Night 14 · Looking back, looking ahead

Loosened by an Inch

松了一寸

不知周之梦为胡蝶与，胡蝶之梦为周与？

Was it Zhou who dreamed of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming of being Zhou?

Zhuangzi, Chapter 2, “On the Equality of Things”

02 Tonight

Another week. Maybe some nights loosened a little, maybe not. Tonight there is no new assignment. Only a look back at the seven days' road.

03 How the ancients saw it

On the eighth night, Zhuangzi dreamed of a butterfly. In the first waking, you need not settle who you are.

On the ninth night, the eight characters by the river in the Chronological Biography—this mind is bright—still hold. That you can put yourself on trial at midnight means light remains; with light, fewer words are enough.

On the tenth night, Tao Yuanming called return. You are already home; the day's service of the heart can knock off.

On the eleventh night, Nanquan said ordinary mind is the Way. The night need not become a performance of practice. Lying here is enough.

On the twelfth night, Zhuangzi planted the useless tree in open wilds. Rest is not a wrong knot in the wood.

On the thirteenth night, moonlight entered Su Shi's door and he walked to Chengtian Temple. When you cannot sleep, first give waking somewhere to go.

Looking back, this week stayed inside looseness: loosening the rush to pin identity down, loosening the long midnight brief against yourself, loosening the grip on the day, loosening the ruler that treats rest as failure. Loose is not collapsed. Loose is a little space where things were too tight.

One image is still enough: a wing in moonlight, a lamp on the river, a crack in a gate, an upside-down bowl, shade under a wild tree, bamboo shadow at Chengtian Temple. Keep whichever one lowered the shoulders by a centimeter.

No need to reply. If one word wants to stay, you can answer this email. Every reply is read, though we cannot answer each one.

Next week, after looseness, we begin to touch a little standing. Not sudden hardness—only letting something that has quieted down slowly take on a weight that can hold. The old books will offer more ways of setting the mind in one place. We will still go slowly.

04 One line for the pillow

If this week loosened by an inch, an inch is enough.

05 A quiet image to end on

A butterfly rests on the window lattice, wings closed. Outside, a thin light is beginning. In the courtyard a tree stands, not yet called away to become lumber.

Words of the night