Lines and Circles

Yesterday, after a very long time, I got my paints out. Scraps of paper, Chinese ink and brushes. My mind needed a break from myself. More than meditating on a swara with my tanpura, more than sitting under a tree practicing no mind, more than the rigour of hatha yoga, a session with Chinese ink and brush immediately reveals a churning mind, stressed hasty breaths, turbulent turmoil raging inside in wavery lines, imperfect strokes, incomplete circles - circles of life gone haywire, broken, out of shape.

So I sit with my array of charcoal ink, some bamboo brushes, and a thick sheaf of papers. I know I must remember to slow down my breath, untie knots in my head, clear away thoughts - troubling monkeys jumping around. I focus within, center myself and prepare to let go. I wait for the right moment, like a diver poised high above water's surface. Eyes closed, mind blank, I know I am ready to make take up a most difficult challenge - no scope for errors here - I am ready to paint a circle - a Zen circle. With a single flourish, a twirl of a wrist, and a perfect circle, large, bold, clear, ends joining seamlessly. Hurrah! I achieved, in that instant, a short space of no mind, No Mind, NO MIND! I am joyous. I pick up the brush - another empty paper, another flourish -
no circle, no no-mind. I get irritated, I have done this before - again, with the imagined flourish of a Zen master - again no circle, wavery, weird oblong shapes. Two more attempts -disastrous!
I have become conscious of my self again, the hugely dominating me....I give up! I practice, doodle, play, enjoy shapes, lines, bamboos, orchids, grass, and when I have played enough, I return to the circle. In my absorbed playfulness, in my no-me state, I again attempt the circle -perfect. Yet again - perfect again. By now, the mind is calm, the heart happy - all the playtime has been good for me. I get up to make lunch.
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My daughter arrives from school. She is a happy child these days. After lunch, she finds my papers, paints spread about on the floor. She asks if she could also do some painting, could she also do circles. I smile, and agree, and watch, mildly indulgent, mildly superior.

She picks up the brush, with a flourish, a circle -Perfect! Another, and another, gorgeous, perfect beauties of calm head and attentive mind, one after another, churning out perfections of her mind - or no mind. She is a child, she is playing, she is perfect. I watch, thunderstruck, stunned, amazed. Is my child a genius? Are all children genius? For that is what I am witnessing - uncluttered mind, unburdened heart, just manifestation of innocence, of attentive play. So what is difficult for an adult, is precisely because they have lost touch with their childhood, the innocence of one mindedness. All children are Zen - no reading books, manuals, no search for a guru, teacher, just to be, is easy - as a child.

I have learnt a lot today. Will knowing help? Maybe! I just have to remember to be at ease and to play.