木门轻轻滑启，主人示意我往前进。我慢慢挪步，阳光照在身上，穿的和服太紧，影响了我的步法，然后推开木门。
屋里面是个醉人的世界，与屋外面熙熙攘攘的东京大街上迥然不同。这块地方大不过花园式天井，但每一样东西——树木、石头、水面、苔藓——显得错落有致，俨然感觉空间比原来大了一倍。我蹲下身，在水井旁洗手漱口，眼睛的余光看到那位正宾(shokyaku)轻盈步入那个小方门，消失至茶室 (chashitsu) 中。
我顺着路步入同样的小门，挤进漆黑一片的屋内，转过身把草拖鞋放在门旁，随手并未掩上门，为的是方便随后来的客人。
我进到屋内，眼睛开始适应昏暗的灯光，然后双膝跪在榻榻米草垫上，依次向墙上的名人字画、江户时代(Edo-period)的茶罐、茶壶以及茶炉子鞠躬致礼，除此之外，屋里颇为空荡。最后我跪坐在正宾旁边，等最后两位来宾光临。
在江户时代（1603-1868），茶道可让武士们得到暂时的休息。茶室是唯一可以不佩带武器进入的场所。武士们把刀(katana)放在门口，通过茶道仪式，他们可以减缓对随之而来的战争与死亡的忧虑。
如何沏、端、品鉴以及清洗每一碗茶都很有讲究。茶主人与来宾间所遵循的严格的礼仪以及相互关系可以尽释之前由于错误评论或者无意行为所造成的紧张关系。倾注在这一小碗的茶中的是片刻的躲避现实、平等、自由自在以及归属感。
虽说这看似有点食古不化，与当今高节奏的生活方式格格不入，但据今天我请我喝茶的主人索瓦秋山(Sowa Akiyama)说，这个理念正重新被现在的武士们发掘。如今的日本商界人士的忧虑与过去的武士截然不同，但是，越来越多的人开始学习茶道，把它作为消除工作与经济紧张感的一道良方。
"过去，茶道是新娘子要学的一门技艺，"秋山说。"如今，越来越多的男士开始学茶道。当然，他们来学习茶道，但他们真正喜欢的却是用品茶来荡涤心灵。
秋山沏茶的历史已经有60年了，这表明他注重细节，意欲追求完美，此乃茶道之精髓所在。
吃完一顿精心准备的寿司午餐后，主人招待我们品饮了我们平生第一碗浓茶，即浓浓的绿茶抹茶(matcha green tea)。
遮阳闭日的屋子里显得空灵无比，看着秋山用滚开的水沏茶，让人心驰神往。屋子很小，但凝神专注于秋山一个人执着地做一件事，却丝毫不觉得沉闷。
泡好茶后，该轮到我专注品茶了，这一切颇伤脑筋，因为我不知道自己能否记住整套茶礼。我们依次用小木签扎了一个粘甜豆球来吃，要优雅地做到这一切实属不易。
每位客人依次品味用江户时代深色陶碗泡的浓茶。我微微转向右边，从正宾手中接过茶碗，双手握碗举至身前（稍向胸口靠一点），并鞠躬致礼。我小心谨慎地把碗端至身前，并再次鞠躬。用双手握住碗时，按照茶礼慢慢转动碗，欣赏这方小天地，然后举起碗，眼睛看着浓浓的茶慢慢顺着这只年代久远碗的边沿，最后恭送至口中。
茶味很苦，但又浓又香，与甜味全然不同。饮了几口后，我把碗放到席子上，清洗刚才嘴巴喝过的碗沿，再转向左边，把碗交给下一位客人，并再次鞠躬示意。
待到最后一位客人饮完，茶碗又被递回来，正宾一一接过刚才泡茶所用的器具：茶碗，茶罐，茶罐盖，茶勺。主人秋山离开了屋子，我们又依次仔细查看茶具，欣赏其韵味。
查看茶具是放松的时候，偷偷地把肘子压在大腿上，可以趁机减缓一下腿部的麻木感，要知道，我按照传统的跪姿已经正襟危坐两个小时了。首先我在小腿骨下放了个软垫，这下不用直接跪坐在席子了，这很管用。
在屋外休息一会儿后，我们再次进到这间传统茶室内，这次是饮法更为随意的淡茶(usucha)，虽然喝茶程序大同小异。主人已经把屋内的名人字画换成了时令季节花卉，并把窗上的糊纸取掉，这样阳光就可以直射进屋内。
早在1906年，《茶之道》(The Book of Tea)的作者冈仓天心(Kakuzo Okakura)就写道："如今席卷全球的工业化使得生活的精致化越来越难以企及。我们难道不是比以前更需要茶室了吗？"
如今日本办公室的男职员似乎也是这么认为，这次品完茶会后，我也是持同样的看法。
即便作为新手，因为之前没有经验，所以每一个动作都显得笨手笨脚，但也算是品悟了茶道，我出来时掩上竹门，重新回到人来人往的大都市，心里多了一丝宁静，但又觉得心旷神怡。
在东京里千家学校（Urasenke School，网址：www.chado.or.jp/bunkakyokai/recruit/eigo/image/english.pdf）用英语教授茶道，每月两次，历时半年，每期费用4.75万日元（约356英镑）。入门班的每期费用为5000日元。欲了解更多里千家茶道课信息，请浏览以下网址：www.urasenke.or.jp/texte/index.html。
http://www.ftchinese.com/story/001038047
The faint sound of a wooden door sliding open is my signal to proceed. I shuffle into the bright sunshine, my gait restricted by my tightly wrapped kimono, and push open the gate.
