And still further, “Be like a simple block of wood. Remember, when you search the forest for the right wood to build your furniture, how you look for certain qualities and characteristics. You look for the shape of the piece that you are going to build as if it is already in the wood itself. You too are a simple block of wood, with all your ineffable qualities and characteristics waiting there to be freed by your own spiritual practice. Be simple and natural like a block of wood.”
They told him these things and they showed him the simple yet profound writings of their teacher, Lao Tzu, the revealer of the Way, who had once been the royal archivist, in charge of the imperial library, who had sickened of a corrupt and cruel society and so had left for the far-off wilderness, never to be seen again. But before he went away he had left this small book of some of his teachings, to be shared with others – those who wanted to rule a country and those who wanted to rule themselves.
Ai Tai To was strong and robust, even by country standards. How he could maintain his health so well with the simple food of the country and his own often backbreaking labour I did not understand. I, who had lived all of my life at court, could barely keep up with him when we went on a walk later that day. He stopped and showed me how to breathe “from my heels”. He told me that if men only knew how to breathe properly, many of the diseases that laid waste to us all could easily be avoided.
I watched him as he moved among the trees, often reaching out and caressing a certain one. He would even murmur things to them, as if they were old friends. I saw too, how he moved like an animal there in the forest, not like a clumsy, noisy man, as I did. I saw that he was at home there, not as a man, but as a part of the forest itself.
When we returned to his hut I again entreated him to come with me, but again he refused. Finally, taking pity on me I believe, he said that he would come when winter arrived, since he would no longer be able to move through the forest as he liked anyway, with the snow and the cold. I rejoiced then and thanked him and would have given him gold right then but he refused it, saying he had not yet earned it. I should wait until he came to me and then see if he was worth anything at all.
I waited the rest of that year impatiently. I had arranged to obtain a copy of the book by Lao Tzu that Ai Tai To had shown me but had much trouble in understanding it. It seemed to be written in such a simple yet abstruse fashion that I could make very little sense of it. I knew that there was something there for me but I could not find it. I know now that it was my own mind that got in my way. If I had been able to relax and just listen to the sage’s words with my shen or spirit mind, I would have understood all that was there, just as Ai Tai To did. But this I did not learn until much later, after Ai Tai To had left me and it was too late.
Finally the day came when one of my guards announced that a very ugly and rude man had arrived, asking to see me. He had, of course, driven him away immediately. Beside myself, I pushed him aside and ran out of the palace searching for my friend. I found him in the marketplace, sitting with the craftspeople, comparing notes on woodworking and drinking wine. I led him back to my palace in front of my dumbfounded guards and into my inner chamber. There I prostrated myself at his feet, though he immediately drew me up.
I had been having much trouble with my rapacious neighbours and had great need of his counsel. He was able to help me then. He gave me good and useful advice, cutting through all the usual layers of false diplomacy and erroneous truths. I followed it and prospered.
Every day Ai Tai To would sit with me and give advice on the ruling of my kingdom, often quoting from Lao Tzu’s work. “Rule a kingdom as if cooking a small fish,” he once told me. “If you interfere with it too much while cooking, it will fall apart and be inedible.”
In the evening he would sit with me and help to calm my mind and train my breathing. We would sit for hours, exploring deeply the wonders of the inner world of Tao. He became my confidant, my teacher, my counsellor and the best friend I ever had.
At first no one else in the palace trusted him. With his strange and even hideous looks they were sure that he was evil. But gradually they came under his spell, just as I had, just as the villagers in his own home had. Even my ladies-in-waiting, instead of shrinking back in revulsion, began to ask about him wistfully and I found myself becoming a little jealous of him.
How he managed this transformation of people’s regard of him I never truly understood. Of course to me he was useful and wise. He knew the ways of the human heart better than any man or woman I had ever known. Often it seemed that he was even able to use his ugliness in his own favour. Perhaps if he had been as handsome as he was wise, he would have become like most other men, crafty and selfish. Perhaps his suffering, as I am sure he must have suffered growing up with that face, had taught him something about the human condition that others did not know.
All I know is that, after the initial shock of seeing him for the first time, people relaxed and were able to open themselves to him, where they were unable to others, even me. Often I found him giving counsel or advice to various members of my court. He would accept no reward from them, saying that he was being generously paid by me already and had no use for more gold. There was no place to spend gold in the forest.
Eventually I began to rely upon him so greatly that one night I awoke with the idea that he, Ai Tai To, should be the ruler of my kingdom instead of me. I was overjoyed and humbled by this idea. I ran to him in the morning and joyously told him of my plan. I would hand over the reins of the state to him. I would remain, of course, in the court, but only as a sort of regent or second-in-command. I had expected him to share this vision with me and be as happy as I was. I was wrong.
His face clouded over as soon as I told him of my plans. For the first time I saw him as truly ugly. His features grew dark and bunched together. I was afraid he was becoming angry. I stopped speaking and watched him struggle with himself for a few moments. Then he began breathing deeply, his face unclenched and he looked again as my wise counsellor and friend. “I must think about this,” he told me, and turned away. “Please, let me alone to think about this thing.”
