OLD JAPAN: RICE AND FALL

I encourage my disciple Tossai to take up Shodo, the way of the brush, which is another form of Zen meditation and also a means of checking on a student's progress: if the mind is correct, the brush stroke is correct.

I teach him to hold the Futofude brush with correctness of mind and breathing, and thus imbue his strokes with dynamic rhythm. First he fashions the character Ki, meaning lifeforce or energy, made of symbols for brown rice and steam; then Yin-Yang, to teach him the balance of the middle way.

Unfortunately, Tossai so lacks balance due to overeating rice, his strokes more and more resemble wet skid marks on a loin cloth; until he finally falls off his stool.

Even so, next day he proudly fastens his daub like a flag to flutter above the temple chimney. Instead of therapeutically thrashing Tossai, I employ a Koan, or Zen riddle for him to reflect upon and rise above his floundering.

"What is that, fluttering there?" I growl quietly.

"My flag is moving, Master."

"No it isn't," I reply, raising my stick.

"Then the wind is moving?"

"No, numpty, not the wind and not your flag, but hopefully your mind!"

His face brightens and for a second I believe his mind moves, knocking on the door of Satori; but his soul isn't in. It is already down the road, knocking on village doors, with his rice bowl held out.