Say Nothing

There is the story of the nephew who had inherited the wealth of his father. As soon as he did he began to spend freely in wild living. His uncle, the master, heard of this and decided to visit him. When he arrived he was made most welcome by his nephew. He could see that the stories he had heard were true. He said nothing simply meditated as usual and spoke kindly to him. The next morning the master called his nephew.” I am getting very frail and shaky,” he said “Can you help me tie the lace of my sandal?” The nephew you did just that. The old man then said to him, “Old age comes to us all, I am so glad I lived a good life or things might have been so much worse.” He said no more, thanked him for his hospitality and left.


Although he in fact said nothing, the nephew changed his ways and the uncle grew to be proud of him as well as very fond.

I spoke the other day of my inflicted term of silence. Six months of being unable to speak is a frightening experience for one who uses their voice to provide for his family. It was for me a time to think and to assess. Nobody needed to say anything to me about my life. I had all the time in the world to say it to myself. It is often easily misunderstood

I have often said before that I can be guilty of putting the mouth into action without first engaging the brain. This is true but nearly as often as prior to my time of silence.

Like the nephew it is good to take stock now and then. To ask, “Where is it I am heading, where am I going?” This need not be as drastic as it was for the nephew, or for that matter for me. Nevertheless, we cannot just go on and on doing the same thing day in and day out. Or can WE?



This blog is linked to my other blog where I discuss the artwork used:- From a Distance

The Sound of One Hand

We have just had a general election in the United Kingdom. I do not know about anybody else but on such nights I cannot sleep, I stay awake and watch as the results pore in. It was an interesting night in many ways, one of the most interesting it is difficult to look at the results and talk in the same breath of a United Kingdom.


But, let’s have no more of that. I was intrigued to read all the comments yesterday, your thoughts on the sound of silence. Jerry had two bites of the cherry and got us thinking of Simon and Garfunkel. All in all it gave me a very interesting day of thinking. I thank you all, it took me back in so many ways.

I remember when I began teaching philosophy and world religions. I used to tell the following tale to my students and set them a task. Some of them got really involved in the attempt others gave up very quickly, thinking it was all nonsense. These were the ones I knew I was going to have to challenge if they were to get the awards they wanted.

Let me tell you the tale, then let you think on it. Sherry, those little thoughts that buzz round in the silence have a go at this in those sounds.

A young monk went to his master asking for help with his meditation. The master sat him down and said to him, “Clap your hands together please.” The young lad did as he was asked. “Now I want you to go and remembering the sound of two hands I want you to discover the sound of one hand clapping.”

As the lad meditated he heard the soft music of the geishas. H asked the master if this was the sound but was told no. As the weeks stretched on he returned to the master often with different ideas. He discovered that it was not the gentle sound of water, or the sound of the gentle breeze. Neither was it the hum of the buzzards.

More then ten times he returned over the course of a year. The he discovered the answer.

As I go off to contemplate the back of my eyelids I leave you the riddle. “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” I will tell you something I never ever told my students. Every artist knows the answer.

I am not sure if I will be able to post a blog over the weekend but will make every effort to do so if not see you next week.



This blog is linked to my other where the artwork used is discussed:- Cape Lilly

The First and the Last

I lived a distance from school a journey I made four times a day. I wandered slowly down in the morning wishing I was going elsewhere, I ran at great speed there and back at lunchtime and wandered slowly home at night. The journey home I took the long path through the field, even then I had a love of nature born from my Sunday walks with my father.


One day I was followed by one of the school bullies, he was threatening me with all sorts of threats if I did not do what he wanted. I was trembling in my shoes, what was I going to do? I could run, but I knew that would be useless. Without thinking I turned and threw my fist in his direction. It connected with his face causing a cut to his lip and causing his nose to bleed. The next morning the bully was not in the line of pupils waiting to go into school. The teacher came out and called my name telling me I was to go and see the head teacher. There in his room was the bully and his mother. The head teacher said to the mother, “Do you see what I mean about the difference in size?” nevertheless I was given a lecture about fighting. A lecture I really did not need because I had already made up my mind that what had happened would never ever occur again.

There is the wonderful story of the soldier and the Zen Master. The soldier came to ask if there really was a paradise and a hell. The master asked, “Who are you?” The soldier with great pride said, “I am a samurai.”

“You a soldier,” said the master, “look at you, who would ever want you to guard his gate? You look more like a beggar than a soldier.” The soldier grew very angry and drew his sword. “Ah you have a sword,” said the master, “I am sure it is so dull it is of no use.”

The soldier raised the sword to strike. The master said, “Here open the doors to hell.” The soldier thought for a moment and put his sword in its sheath. “Here open the doors to paradise.” said the master.

