The First Emperor

On the gate of Obaku Temple in Kyoto, the large and majestic characters "First Emperor" command every gaze. Yet few know that this masterpiece was born from a process of deep inner struggle by Zen Master Sen, more than two hundred years ago.

That day, in his study, the rich scent of ink blended with the still air. Master Sen held his brush, preparing to write the model for the carvers. Beside him, his young disciple courageously ground the ink, his sharp eyes observing each stroke of his teacher’s hand.

Sen took a deep breath, gathered all his willpower, and wrote the first sheet. The strokes were strong and steady. He handed it to the boy with satisfaction. But the child frowned and shook his head.

"That is not beautiful, Master," he said.

Sen did not feel discouraged. He patiently wrote a second sheet, then a third. Each time he finished, he offered it to his disciple. And each time, the answer remained a blunt critique.

"Worse than the last one."

"Still not right."

"Not yet achieved."

Eighty-four sheets of paper piled up into a high stack. Sweat dotted Sen’s forehead, and his hands began to tremble from fatigue and pressure. He felt stuck, as anxiety seized his mind, making his strokes even more forced. Finally, the boy stepped out, leaving Sen alone in the room.

In that moment, when there was no longer the judging gaze of another person, and when the burden of "having to make it beautiful" was lifted, Sen’s mind suddenly became empty and peaceful. He no longer tried; he no longer worried. He picked up the brush and wrote quickly in one breath, relaxing his entire body. The three characters "First Emperor" appeared on the paper, soaring with spirit and radiating an easy grace.

The boy returned, saw the writing, and cried out in excitement.

"A masterpiece! Master, this is it!"

The Meaning of the Story

This story affirms the intimate connection between art and meditation. To create timeless value, the artist needs a pure mind, unbound by control or anxiety about the result. However, this letting go is not laziness or carelessness. It is the fruit of extraordinary effort, proven through eighty-four failures. Only after accumulating enough practice and undergoing rigorous training can one reach a state of naturalness, where technique merges with the path of the heart, creating the most perfect form of spontaneity.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang