A Minute Meditation: a paradox or a contradiction or. . .?

August 6

All theories are completely false.

-- Chuang Tzu --
from Taoist Wisdom:  Daily Teachings 


Does this include his theory? 

A Minute Meditation

Wish I had learned this long ago, and now I wish I could remember this in time.


Wisdom is knowing when to stop speaking .  .  .

-- Chuang Tzu --
from Taoist Wisdom:  Daily Teachings from the Taoist Sages

Octavio Paz: some short poems

Here

My steps along this street
resound
             in another street
in which
              I hear my steps
passing along this street
in which

Only the mist is real

   -- Octavio Paz --

I have been in a thick fog or mist and there are strange sounds and strange visions immersed in there, along with me.


Pedestrian

He walked among the crowds
on the Boulevard Sebasto',
thinking about things.
A red light stopped him.
He looked up:
                        over
the gray roofs, silver
among the brown birds,
a fish flew.
The light turned green.
As he crossed the street he wondered
what he'd been thinking.

         -- Octavio Paz --

I was not very alert when I first read this poem, but something bothered me about it--just couldn't put my finger on it.  I am ashamed to admit that I didn't find it until the third reading.  Perhaps I did see it the second time but refused to "see it."   Perhaps the colors distracted me as I read along--first red, then gray, followed by silver and then brown, with the silver being the only color that didn't immediately precede the noun it modified.  Who knows?  Maybe I'm just an inattentive reader at times (only at times I hope.)




Exclamation

Stillness
              not on the branch
in the air
               Not in the air
in the moment
                       hummingbird     

                  -- Octavio Paz --

A hummingbird--it's here, and then somewhere else, and then gone.

This one is very much like a haiku, or so it struck me.  I remembered it when I came across the following poem:



Basho An                                                 Basho An

The whole world fits in-                          El mundo cabe                       
to seventeen syllables,                             en diecisiete silabas:
and you in this hut.                                  tu en esta choza.

Straw thatch and tree trunks:                   Troncos y paja:
they come in through the crannies:          por las rendijas entran
Buddhas and insects.                                Budas e insectos.

Made out of thin air,                                 Hecho de aire
between the pines and the rocks               entre pinos y rocas
the poem sprouts up.                                 brota el poema.

An interweaving                                        Entretejidas  
of vowels and the consonants:                   vocales, consonantes:
the house of the world.                              casa del mundo.

Centuries of bones,                                    Heusos de siglos,
mountains: sorrow turned to stone:           penas ya pen~as, montes:
here they are weightless.                           aqui no pesan.

What I am saying                                      Esto quie digo
barely fills up the three lines:                    son apenas tres lineas:
hut of syllables.                                          choza de silabas. 


                                     -- Octavio Paz --


The first and third lines consist of five syllables while the second line has seven--the seventeen syllables of a class haiku.  In the fifth stanza, the second "penas" should have a tilde over the "n."

Basho, of course, is the most famous haiku poet in Japan.  I once purchased a book titled The Haiku Masters and was surprised to find that Basho was not included among them.  The editor in the Introduction explained that the Masters are those superior haiku poets who are second to Basho, who is not a haiku master, but the Haiku Poet.


Example

A butterfly flew between the cars,
Marie Jose said:  it must be Chuang Tzu,
on a tour of New York.
                                       But the butterfly
didn't know it was a butterfly
dreaming it was Chuang Tzu
                                                or Chuang Tzu
dreaming he was a butterfly.
The butterfly never wondered:
                                                  it flew.

                  --  Octavio Paz --


This, of course, refers to a famous saying by Chuang Tzu, some thousands of years ago, in which he supposedly comments on the nature of reality--that one can't tell the difference between reality and a dream.  He said that once he dreamt he was a butterfly and then awoke, and couldn't decide whether he was a butterfly dreaming that he was Chuang Tzu or Chuang Tzu dreaming that he was a butterfly.  I always believed he was satirizing those pompous sages whose wise utterances consisted of obscure formulations.  They always reminded me of the following:
 
Seek clarity--        and you gain wisdom.
Seek wisdom--      and you gain obscurity.
Seek obscurity--    and you gain followers.





