Taking up the brush
Just for the joy of it,
Writing on and on,
Long lines of dancing letters.
To escape into the world of writing is no escape. I’m sitting in a plane about to launch for Japan reading Rengetsu’s word play. She is one of the reasons why I endure long flights to see through the imagined eyes of another time and place.
Her five-line waka poem, The Pleasure of Calligraphy celebrates a rhythmic moment of flow, a movement of mind expressed in beauty. She writes blissfully as ink captures the grace of nature at work in her discipline.
I write as if awkwardly learning a new language, two phrases forward and the next, scratched out. I’m slowly learning to trust the flow of my mind: noting what thoughts pop forward, which get edited out.
The calligraphy of Rengetsu is masterful. Her brushstrokes confident and rounded as if they were grass bending sensuously in the breeze. Her hand is steady into her eighties.
I write in fits and starts. Pleased in the end that I’ve gotten anything coherent on paper. Her genius is her total alignment with nature pure and direct.
She shatters my stereotype of the nun divorced from delight. Her joy breaks all bounds as she fearlessly leaps off the page and into my heart.
The roar of the waterfall,
The howl of a
Will they shout out to me
In Mountain Retreat her words plunge over the abyss of my insomnia. She implores us to pay attention to the deafening roar of our inherently wild nature.
I must listen to the terror lurking in my sleepless heart. Rengetsu powerfully frames awakening with awe struck wonder. Here she portrays life in relentless yet captivating terms.
Her question points to our all too human fear. Do I have the capacity? Can I reside in the storm moment-to-moment? Or will I contract into a dreaded future?
The choice to shout-out the beauty and the terror is ours. In her poetic howl we can guess Rengetsu embraces the night with valor. I cannot resist her invitation to celebrate it all.
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