Whether we live our life as if a living hell or a paradise full of friends and love is a matter of the choices we make.

I guess if I had boasted of beating the school bully I might have had a few more punches to throw. But here I am all those years later still remembering the one and only punch I have ever thrown.

This post is linked to my other blog where I discuss the artwork used:- Alpha-Omega

Engaging The Brain

The other day I spoke of putting my mouth in gear before engaging my brain. I have held on to that thought since writing it here and mulled it over, as is so often my want. Sherry made a comment on the blog about the “Slow Drive” that she had not expected me to react in that way. Well in my defence it was some years ago, but here was a perfect example of the mouth out of gear. I am sure Sharon was right nothing was achieved and I only felt better for a very short time and have remembered it ever since and not with pride.


When I was very young and still a schoolboy in short trousers, yes we wore them till we got to secondary school, I had many things that brought their little problems. I was the smallest in my year group if not my school; I got the nickname “Titch”. I had carrot red hair and freckles. I came from a very poor background and although my mother tried hard to compensate I was aware of it. So I did not have much going for me did I?

The one thing I did have was a fast tongue and a fairly sharp mind and wit, which because of all of the above I tended to keep well hidden. The Tongue though got me out of many scrapes, and the bullying that might have been was often avoided because the giver preferred not to hear what I thought of them, and the smart nickname just might stick. Those of us with red hair do have a tendency to fiery tempers; I was no exception to the rule.

Those things I have struggled to keep in check and under strict control but the odd relapses do happen.

There is a story of the Prime Minister of the Tang Dynasty who was a national hero for his success as both a statesman and military leader. Despite his fame, power, and wealth, he considered himself a humble and devout Buddhist. Often he visited his favourite Zen master to study under him, and they seemed to get along very well. The fact that he was prime minister apparently had no effect on their relationship, which seemed to be simply one of a revered master and respectful student.

One day, during his usual visit, the Prime Minister asked the master, "Your Reverence, what is egotism according to Buddhism?" The master's face turned red, and in a very condescending and insulting tone of voice, he shot back, "What kind of stupid question is that!?"

This unexpected response so shocked the Prime Minister that he became sullen and angry. "Huh so this is how you treat me?" he said angrily.  The Zen master then smiled and said, "THIS, Your Excellency, is egotism."

This is a lesson I have tried hard to learn and then put into practice. Engage the brain before putting the mouth in gear. Sometimes I fail.



This is the way of Tao.



This Blog is linked to my other blog where the artwork used is discussed:- Be Still

The Art of Concentration

The other day  I decided to try and paint again after my stretch off caused by my accident. A friend said jokingly that his would be something worth watching. I set up my laptop in front of my easel connected to my friend’s computer and began to work. My friend was able to watch or not and I was not aware of whether I was being watched, or if I was working on my own. It was an interesting experience and I was able to work without ever really thinking about being watched.


After I had decided to stop for the day, because the pain was beginning to return to the point of being unbearable my friend commented on my intensity of concentration. My friend on the other hand tells me that such concentration for her is not possible. When she paints she tells me her mind flits from one thought to another. Different strokes for different folks I guess. What surprised me was when she pointed out the time. I had painted non stop from eleven in the morning till three in the afternoon. I was sure that I had only been at it for about just over an hour.

This has brought me much pleasure in the last few days to realise that I was once again capable of this level of concentration. I would hate never to paint again but even more I would hate to lose the ability to give my mind solely to the task in hand. I have spent many years trying to develop this skill and I hope it is the last one to leave me. The trouble is you, see my head is so full of things buzzing around like a hive of bees all demanding my attention that I have had to learn how to filter them all out and be selective in my thoughts when doing something I consider important. Maybe that is why I keep sitting on spectacles or on the other hand searching for them only to realise I have them on. Maybe also that is why I sometimes come upstairs and wonder why I did. It has nothing at all to do with my aging process. Now that does make me feel good. But who am I kidding here?

There is the lovely story of the Zen master who possessed the ability to concentrate so hard that his students were a bit afraid of him. He seemed to be unruffled by anything. One day they thought they would try and bring him back into their realm of concentration. They all hid in the cloisters of the monastery and waited on him walking past. Soon he came carrying a cup of precious tea. As he passed they all jumped out yelling and shouting. He never blinked and carried on till he reached the small table at the far end. Here he laid down his cup, leaned against the wall, and cried out in shock, “Ohhhhh!”

One thing at a time one thought at a moment and savour the moment and the thought. I have so many wonderful thoughts to savour from the comments you all make on my blog and the blogs I read. Thank you all.

This is the way of Tao.

This blog is linked to my other blog where I discuss the tale of this artwork:-Tiger Pause