I went away then and stayed away for the whole day. Of course, I thought, he is overwhelmed with my idea. After all, he is a simple rustic peasant. The thought of being a ruler is a very difficult thing for him to accept right away. I would wait until morning and approach him again.
But when I went to his chambers in the morning I found that he was gone. He had left in the night and no one had seen him go. I searched frantically for him throughout the whole town but he was not to be found. I even travelled again to his far-off village but no one there had seen him either.
Now, years later, I think I have begun to understand a little why Ai Tai To did not accept my offer and allow me to step down in his place. At first I thought it was that he was frightened of so great a responsibility but then I realized that he was not frightened of anything. I thought back to the first night that he spent here in the palace. How he had paced the floor of his splendid chambers like a wild animal and I thought then that he would bolt and return to his forest.
I had asked him what was wrong, were his quarters not comfortable enough? “This is a trap,” he had answered, looking for a moment like a great bear. “My friend, you have trapped me here and I do not know if I will be able to escape.”
I had stood, dumbfounded at this. “Why would you want to escape from here?” I had asked, looking around at the sumptuous surroundings.
“Because I will lose myself in here with all these comforts. I will lose my sense of the Way and become lost in the world of dust and duty.”
I assured him then that he would be able to leave whenever he wanted. He seemed to calm down then and as the days passed, I thought that he had become more accustomed to his rich surroundings. But he had not.
He knew as soon as I offered to step down and give my throne to him that if he had accepted, he would be lost forever, just as I was. I knew that he had strug
gled with his sense of duty and obligation and even friendship for me. But at the end, he had chosen to be true to himself and for that I was, and am, glad.
Often I think of my ugly friend, as I grow ever older here in my palace. I think that I am a slightly better ruler than I was before, thanks to him. I often spend whole nights puzzling over passages of Lao Tzu’s work and the older I get, the more I think I understand. It is at times when I am tired and feeling feeble-minded that I think I understand the most. I can often see my old friend’s face then, with its ugly contours, lit up from within with the joy and wisdom of the Tao and I am grateful indeed for having known him but eternally sad that he had to go away.
CHUANG TZU
TALE 18
His Cup Runneth Over
There was once a highly educated and somewhat arrogant student of the Way. Upon hearing that an old sage lived nearby he decided to visit so that he could show off his great depth of knowledge in hopes of gaining some new tidbit to add to his résumé.
When he arrived at the sage’s home he was surprised to find it but a humble hut. Inside, an old man with a long wispy beard and bright shining eyes sat over a tea kettle, humming to himself.
Presently he looked up and, upon seeing the student outside of his door, bade him enter his hut. He then sat the student down in the place of honour and asked the student to join him in some tea.
They sat, and while the student boasted about his education and recounted his many accomplishments, the old master began to fill his guest’s teacup. As the student rambled on and on so too did the old master keep pouring tea into his cup until the hot tea overflowed across the table and poured onto the student’s lap.
“What are you doing, you old dolt?” the student shrieked, leaping from his chair. “You are spilling tea everywhere. Can’t you see that my cup is already full?”
The sage calmly stopped pouring tea and looked at him. “Your mind, sir, is much like this teacup. I’m afraid it is already too full for me to be able to fit anything else into. Else it will surely run over and spill everywhere.”
TRADITIONAL
TALE 19
The Man Who Wanted to Forget
There was once a man by the name of Hua Zi who had lost his memory. It was said that if he was told a thing in the morning he would forget it by night. If you were to give him a present he would forget to take it with him. In the street he would stop suddenly, forgetting where he was going, forgetting even how to walk. When he finally arrived home he would stand in the middle of the room, forgetting where to sit. Each day he would forget what had happened the day before.
Naturally, his family was quite distraught. Admittedly, he did not seem too unhappy. As a matter of fact, he seemed quite at ease with his illness but the family was suffering, the family business was suffering, the family’s name in the town was suffering and that was just too much.
So the family met and decided to call in various healers, diviners and even sorcerers to see if they could effect a cure, but all to no avail. They called in a doctor of the medical arts, who, after feeling the old man’s pulses and looking at his tongue, shook his head and said that there was nothing he could do for the patient. “There is a wind in his shen,” he told them. “His spirit is wandering far from here and I do not know how to call it back. His liver is out of accord with his spleen and his lungs and his kidneys are not in communication. I recommend giving up hope for a cure.” Then he charged them one gold piece for his examination and left the house.
Then one day the family was told about a certain philosopher, a man of high learning and erudition, who might be able to help them with their plight. So anxious for a cure was the family that when the philosopher, who, although he appeared on the young side for so high an office, demanded half their business as his fee, they agreed.
