May 21
In an idle hour, to take up the brush and write down whatever happens to pass through the mind — what strange peace there is in this aimless doing.
Reflections from the Stillness (freely rendered)
At the Door
In an idle hour, to take up the brush and write down whatever happens to pass through the mind — what strange peace there is in this aimless doing.
Wang Ziyou woke one night in Shanyin. Outside, heavy snow was falling. He opened up his room, had wine brought, and gazed out at the bright landscape. As he paced about, reciting a poem by Zuo Si to himself, he thought of his friend Dai Andao, who lived in Shan.
That same night Wang got into a small boat and set off to see him. The journey lasted until the following day. Having reached Dai's door, he did not go in but turned back. When someone asked him why, he answered that the impulse had brought him there; now it had passed. Why should he still have needed to see Dai?
