So far to the east that the sun is lonely as she awakens…
Once upon a time, in this distant land, a knowledgeable professor was told that although he knew about words, numbers, and sciences, the old hermit up on the lonely mountain was wiser than he. And so the professor set out to meet this wise-man, up on top of the mountain that he called home.
After an arduous climb, the professor arrived to the home of the hermit, just barely said hello before starting to display his knowledge of the workings of weather, of the growth and development of life, of philosophies, of history, of medicine, of biology, of theology, of the methods for counting from distant Arabia, of the secret means of changing gold into lead and on and on he spoke.... meanwhile the wise-man brought a teapot and two cups... He filled the professor’s cup to the brim and yet poured on.
Slightly unnerved the professor said "What are you doing? Can't you see the cup is full?”
The old man answered mildly, speaking for the first time, "Indeed, it is like you... So full it can not contain anything else.”
This infuriated the knowledgeable professor and so he drew forth his sword with the intent of killing the wise-man. But meanwhile the hermit, still pouring tea with one hand, had pulled a brush from his pocket with his free hand and swiftly painted a sailboat.
He poured and poured and the tea flowed and flowed and became a green ocean.
The wise-man on his painted boat sailed away over the cup of tea's horizon and was never heard from again.
The story doesn't say what happened to the professor, but it is supposed that he developed an aversion to tea.
Sketchy Doodle 2002 (left as is)
*Story very loosely inspired from one I was told as a moppet.
Fancifully beautiful. Reminds me a little of The Tao.
ReplyDeleteThanks Kass. Do you mean Lao Tzu's Tao te ching?
ReplyDeleteI can see that... I wouldn't have thought of it, but I can see it.
Philosophical Taoism strongly influenced Confucianism, which in turn influenced zen philosophy... Where I suspect this story has its roots.
This reminds me of the stories (or some of them) that my parents used to tell me when I was small, lovely.
ReplyDeleteChildhood stories... I wonder why some people grow out of them.
ReplyDeleteI didn't get all that many: my mother was a bookworm, soon as I could read she always saw to it I had access books, and whenever a book wasn't at hand, my mind had a ready store of tales to tell. I guess I haven't changed much... Maybe my mind is a bit more articulate in its tales nowadays. But reading is still the main reason I don't write more. How can I write when there are so many great stories to be discovered.
I grew up in a virtually book-free zone, both my parents were full of stories though, both anecdotal and mythical. I guess they came from strong oral traditions. I only really discovered books, the joy of them at least, once I'd left home.
ReplyDeletePerhaps one of the reasons to write is that some of the great stories to be discovered are in your own mind.
Yeah, you mention that in your archives at some point, about when you came into books... What kind of stories did they tell you?
ReplyDeleteYes, but your reason to write implies a level of generosity of spirit I do not possess... I already know the stories in my mind, and am constantly making up more... My writing is insignificant and won't be missed; but I am missing out so many great books and wonderful authors!
My greedy self-interest clearly lies in reading more.
And it shows, even in blogging I spend a lot more time reading blogs, thinking about them, answering posts, than I do writing for my own. That may change over time... But so far I am having discussions of a sort with people through their blogs... I like being to converse back and forth through comments, and I wonder why more commenters don't do it? Though I can see that if you have a couple hundred followers, you could never find enough time for all of them. I think that is one of the reasons why I like this phase of my blog so much. ... Sorry for going all stream of thought on you there. :þ
There were lots of bible stories from my mother and rather exotic, I'm guessing Indian, fables from my father. He died when I was still young and I don't remember any details about his stories, just a general feeling that's nudged when I hear something similar. My mother also told lots of anecdotes about being in boarding schools run by nuns, and the war. We recently discovered some of them were much more to do with her imagination that what actually happened!
ReplyDeleteI'm not sure that I write out of generosity, more to get the stories out so I can understand them. Which could also be seen as self interest.
I like it when people go all stream of thought. I suppose more commenters don't have in depth dialogues because they don't feel they have time, not that I know. But time, or lack thereof, does seem to be put forward as a reason for not doing most things. I could quite happily spend all day reading other people's blogs, commenting, and then replying to replies, but then I'd never get another thing done and I could also quite happily spend all day reading a book, or writing one, or gardening or cooking. Often it's difficult to strike the right balance.
That sounds lovely... Your description and remembrances of your childhood stories evoke watercolours for me.