Octavio, of course, has many long poems, but those are for another day.

Which, if any, are the most interesting to you, and why?

All poems come from The Collected Poems of Octavio Paz, edited by Eliot Weinberger and published as a New Directions Paperback in 1991.  Most translations are by Eliot Weinberger.

Something to think about:

The mass of people believe their judgements to be their own. They get very offended when it is suggested that they have actually received them ready-made from others and have simply been puppets of popular opinion all their lives. They speak in the current jargon and dress in the latest fashion--not from any personal sense of style but just to fit in. And these servile imitators actually believe they are self-determining. How ridiculous! This is an incurable sickness because people are convinced that they are not suffering from it. It is a universal madness, because everyone is infected. It is, therefore, a complete waste of time for me to try to return people to their own intrinsic instincts. Oh Well!

-- Chuang Tzu --
from Taoist Wisdom
Timothy Freke, editor and trans.


Chuang Tzu seems to believe that this is a universal trait, that all people are this way. I think there are many who simply follow the crowd, but it's hard to distinguish between those who are just trying to fit in and those who have reached the same conclusions on their own. How does one know which is which?

Tales of Times Now Past: stories from a medieval Japanese collection

Tales of Times Now Past: Sixty-two Stories from a Medieval Japanese Collection
Edited and translated by Marian Ury
Introduction by Marian Ury

From the wrapper overleaf:

"Tales of Times Past is a translation of sixty-two outstanding tales freshly selected from Konjaku monogatari shu, a Japanese anthology dating from the early twelfth century. The original work, unique in world literature, contains more than one thousand systematically arranged tales from India, China, and Japan. It is the most important example of a genre of collections of brief tales which, because of their informality and unpretentious style, were neglected by Japanese critics until recent years but which are now acknowledged to be among the most significant prose literature of premodern Japan. Konjaku in particular has aroused the enthusiasm of such leading twentieth-century writers as Akutagawa Ryunosuke and Tanizaki Jun'ichiro."

This thousand year-old collection was carefully and "systematically arranged," suggesting that literary organization is not something new. The work is divided into three major parts: stories from India, China, and Japan. Then, the stories from each country were organized into two subcategories for each country: stories about Buddha and Buddhists, which were then followed by secular tales from each country. In the section of tales from India, many are about Buddha and the miraculous events of his life and his teachings.

The stories about Buddhists are very similar to various collections of lives of the saints found in the Christian tradition. There are miraculous cures and rescues from robbers and demons as a result of a strong belief in Buddhism and/or prayers pleading for help. In addition are a number of stories of Buddhist monks who were punished for their greed or jealousy or lack of piety or rewarded for their strong faith and devotion to Buddha and Buddhist principles.

Many of the secular stories also have a strong religious tinge to them. One story tells of two brothers who traveled through a mountainous region, each carrying a large amount of gold. During the trip, the same thought occurred to both of them: "If I were to kill my brother, I could double the amount of gold I have." However neither acted upon the impulse. Coming to a river, once out of the mountains, the elder brother threw his gold into the river. When the younger brother asked him why he did that, the elder brother replied that he had an impulse to kill him, his only brother. He would never have thought that ordinarily so it had to be the gold that tempted him. That is why he threw it away. The younger brother said he had had the same idea and he also threw his gold in the river.

The moral of the story is: "People are robbed of their lives because of the cravings of the senses and incur bodily harm because of worldly good. he who possesses none and remains poor will have no cause for grief. And indeed, it is the craving for worldly goods that causes us" to be trapped in the cycle of birth and death, reincarnation.

While the tales are short, most are around two-three pages with a number being only one page long and a few as long as four or five pages, they are not all straightforward tales of simply praying to Buddha and being rewarded for one's piety. Many are more subtle or complex than that.

