Oh, vastness of solitariness, blessing of silence! Let me, like that Rikiu, step into the sanctuary or idealism by the twilight of loneliness, the highest of all poetry!
This same Rikiu left us another story which pleases my mind greatly. Shoan, his son, was once told by his father to sweep or clean the garden path as Rikiu, the greatest aestheticist with the tea-bowl, doubtless expected some guest on that day; Shoan finished in due course his work of sweeping and washing the steppingstones with water. "Try again," Rikiu commanded when he had seen what he had done. Shoan again swept the ground and again washed the stones with water. Rikiu exclaimed again: "Try once more." His son, though he did not really understand what his father meant, obeyed, and once more swept the ground and once more washed the stepping-stones with water. "You stupid fool," Rikiu cried almost mad; "sweeping and watering are not true cleaning. I will show you what is to be done with the garden path." He shook the maple-trees to make the leaves fall, and decorate the ground with the gold brocade. "This is the real way of cleaning," Rikiu exclaimed in satisfaction. This little story always makes me pause and think. Indeed, the approach to the subject through the reverse side is more interesting, often the truest. Let me learn of death to truly live; let me be silent to truly sing.