ReplyDeleteYeah, nuns. My mother turned an angry atheist from her experience with the nuns in a catholic boarding school, what little she had told me of it seemed entirely believable, and was often backed up with parallel tales from my aunts. Is your mother from Marseilles? (French joke, they say that people from Marseilles are prone to exaggeration).
Maybe so... But then you share some of it with your readers. Why is that?
I'd rather spend an hour answering one of your comments than spend fifteen minutes answering fifteen comments. Shrug to each their own.
"I didn't have the time" usually feels like a weak catchall excuse, to me.
I'd rather be told: "I didn't take the time", "I don't want to take the time because I am not interested, or because I don't care to". Shrug.
In any case, I'm very much enjoying this time-delayed conversation with you. Thanks.
I found, on message boards, that the trick is just make conversations go slower... Not quite snail mail speed, but something in between.
Unfortunately my mother remained a tortured Catholic until her dying day. I wish she had been from Marseilles I might have family there to put me up for a week or two in the summer.
ReplyDeletePerhaps I share with readers so they can help me understand further. Or, maybe I need validation. Though, the poet Don Patterson says he writes to be part of the conversation. What conversation that is, I don't quite know, but I like the notion. Perhaps writing is just extended chat.
I completely agree with your feelings about 'I didn't have the time' syndrome, it is a feeble attempt at abdicating responsibility for one's actions, and the consequences thereof. Much better for someone to say: 'I had a choice between you and a watching a rerun of Friends on TV and I chose the latter,' or whatever.
Slowed down conversations suit me well because I am generally very slow to respond, to be able to respond. My inner synthesizer seems to be a lump of granite that all ideas must pass through before I can make sense of them.
Sigh... I need to start typing my comments into a word processor rather than the blog field. Lost it again.
ReplyDeleteTake two:
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Hmm... Religion.
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Writing as a conversation? interesting... I thinking about how hard getting feedback was in the pre-digital days. It makes your relationships through your writing double ended.
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Yes! Exactly, "...it is a feeble attempt at abdicating responsibility for one's actions, and the consequences thereof" is exactly what I meant, only properly articulated. Heheh.
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That's the advantage of email tracking of comments, you can actually get a quasi philatelic experience that way. Instead of one way or at best two part exchanges. It also makes it possible to communicate slowly, I can simply star/unstar or flag or whatever all open conversations, and get back to them in due time...
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You're slow to respond? I have yet to observe that.
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Ha! Granite. My parents used to tell me that when they first met my Yoshien (japanese equivalent of kindergarten) teacher she said something like "Your child seems bright enough but it has an ishi atama" (a stone head). It Japan it means to be stubborn... The english equivalent would be "pig headed". I realise it isn't related to your granite internal synthesizer, it just an en passant anecdote that it evoked.
"... developed an aversion to tea." Love it.
ReplyDeleteTurning gold into lead doesn't sound very useful.
The professor reminds me of the story about the three sons we read for the Passover Seder. It's about the questions people with different types of intelligence brings to the table.
He is a professor, he spent a lot of time studying and doing something that doesn't have an immediate use... Turning gold into lead definitely qualifies. ; j That said, gold doesn't have much use either.
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That rings a bell, but weren't there four sons? Or am I thinking of another story? The smart one, the mean one, the dim one, and the dumb one?
And they all ask their father the same question, the meaning of... Ok, I'm fairly sure it wasn't christmas... Of, of.. the scriptures? I don't remember. And then they all get preached at from the Torah? (I need to go reread that)
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There's a similar martial arts parable... Not as deep, though...
An old master of sword fighting, founder of a famous school of martial arts had a a local dignitary over for tea. They chit chatted and eventually the dignitary asked if the the old master had secured his succession as head of the school.
The old master grins and says "let me show you." He sent a servant to inform his three sons that they were expected one after another in five, ten, and fifteen minutes.
As soon as the servant left the room the old master got an impish look on his face as he grabbed a heavy vase and set on top of the sliding door that was left slightly ajar so that the vase fell on the person trying to enter.
The eldest son noticed the trap, held the pot up with his hand before entering, and reset the trap after he had done so. The old man beamed and introduced his eldest son with much pride.
The second son entered without noticing the trap but somehow managed to catch the vase before getting clonked on the head. The old man sighed and said, "This is my second son, he has some potential but he has a long way to go still."
The third son also failed to noticed the trap as he came rushing in... The heavy vase fell on his head, but before it hit the floor he had drawn his sword and sliced it neatly in half. The old man sighed and shook his head. "this is my youngest, he's a bit of a dunce and we really don't know what we're going to do with him."
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