Behind lies an enchanted world, utterly different to the teeming streets of Tokyo that are just outside. The plot of land is no bigger than a garden patio but each element – tree, rock, water, moss – has been placed so thoughtfully that the space feels twice the size. I crouch next to the well to wash my hands and mouth, and out of the corner of my eye notice the shokyaku, or the main guest, slip through a tiny square doorway and disappear into the chashitsu, tea room.
The path guides me to that same minute entrance. I squeeze myself into the darkened room, swivel around to place my straw sandals to the side of the entrance and leave the door open for the following guest.
I am in. My eyes adjust to the muted light, and I kneel and bow in turn to the calligraphy on the wall, the Edo-period tea caddy, and the kettle and hearth in an otherwise empty room of tatami straw mats. I finally take my place next to the shokyaku to wait for the two remaining guests to appear.
During the Edo period (1603-1868), the tea ceremony provided respite for the samurai warrior. It was the only space they entered unarmed. Laying their katana swords at the gate, through the tea ceremony ritual they allayed worries of impending war and death.
Each bowl of tea that is prepared, served, appreciated and cleared away has subtle differences. The strict etiquette and relationship between the tea master and guests liberates them from the strain of a mistaken comment or unintended action. Infused in that simple bowl of tea are moments of escape, equality, freedom and community.
And while it might seem archaic and at odds with today's high-speed way of life, the concept is being rediscovered by today's warriors, according to my tea master for the day, Sowa Akiyama. Japan's businessmen have very different anxieties than the samurai but growing numbers have started learning the "way of tea" as a tonic to extinguish worries of job and financial security.
"In the past it used to be the new bride who would learn," Akiyama says. "Recently, there has been an increasing number of men. Of course, they come to learn, but what they seem to really like is how the experience refreshes them."
That Akiyama has been preparing tea for about 60 years is testament to the attention to detail and illusion of perfection that is part and parcel of the way of tea.
After a lunch of exquisitely prepared sushi, we are being treated to our first bowl of koicha, or thick matcha green tea.
The emptiness of the sun-blocked room, combined with the performance of Akiyama preparing his brew behind the kettle smoke, is hypnotic. The room is tiny, but focusing on one person, performing one task, it is far from stifling.
The tea is ready so it's time for me to engage, which is nerve-racking as I'm not sure I will remember the protocol. We each in turn take a sticky, sweet bean ball and eat it with a tiny wooden pick. Not easy to do elegantly.
The koicha, prepared in an Edo-period bowl of the deepest clay colour, is to be used by each guest in turn. I turn slightly to my right to receive the bowl from the shokyaku, placing my hands inwards at slight angles in front of my knees to bow in gratitude. I carefully place the bowl in front of me, and bow again. Clasping it with two hands and swivelling it, as expected, to appreciate its dimensions, I then raise it and watch the thick liquid roll languidly up the edge of this ancient bowl and eventually reach my lips.
It is bitter, strong and strangely delicious, a perfect contrast to the sweet. After a couple of gulps, I replace the bowl on to the matting, clean the edge from which I had drunk, bow, shift my knees to my left, draw the bowl towards the next guest and bow once more.
Once the final guest has finished, the bowl is returned, and the shokyaku receives one-by-one the implements that had been used to prepare the brew; the bowl, the tea container, the tea-container cover and the tea scoop. Akiyama leaves the room and we each in turn examine these implements, appreciating their beauty.
This inspection is a relief. It's a moment to mitigate the numbness in my legs by surreptitiously pressing my elbows into my thighs, having knelt in the traditional seiza position for two hours. My shins had been separated from the matting by a cushion, which had helped – at first.
After a break outside, we re-enter the chashitsu for usucha, or thin tea, which is a much more informal affair, though follows most of the same procedure. Sensei had exchanged the calligraphy for a seasonal flower, and removed the paper shades, leaving the sunshine to stream through the window.
Back in 1906, Kakuzo Okakura, author of The Book of Tea, observed: "Nowadays industrialism is making true refinement more and more difficult all the world over. Do we not need the tea room more than ever?"
Japanese male office workers today seem to believe so, and after my experience I am inclined to agree.
Even as a novice, having fumbled through the ceremony without the experience to let each movement flow, I close that bamboo gate and return to the heaving metropolis filled with a sense of tranquillity, and a distinct caffeine high.
Tea ceremony lessons in English, twice monthly for six months with the Urasenke school in Tokyo (www.chado.or.jp/bunkakyokai/recruit/eigo/image/english.pdf), cost Y47,500 (£356). An introductory lesson costs Y5,000. For more information on Urasenke tea classes see www.urasenke.or.jp/texte/index.html.
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