My favorite cautionary tale, less than a page long, is as follows:

"At a time now past, in China . . . there was a man of Ch'u whose name was Hou Ku. His father was unfilial and was angry with his own father for being slow to die.

Now, Hou Ku's father fashioned a litter and put his aged father in it. Hou ku's father and Hou Ku carried it on their shoulders deep into the mountains, abandoned the old man, and returned home. Hou Ku brought the litter back with him. His father saw it and said, 'What did you bring the litter back for?' Hou Ku answered, 'I have just learned that a son is one who puts his aged father in a litter and abandons him in the mountains. That means that when my own father is old I will put him in a litter and abandon him in the mountains. This will save me from having to make a new one.'

When his father heard this he thought, 'I myself will be abandoned when I am old,' and wild with anxiety he hurried back to the mountains to welcome his father back home. Thereafter, Hou Ku's father never stinted his filial care. This was due entirely to Hou Ku's scheme.

The whole world praises and admires Hou Ku beyond measure: one who saves his grandfather's life and causes his own father to be a filial son truly deserves to be called wise. So the tale's been told, and so it's been handed down."

(The note to this story says the theme of this story "is very popular, and versions of it can be found in the Indian and Japanese sections of Konjaku as well."

Another tale brings in Chuang Tzu, one of the early and most important figures in the development of Taoism. Once while traveling, he came across a huge old tree. When he asked why this tree was allowed to live to such a great age, the woodsman said, "I choose trees for cutting that are well formed and straight. This tree is gnarled and twisted. Since it is no good for anything, I have not cut it, and thus it has attained its great age."

A day later, "Chuang Tzu went to someone's house." The master of the house served him wine and discovered "there were no tidbits to accompany it." The master then ordered a servant to kill a goose. The servant asked him which goose should he kill, "The one that sings nicely, or the one that doesn't sing?" The master said, "Let the singing one live to sing, kill the one that doesn't sing and make it into tidbits."

"Thereupon Chuang Tzu said, 'The tree in the stand of timber I saw yesterday had been let live because it was useless. Today my host has spared the life of a goose because it has a talent. This proves that whether you live or die does not depend on whether you are wise or foolish; it is something that just comes about of itself. No can we deduce a rule that those who have talent will not die or that those who are useless will not die. The useless tree lives long, the goose that did not sing died at once. Such is life."

In the quotation from the overleaf, it was pointed out that several twentieth-century writers were "enthusiastic" about these tales, one of whom was Akutagawa Ryunosuke. He took a number of these stories and revised and expanded them. Two of these tales are the source for what might be his most famous short stories, "In a Grove," and "Rashomon."

Akira Kurosawa, one of my favorite film directors, then combined these two stories into one of the world's greatest films, Rashoman. As I had mentioned in an earlier post on Rashomon, the story doesn't end here. Hollywood did its own version and called it The Outrage, starring Paul Newman (the Mexican bandit), Claire Bloom, Laurence Harvey, Edward G. Robinson (the thief), and William Shatner (the minister)--not bad for a couple of twelfth-century short tales.

Each story has a moral attached to it, either one of moral goodness or piety for the Buddhist tales or one of practical or earthly wisdom for the secular tales. There are tales of rulers, both wise and not-so-wise, of dramatic escapes from demons, ghosts, robbers, and murderers, and of justly deserved (in most cases) rewards and punishments.

Overall: fascinating and brief (much too brief) glimpses into times now long past.

Lin Yutang: October 10, 1895--March 3, 1976

I can no longer remember how I was first introduced to Lin Yutang, but it just might have been simply seeing one of his books and getting intrigued by the cover. How can one not even stop and glance inside a book whose cover reads as follows:

The Importance of Living

The Classic Bestseller
That Introduced Millions
to the Noble Art of Leaving
Things Undone

Lin Yutang




I found it irresistible and purchased the book. I read it and have been dipping into it at random since then.