The philosopher was led into the chambers of the old man Hua Zi, who sat on the edge of his bed with a benign though vacant smile. The philosopher walked back and forth in front of Hua Zi for a time, pulling on his slight whiskers. He went over and peered into Hua Zi’s ears, then his eyes, and then his nose. Satisfied he turned to the family, who had all gathered there.
“This disease cannot be cured by the usual methods,” he announced authoritatively. “Yes, yes,” agreed the family. “So we have been told.”
“Yes,” repeated the philosopher, “this is a very serious case indeed. It cannot be cured with herbs, with incantations, with divination or any of the usual methods. It can only be cured by restoring his mind.”
Well, the family could not help but agree with this learned though very young philosopher. “Yes,” announced the first-born, “it is plain to see that it is his mind that is troubled. No wonder those other diviners, healers and doctors were not able to cure him with all of their talk about his feng shui being out of balance, his five transformations being out of synch, his organs all being blown about by an internal wind. I could have told you as much, if you had asked me.” Here he gave the rest of the family the haughty glare of the first-born.
So, after drawing up the contract to be paid half of the family’s vast business holdings, the young philosopher began his cure. First he stripped Hua Zi of all his clothing. After spending a pleasant morning in the sun out in the garden, Hua Zi began to feel cold as the afternoon breezes began to blow. He came into the house, as naked as a baby and began to look for his clothing.
“See,” said the philosopher, pointing to the naked old man wandering throughout the house searching for his clothes. “The cure is beginning to work already.”
Next he took away all of Hua Zi’s food, giving orders that on no account was Hua Zi to be given anything to eat. Well, after a couple of days of this, poor Hua Zi began to feel very hungry indeed and began roaming through the house, searching for some crumb to eat.
Again the philosopher was jubilant. He called the family together and said, “His disease can indeed be cured. But now I must use a very secret and powerful method that has been passed down to me by a long line of very wise teachers. I cannot allow you to be here while I practise it. Please return in seven days and the cure will be complete.”
And so the family, with much muttering and shaking of heads, were led out of the old man’s chambers, not to return for seven days.
Sure enough, when they returned seven days later they found Hua Zi completely cured! To this day no one knows how this very young but very talented philosopher was able to untangle the tortured mind of Hua Zi, but cure him he did.
However, as soon as Hua Zi saw his family enter his chambers he gave out a great roar and lunged at his first-born and chased him out of the room and down the corridors, all the way out to the street, beating him about the head and shoulders all the way. Then he turned on his poor old wife and drove her out of the room. His other family members begged him to be calm and cease his violent activities, whereupon he began beating them, all the while shouting in a very loud voice. Finally, when he had driven all the family members out of the house he took up his old hunting spear and went after the philosopher!
The philosopher ran speedily out of the house and into the street, shouting at the top of his lungs, “Murder! Murder!” A few of the local constables heard his cries and came to his aid. Imagine their surprise when they found old, harmless, forgetful Hua Zi bearing down on the prostrate philosopher with a hunting spear!
They managed to disarm and arrest Hua Zi and dragged him down to the police station and charged him with attempted murder of the philosopher.
Upon being questioned as to his actions Hua Zi replied, “When I lost my mind I was happy, carefree and felt myself as boundless as the sky. When I slept I had no dreams, at least that I can remember, and I woke up each day into a new world. I had nothing on my mind and I felt like a free man. Now that I have my memory back, all my old problems and fears have come back to haunt me! I can now remember all the joy and sorrows, triumphs and troubles, and fortune and misfortune of my long life. There is no end to it.
“When I forgot myself I was happy, I was safe, I was serene. Now that I have my memory back I am miserable. I have woken up from my happy dream into a nightmare! Shall I never return to those happy days when my memory was lost?”
LIEH TZU
Where can I find a man
who has forgotten words?
I would like to have a
word with him.
CHUANG TZU
TALE 20
Playing with the Fish
Chuang Tzu and his friend Hui Tzu were ambling about in the Garden of Perpetual Harmony one fine day. Their conversation ranged from how lovely the weather had been lately to the art of compounding herbal preparations for longevity. Hui Tzu was of the opinion that one could not only live a long and healthy life by ingesting these formulas, many of which contained poisonous minerals, but could attain immortality. Chuang Tzu, on the other hand, was of the opinion that what he called “all this grasping after immortality” was a waste of time and utter foolishness.
“We are already immortal,” he would say to his friend. “As we are all part of the great unending and constantly transforming Tao, our immortality is assured. There is no need to ingest noxious brews or stretch ourselves into strange and painful contortions in order to attain immortality. Just live your life in accordance with the Tao and your immortality will manifest of itself.”
But Hui Tzu was not convinced. “If that were true,” he argued, “then every blockhead that lives is really an immortal.”
“Just so,” answered Chuang Tzu.
At one point, when they were crossing the Hao river, which was spanned by an ancient and lovely moon bridge, Chuang Tzu said to his friend, “These fish we see below us come out and swim about so leisurely. This is the joy of fishes.”
Tales From the Tao Page 5