Zen and the Art of Writing

Some of the most powerful writing that I have encountered is to be found in Zen parables. And, I find it refreshing that most of the parable authors are anonymous. The parables exist without the burden of a writer's life to look at or explore. 

Too often the absolute wisdom to be found in Henry David Thoreau's Walden is ruined by someone who knows his biography too well: "Do you know that Thoreau didn't even stay at the pond the whole time? He came into town sometimes. What a hypocrite."

To which I often think, "You've read Walden and that's what you're worried about... that Thoreau had moments that ran counter to the philosophy he so beautifully espoused?"

I mean, even Jesus asked why he'd been forsaken. Espousing a life of faith and living a life of faith are two different things.

Forget the writer. 

The words, the stories, the lessons, and the wisdom are really all that matter.

Much of the wisdom in Zen parables is geared toward helping one change their perspective or realign their priorities. For instance, consider the parable called "Real Prosperity"

Real Prosperity A rich man asked Sengai to write something for the continued prosperity of his family so that it might be treasured from generation to generation. Sengai obtained a large sheet of paper and wrote: "Father dies, son dies, grandson dies." The rich man became angry. "I asked you to write something for the happiness of my family! Why do you make such a joke as this?" "No joke is intended," explained Sengai. "If before you yourself die your son should die, this would grieve you greatly. If your grandson should pass away before your son, both of you would be broken-hearted. If your family, generation after generation, passes away in the order I have named, it will be the natural course of life. I call this real prosperity."

It's so simple what Sengai is saying. It's a way of looking at and rethinking about prosperity, especially since too many people focus on money when they think about prosperity.

As mentioned in the parable, much of Zen is trying to help us stay on "the natural course of life." And, it's often money that perverts our natural relationship to the world. Zen parables subtly warn against the corrupting nature of money, luxuries, and possessions.

Consider the following parable:

The Moon Cannot Be Stolen Ryokan, a Zen master, lived the simplest kind of life in a little hut at the foot of a mountain. One evening a thief visited the hut only to discover there was nothing to steal. Ryokan returned and caught him. "You have come a long way to visit me," he told the prowler, "and you should not return empty-handed. Please take my clothes as a gift." The thief was bewildered. He took the clothes and slunk away. Ryokan sat naked, watching the moon. "Poor fellow," he mused, "I wish I could have given him this beautiful moon." The thief represents the worst kind of ambition... the perverting ambition that corrupts our souls into believing possessions so important that we would take that which isn't ours. So corrupted (or simply confused) the thief takes the clothes of the Zen master. He wants something for his effort, and Ryokan offered it freely, if not sadly.  Ryokan doesn't mean to actually give the thief the moon, but instead I believe he means he wishes he had the ability to help the thief see all of the gifts of the world that are available for free. Most human misery is tied to this sense that we don't have enough or don't have the best. Enough of what? For too many people, the answer to that question is enough possessions of monetary value. We want a new phone, a new car, new clothes, new makeup etc... without realizing that all of those things will fade. And so, our misery is assured if we stay in this frame of mind regarding our approach to life. I think this can be true, too, about how we approach writing. We too often miss "the moon" that is a part of the writing... or could be all of the writing if we could just let the clouds part. Let me attempt my own parable. The Moon In Writing Ryokan, a Zen master, received a young writer who was in crisis regarding his writing. He was an ocean of questions: "I don't know if what I'm writing is marketable. Should I change it? What's marketable right now? How many followers should I have on Twitter? How do I get more? How do I get engagement so as to attract more attention to myself in the algorithms? How much should I spend on a book cover? Should I even self publish? Should I try for an agent? I sent out 90 queries. Is that enough? I want an agent more than anything else. I want to be published more than anything else. I want to be a best seller more than anything else. I absolutely, positively must have my writing validated in some kind of way that comes from outside of myself." When the young writer ran out of steam, Ryokan looked at him with sympathy. "Is the writing not enough?" he asked. "What? I don't even understand that question." "You should pursue accounting as an occupation then," Ryokan said. "How dare you! You've never even read my work. How can you say that?" the writer said as he stormed off. "How can I not," Ryokan said. Well, whether or not I have a career ahead of me in parable writing is yet to be determined. But, I do wish more folks could enjoy "the moon" that's in the writing... and that's the creative act itself. More than anything (more than wanting an agent, wanting sales, wanting recognition, wanting awards, wanting reviews, etc) you have to enjoy the creative act of writing. You have to learn to understand that as the greatest gift. Getting lost in the creative process. Having ideas click. Riding the euphoria of a sublime writing session.  Having writing in your life is not unlike a room... a room where you can escape the mundane and tap into the naturally creative creatures that we are. So much of life is already mundane and focused on the unnatural pursuit of things. "I did something so I should get something of monetary value in return," is a poisonous statement when it comes to your creativity. By our nature, I believe, we are creative creatures with the itch to echo the world back to the world and to bring something into the world that exists because we exist. A wordless child given a crayon and paper begins immediately with the implied statement: "Here's something from me that I need to express for me." The child transcends her existence and brings something into the world, her little brain and spirit on fire as her crayon in her fingers blossoms her vision onto the blank page.  It is enough. That only gets corrupted when a parent says, "let me see." They heap praise, and soon it's the praise the child wants more than the transcendence. The pursuit of praise covers the moon in a piling of storm clouds. We shouldn't forget the moon in the writing... the natural joy from the natural act of creating. If we can truly embrace that, everything else becomes frosting.  But if we prioritize the external rewards over the internal journey, we end up like the thief... bewildered and slinking away, clinging pathetically to what amounts to the ragged external rewards that the fickle writing life so often has to offer.