One of his skills is the way he presents his ideas. Unlike many other writers, he can write something that I disagree with and, yet, does not irritate me in the least. I simply read it, realize I disagree with him at this point, and then continue reading. I wish I could do the same. I am not sure as to how he does this. I've wondered though if it might be the context. This book is very mellow and relaxed; perhaps this is his secret. Relaxed and mellow readers might be more likely to remain so even when encountering ideas they disagree with. Just a thought. . .


The following quotation comes from "The Awakening," the first chapter of The Importance of Living--to be precise, the opening paragraphs. It is here that he writes about his philosophy of living.

"In what follows I am presenting the Chinese point of view, because I cannot help myself. I am interested only in presenting a view of life and of things as the best and wisest Chinese minds have seen it and expressed it in their folk wisdom and their literature. It is an idle philosophy born of an idle life, evolved in a different age, I am quite aware. But I cannot help feeling that this view of life is essentially true, and since we are alike under the skin, what touches the human heart in one country touches all. I shall have to present a view of life as Chinese poets and scholars evaluated it with their common sense, their realism and their sense of poetry. I shall attempt to reveal some of the beauty of the pagan world, a sense of the pathos and beauty and terror and comedy of life, viewed by a people who have a strong feeling of the limitations of our existence, and yet somehow retain sense of the dignity of human life.

The Chinese philosopher is one who dreams with one eye open, who views life with love and sweet irony, who mixes his cynicism with a kindly tolerance, and who alternately wakes up from life's dream and then nods again, feeling more alive when he is dreaming than when he is awake, thereby investing his waking life with a dream-world quality. He sees with one eye closed and with one eye opened the futility of much that goes on around him and of his own endeavors , but barely retains enough sense of reality to determine to go through with it. He is seldom disillusioned because he has no illusions, and seldom disappointed because he never had extravagant hopes. In this way his spirit is emancipated.

For, after surveying the field of Chinese literature and philosophy, I come to the conclusion that the highest ideal of Chinese culture has always been a man with a sense of detachment (takuan) toward life based on a sense of wise disenchantment. From this detachment comes high-mindedness (k'uanghuai), a high-mindedness which enables one to go through life with tolerant irony and escape the temptations of fame and wealth and achievement, and eventually makes him take what comes. And from this detachment arise also his sense of freedom, his love of vagabondage and his pride and nonchalance. It is only with this sense of freedom and nonchalance that one eventually arrives at the keen and intense joy of living."


In the second paragraph, Lin suggests the Chinese philosopher lives a dreamlike existence. An early 4th century BC Chinese philosopher Chuang Tzu once said that he had dreamt one night that he was a butterfly, completely happy and satisfied. Then he awoke and found himself to be Chuang Tzu, but he didn't know whether he was a butterfly dreaming he was Chuang Tzu or Chuang Tzu who dreamt he was a butterfly. (taken from the Wikipedia entry on Chuang Tzu or Zuangzi, alternate spelling)



A Poem by Li Po

"Chuang Tzu in dream became a butterfly,
And the butterfly became Chuang Tzu at waking.
Which was the real--the butterfly or the man?
Who can tell the end of the endless changes of things?
The water that flows into the depth of the distant sea
Returns in time to the shallows of a transparent stream.
The man, raising melons outside the green gate of the city,
Was once the Prince of the East Hill.
So must rank and riches vanish.
You know it, still you toil and toil--what for?"


In the second paragraph, Lin wrote "we are alike under the skin, what touches the human heart in one country touches all." Perhaps the East and the West are not that far apart once we get beneath the surface:

"Vanity of vanity, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities, all is vanity.
What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh, but the earth abideth for ever."

"All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again."

King James Version: Ecclesiastes, Chapter 1, v. 1-4 , 7



Who knows? Perhaps some day we will see our similarities as being as important as, or perhaps even more important than the differences. And the differences will become fascinating and intriguing--and not hateful.