“It is not very good, I am afraid,” said the student, as she handed the Tao her artwork for the week. “I really am not an artist. I do not have it in me.”
The Tao looked at the drawing. There were strong, repeated, scratchy lines, seemingly without direction or intent, but it formed a face of a girl. The Tao was surprised by the strength of the lines on paper: incomplete and random individually, but radically different and meaningful as a whole.
The girl’s eyes were closed.
“This is interestingly different,” said the Tao. “I have never seen a portrait where the person’s eyes are closed. I love it.”
“She is dreaming,” said the student.
“And what dreams does she dream?”
“She dreams of life, its trials and tribulations, torments, wars and inequalities, the unhappiness all around ...”
“But there are good things in life too, like love, peace and happiness, friendship ...” the Tao said.
“But she does not know them, she has never experienced them ...”
“May be you should open up her eyes?”