I’ve likely shared this story somewhere in the early days when I was doing this right, but it’s time for a retelling, regardless.
In some ancient town, there was this master calligrapher and zen artist who received a visit from a pretty well-off local. The visitor wanted to hire the artist to draw for him a cat, in that zen way of communicating the cat’s essence in pure and simple lines. The artist nodded and agreed, letting the local know that he would inform him when it is ready.
Well, time passed. A couple weeks went by with no word, making the local think that perhaps his drawing wasn’t as high on the artist’s priority list as he’d have liked. So he popped in to gently ask if the drawing was ready, and was politely told no, but he would be informed as soon as it was.
So the local waited until the following month before visiting again, enjoying tea and conversation, hoping the topic of the drawing would come up, if not the drawing itself. No dice. So before leaving, he asked, “Oh yes, the drawing of that cat, I don’t suppose I could pay you for it now and bring it home with me?” The artist apologized, replying, “No, it is not ready, I will let you know.”
Month after month, the local paid a visit, sometimes asking, sometimes not, but never going home with that darned cat. Finally, he visited on the anniversary of the day he’d first commissioned the work.
“Master, you are a busy artist I grant, and I respect your work and your time. But it has been a year! I insist you produce my drawing of a cat, or I shall have to withdraw my commission!” The local had tried to be patient, but was concerned he had come across as angry as he’d felt.
If so, the artist had the grace to pretend not to notice. Instead, he nodded respectfully, then sat down to his table. He set upon it a fresh, clean square of parchment, and dipped his brush into the ink. With one fluid motion, his brush moved to form the lines that drew a cat.
It was beautiful. It was simple. It expressed the stillness-before-action that is the very essence of a cat. The soul feels a “click” of understanding that nature, just by its contemplation.
The local was taken aback at first by the perfection of the drawing, then he became more angry than before. “If that’s all it took, why did I have to wait a year for this? Why didn’t you do this that first day?”
The artist was unperturbed, his patience still firmly in place. Humbly, he replied, “Because I could not do this before today.”
He then turned to his work cupboard, opening the door. Out spilled hundreds of smudged drawings of imperfect cats.
[…] So today, I’m sketching a cat. (nexusofnow.wordpress.com) […]
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