuku-ji for 40 years (F-O-R-T-Y!), changing the designs every 2 weeks. It is a responsibility that he, and the landscape architecture firm Sone Zoen that he represents, take with significant joy and pride. In meeting Master Takao, one may mistake him to be much younger than his actual age - he radiates a calming energy and patience that, I imagine, has been honed by decades of deeply meditative work (like raking a Zen Garden). It appeared to me that he has figured out his ikigai - a deep sense of accomplishment and fulfilment achieved from the pursue of purpose.
Under his watchful eye and patient guidance, I learnt to rake straight lines (HARD), circles (HARD) and figures of 8 (HARD). Raking a Zen Garden is definitely one of those things that is much harder than it looks.
First of all, the rake is made of solid wood and iron. It is hardly what one would refer to as a easy tool to manoeuvre around. In raking lines, one needs to make sure they are straight and parallel. In crafting circles, one needs to "anchor" one end of the rake and move around it in perfect symmetry (recalling school days of using compasses in math class!).
Growing up in a productivity-obsessed and ROI-fixated culture, the first few lines were difficult for me. My rake barely moved and my lines were hardly straight. I intuitively started to intellectualise the activity - am I exerting too much strength? Too little? Am I holding the rake too loosely? Too tight? Why did I think this could be a fun activity to do? My circles looked more like ovals, and at times, I was convinced my arms had minds of their own and were plotting my downfall ("let's make a zig-zag!" my left arm urged its right counterpart enthusiastically).
Master Takao then gently reminded me, "breathe, you need to breathe. Breathe slowly and consistently. Treat the rake as an extension of you. Feel the gravel under your sole and listen to the sound of the gravel as you move your rake."
I took Master Takao's advice - I slowed down my breathing, imagined the rake as an extension of my arms, felt the gravel crunch under my thin rubber soles with each careful step backwards, and focused on pulling the rake while listening to the comforting "zzzzzzhhhhhhh" of the rake dragging through the gravel. It is an acute experience to shut the world around you, focus all your senses on one task, rely on instinct and just get into the flow (see Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi's Ted Talk here on "Flow, the Secret to Happiness".) To treat the tool of the trade as an extension of oneself was very poetic, and to me, captured the essence of what it means to be a shokunin (craftsman/ artisan).
Next, there is no where to hide. The large empty space is beautiful no doubt and leaves room for interpretation and creativity; but it exposes a raw fact that every line, circle and wave is highly visible. There are no short cuts, no smoke and mirrors, no automation, no AI - just intention and concentration. The mot du jour here is not "productivity", but "honesty". In our current era of falsification and exaggeration, this empty space was confronting but also very necessary.
In a Zen Garden, nature calls the shots, not you. You can't transplant the century-old cherry and maple trees, you can't shift the mountains in the background. The rocks are imperfect in shape and size, so you can only move them around or combine them to adapt and balance the landscape. You then add designs in the sand to accentuate the bigger elements. The gardener has very little control, but with what is within, he does his best. On top of that, seasons come and go, bringing different colours, blooms, shapes and textures which the gardener has to adapt and work with. The seasons, in particular, serve as a gentle reminder that everything is transient and that it is much about ichi-go ichi-e (一期一会), the unrepeatable nature of a moment. The garden doesn't look the same from one day to the other, and so many aspects can influence how you experience it depending on when you are there, such as your mood, the other visitors, the weather, the wind etc.
"How do you still find ways to improve your craft, despite having done this everyday for 40 years?" I asked Master Takao. He laughed and nodded his head furiously, "yes, yes, yes! I look at books, I speak to other gardeners. I also listen in to the conversations of visitors to the gardens, they sometimes provide me with inspiration."
"If there is no perfection then, how do you know when your gardening work is done?" I asked again. He pondered for a moment, and replied with a smile, "intuition". He stops pruning and raking when his experience and judgement tell him that it's done. There is no benchmark, there is no grade, there is no one telling him "good job, well done." His intuition has been honed by years of experience, craft and mastery; and he is done when he believes he is done.
We ended our session with freshly whipped bowls of frothy green tea, profuse apologies from me for my clumsiness and, of course, lavish praise from them for my interest in their work, Zen Gardens and the Japanese culture. What they did not realize was how much I had learnt that day about the Zen philosophies that underpin their attitudes towards work and life, and how much I needed to learn those lessons at this juncture of my work and life. I am filled with such gratitude to have the opportunity to learn from Master Takao and the team at Sone Zoen.
Before I left their sanctuary, I noticed a piece of Japanese calligraphy hanging on one of the spartan walls. It was that of an ensō, a circle hand-drawn in one or two uninhibited brushstrokes to express the Zen mind, and the phrase "無一物中無盡藏" - when there is nothing, nothing is hidden; but for those who think and imagine, they can see limitless potential in nothingness.
Shyn Yee travelled with Pudu Puda Travel to Kyoto as part of her 9-day solo retreat in Japan.