The language of flowers

Several years ago when I first came to Japan, I took an Ikebana class from an older woman named Senoue Sensei. She had studied English in the school where I was working at the time, but had found verbs and grammar too tedious to learn. Needless to say, she soon quit.

However, she had a very keen interest in foreigners, so in order to be in touch with them, she started giving Ikebana lessons. “Flowers are universal. They speak to everyone the world over. So, my medium for international communication is through these magnificent creations of nature,” she said.

Of course, I took her lessons. In my class there were two Koreans, a Canadian, and I. The atmosphere was very laid back. As we worked, neighbors popped in, her new puppy ran around and barked, and Senoue Sensei went in and out of the kitchen stirring dishes she would serve us afterwards. We all had a good time.

Well, that is everyone except for me. The other ladies took to the art like ducks to water. The teacher would demonstrate and they would religiously follow. Our Sensei would go to each of us, do the arrangement for us, then dismantle it and have us copy exactly what she had done. Asian-style teaching at its best.

They all loved it and felt proud of their finished products, And of course, Senoue Sensei was pleased to see herself reflected back through the arrangements and to know her students were “so sensitive and making such good progress.”

I have never been one to wedge myself into a box, especially someone else’s. I rebel against rules and regulations until I know their purpose. If that purpose if fair and meaningful, I will adhere to it. If not, I go my own way. So, when Senoue Sensei told me to copy exactly what she had done, I felt exceedingly frustrated. And of course, when I worked, stems bent, branches broke, petals scattered all over the table, and water went on the floor.

“I’m not doing my own work. I’m only copying yours,” I lamented.

Senoue Sensei would have me redo my arrangements again and again, but I was never able to surrender and let things happen, as I was “supposed” to do. I soon left the class, but Senoue Sensei and I stayed in touch and become good friends. But over the years we both became so busy we rarely contacted one another.

Recently, however, out of the blue she invited me to an Ikebana show where she had an arrangement on display. Of course, I went. It was lovely to see her again after many years. And after admiring each magnificent piece of floral artwork, we headed off to her home for dinner.

Not much had changed except the puppy had become so old she could no longer walk. She whimpered to us when she needed to go outside. And seventy-two year old Senoue Sensei would lovingly pick her up, all nine kilos, and carry her outside to do her business.

“She is not a pet,” Senoue Sensei said.
“No, she is a member of the family,” I replied.

Later that evening Senoue Sensei told me that my frustrated complaints of so long ago had deeply affected her. Because of them, she had set out on a path to discover how she could teach independent-minded students like me. And on the way, she had learned a great deal about other ways of thinking and doing things.

In fact, her quest opened her heart to many new things. Surprising to her, she realized she herself could “break the rules” and be wildly creative, even within the strictly structured world of Ikebana. She also widened her mind to include people of many nationalities. And she soon found herself participating in international Ikebana events. She went to Germany, the USA, Korea, Thailand and Malaysia. Soon she will go to India.

“It is exhilarating for me,” she enthused. “I speak very little English, but I have many friend whom I meet over and over again at these conventions. We are like family. We speak the ‘Language of Flowers,’ which is a ‘Language of the Heart.’”

She went on to say that she had been born in China during the Japanese occupation. She had always felt great shame by the horrors her country had done there. Then she added, “It is my responsibility to rectify the errors of my parents’ generation. I do what I do because it is my duty. I love it, of course, but it is also my obligation.“

As I saw her determined face and reflected on her chosen lifetime commitment, I felt tremendous respect for her in a new and deeper way. I also knew that people of my own country, America, have a tremendous duty, too, to rectify the horrendous wrongs our government has committed. Probably most of this great work of healing injustices and errors will be done by people like Senoue Sensei: a “little” person with a commitment to make a difference, with a desire to learn, and with a heart open wide enough to embrace the entire world.