SUBTLETY OF BRUSH STROKE PAINTING

(To the old master who left me his brushes)

The brushes of the old master waited
In a room filled with dusts
For the fingers
to follow
The subtle mind
Of a master
Invisible to the eyes
.
Who are you ?
Gripped by five fingers
A brush dangling in air
Concentrated
In one pointed mindfulness
Purity
In the mind
Reminiscent of a white jade
Never crafted.

Sharpening your sword
For more than ten years
Sharpen it
Until the blade is broken
While you bend lower and lower
.
Climbing social ladder
Downward,
plunge into nothingness
Neither crafting nor manipulating
You hollow your armpits and drop your hands
.
It is the whole
Posture for holding the brush
Centered, free from
the ego
Poor as poor can be
A life without a face
.
Starred at by cold eyes, pity eyes,
Disgraceful eyes, eyes too small
To transcend a mountain
Painted with eye brows
turned to opposite direction
Not outlining with cosmetic or fashion
.
Pour your guts out
Into history
A brush stroke dances freely
A brush stroke dipped in blood
Practiced patiently
With insults and humiliations
.
The brush stroke penetrates
The back of the paper
Is a blade sharpened
with millennium of exhausted bones
Nameless
Dipped in blood
spilled on mother earth
dried gradually
.
Catches the eyes with simplicity
Blood as ink
Honesty is a manifesto
Hung up in the sky
.
At the corner, stamped a seal,
The mind of the master
Always a secret
transmitted from heart to heart
.
Painting from the heart
without trying
to be anything.
In synchrony with the master
Genuine in oneself
.
Compassionate for every stroke
And everyone
You love
Forever
with nothing
.
Always a blank page
A master piece

By Stephanie Chin
http://stephaniechin88.blogspot.com/