Vol 3 No 1 2009
Writing With Water
This morning watching the master practicing in the East Garden, near my
office.
I stop. Listen. He is bending, writing, students watching. No
one speaking.
Mid-morning, early November, roses still bloom. I walk this way to walk with
them,
speaking red, yellow, pink. Chinese roses my students assure me.
You
should see them earlier. Look how tall they are. Do you like them?
China rose petals
falling from November tops
pink on yellow red
He uses a large brush, long handle, worn, no hint of black remaining. A
tea jar
with water, not clear, two-thirds full, open, cover not near by. He
writes on the
cement of the park pavilion. Open green, curved stone
walking bridge, oval
pond, some gold fish near by. The bridge is for lovers
they tell me. Already
another dusty, dry day. Thin breath of the Gobi
moves as the water moves
forming each stroke, running into each new character. Students
part to make
room as I move closer. He motions, calls me Laoshi, teacher.
He offers me the
brush. My head shakes. No, you are Laoshi. I don’t
know what my mouth says.
I can feel the O of my lips. He offers
again. As I smile no with
my hand the
students smile. There I am. Holding the brush. I
tell him, I have a Chinese
name, the only character I know. When
I pronounce it he doesn’t listen. He
points to the pavement. I notice
his characters are fading. People are walking
by. Even the ginkgos are watching.
Ginkgo biloba
walking through the East Garden
memorizing now
I stand brush in hand. Practice. Holding the brush. I
draw in the air. Everyone
is quiet. Everyone watches. My movement
becomes the conversation. The water
jar still on the pavement. He
points again. I bend. Kneel on one knee. Reach,
pretend. Practice,
again. This time closer to the pavement, almost touching the
cement. I
say, I don’t know how. He points. I dip, draw, dip draw, dip and
the
brush remembers each of the six strokes. For the first time I
don’t think. Now
there is no one or two or three. There
is no next. I am my name. My name is
me. Dip, stroke
and when done, he says: Good, Laoshi. He
asks if I know my
name. I say I am An as in Xi'an, the students applaud.
He shows us how my
character has changed over time, four, maybe more, all
recognizable.
Your name with water
he says always meaning you
peace and safe return
CX Dillhunt
Monday, November 13, 2006, Xi’an Jiaotong University, PRC
CX Dillhunt