In the Far-east a) since the beginning of writing a certain kind of rice-paper is being used for all sorts of (traditional) art and calligraphy. The paper is very thin, could be easily abused, and has to be carefully handled especially while using ink. b) the Chinese and Japanese character-set (alphabets et al) grows to a couple of thousands glyphs - a wide array of choices, one might argue.
Given this premise, when one deals with rice-paper using ink, a moment’s worth of hesitation can blot the paper, spelling ruins and messing up the whole of “creation” thus far.
This is thus becomes the premise of Spontaneity.
Spontaneity, as exhaled in the Shinto texts saying, “… every natural impulse is [not to be rejected, but] to be sublimated…”
This wonderful little Zen story below brings the point home well:
The apprentice was watching over.
The Zen master was at the drawing board, painting.
The apprentice was nervous. He had never seen his master err.
The master was worried. He had never let his disciples down.
This was a different day, it appeared, for the master and his disciples. On this day, things started taking a turn, one after another, for the worst.
The master was conscious, trying to watch over each and every of his own moves, adding to his worries with every step.
A moment’s hesitation on the master’s part started messing up things. Trying to control things that were taking birth at that moment started blotting the paper.
The apprentice, perspiring from nervousness, shook his head every time he was looked upon by the master (for approval).
The rice-paper was not easy to deceive. The rice-paper was ruthless.
Every attempt to impose control and to dictate the flow from the subconscious added to the mess.
What was taking shape on the paper was not a Zen painting, not at all!
The master tried. And then tried some more.
Until the ink ran out. The Zen painting was, however, nowhere in sight.
The master asked his apprentice to go out and make some more ink for him.
The apprentice promptly obliged. He stepped out, making more ink for the painting that was to be.
A few minutes later he entered the room, and what he saw spelled bound him.
“I was yielding to complexities than simplicity in my such attempts.”
“I was yielding to hesitation than spontaneity in my such attempts.”
See also: Meditation with a "Rational" personality
Given this premise, when one deals with rice-paper using ink, a moment’s worth of hesitation can blot the paper, spelling ruins and messing up the whole of “creation” thus far.
This is thus becomes the premise of Spontaneity.
Spontaneity, as exhaled in the Shinto texts saying, “… every natural impulse is [not to be rejected, but] to be sublimated…”
This wonderful little Zen story below brings the point home well:
The apprentice was watching over.
The Zen master was at the drawing board, painting.
The apprentice was nervous. He had never seen his master err.
The master was worried. He had never let his disciples down.
This was a different day, it appeared, for the master and his disciples. On this day, things started taking a turn, one after another, for the worst.The master was conscious, trying to watch over each and every of his own moves, adding to his worries with every step.
A moment’s hesitation on the master’s part started messing up things. Trying to control things that were taking birth at that moment started blotting the paper.
The apprentice, perspiring from nervousness, shook his head every time he was looked upon by the master (for approval).
The rice-paper was not easy to deceive. The rice-paper was ruthless.
Every attempt to impose control and to dictate the flow from the subconscious added to the mess.
What was taking shape on the paper was not a Zen painting, not at all!
The master tried. And then tried some more.
Until the ink ran out. The Zen painting was, however, nowhere in sight.
The master asked his apprentice to go out and make some more ink for him.
The apprentice promptly obliged. He stepped out, making more ink for the painting that was to be.
A few minutes later he entered the room, and what he saw spelled bound him.
"But this is perfect! This is a painting like none before!"
"What happened?"
The Zen master steps back from the board, admiring the new painting that he had just created in those few moments, he laughs to himself.
"I became aware of your presence..."
"Became aware of the very idea that someone is there, next to me, judging."
"The possibility of this judgment disturbed my inner still-point, putting me off-centred."
"To be judged favourably I was ‘trying’ to make it ‘perfect’. But now, I shall not be judged by anyone else but me. I shall not be disturbed."
"I shall not attempt to make it perfect."
"It would be."
“I was yielding to complexities than simplicity in my such attempts.”
“I was yielding to hesitation than spontaneity in my such attempts.”
See also: Meditation with a "Rational" personality