Clarity by way of attachmentThe Clinging
Fire must cling to something before it can burn.
Li is fire, and clinging. Fire has no shape of its own; only on wood does it show force. Two Li stacked: brightness doubled — after sunset the moon; behind the moon, the stars. Light never dies; it only changes what it rests on. All bright things need a carrier: people need work to carry them, ideas need form. Knowing how to attach is not weakness but wisdom.
A line: the sun already westering — if by then you cannot still sing and beat the pot, nothing remains but sighs over age. Light always slants in the end: this is Li's sobriety. Remember in full light that it sets, and at setting you will not panic.
Practice Think of something you lately over-forced — the thing was not wrong; it lacked a fitting carrier. Ask: which concrete form, rhythm, or person would let you use less force?