Tales From the Tao

by Solala Towler

  TALES

  FROM

  THE TAO

  Contents

  Introduction

  TALE 1 To Be or Not to Be, A Butterfly

  TALE 2 The Horse Breeder

  TALE 3 Down by the River

  TALE 4 A Calm Awakening

  TALE 5 The Value of Worthlessness

  TALE 6 Dreaming of Gold

  TALE 7 The Shaman and the Taoist

  TALE 8 To Dream the Impossible Dream

  TALE 9 Dancing the Yin/Yang

  TALE 10 Showing Off

  TALE 11 A Tale of Two Lovers

  TALE 12 “Crazy” Tuan-mu Shu

  TALE 13 On Eating

  TALE 14 The Emperor and the Sage

  TALE 15 The Magical Singer

  TALE 16 A Celebration of Death

  TALE 17 Ai Tai To, the Ugly Man

  TALE 18 His Cup Runneth Over

  TALE 19 The Man Who Wanted to Forget

  TALE 20 Playing with the Fish

  TALE 21 A Beautiful Illusion

  TALE 22 Going with the Flow

  TALE 23 Possessing the Tao

  TALE 24 Progress on the Path

  TALE 25 Love Blooms, Then Fades

  TALE 26 The Curse of Fame

  TALE 27 The Natural Order of Things

  TALE 28 Tasting for Tea

  TALE 29 The Way of Wu Wei

  TALE 30 Direct Experience

  TALE 31 A Wandering Taoist

  Introduction

  Stories have always formed a large part of Taoist teaching. The books of Chuang Tzu and Lieh Tzu are full of interesting, entertaining, illuminating, puzzling and often downright funny stories. They are primarily teaching stories, using narrative and character to share some aspect of Taoist thought or practice. The only drawback is that they are so short, often only a paragraph or two. This work is an attempt to flesh out these stories, giving them more room to breathe, to evolve, and to give the characters of the stories more time to develop into fully realized people.

  These tales introduce traditional Taoist principles and ideas about many of the most basic human experiences – birth, death, loss, gain, simple dignity in the face of challenge, how to judge the character of a person, when to move forward, when to retreat, how to deal with fame and how to surrender to the most fundamental experience of the Tao itself.

  Most of the stories are from the classical writings of Chuang Tzu and Lieh Tzu but then again some are entirely original, being inspired by traditional Taoist tales, such as how the famous Tao Te Ching was written. The stories are from the early days of Taoist thought, the golden age of Lao Tzu, author of the most famous Taoist text, the Tao Te Ching (the classic text of the Way and its virtue); Chuang Tzu, author of at least part of the book that bears his name; and Lieh Tzu, whose work also bears his name.

  A word on Taoism here. In its early days Taoism was more of a philosophy or way of life than a religion. In later years, various strands of Taoist religion were formed, two of which are still active today – the Tianshi Dao or the Way of Heavenly Masters and the Quanzhen Dao or The Way of Complete Perfection. Today many people use the terms Daojio and Daojia to differentiate between the religious school of Taoism and the philosophical teachings of Lao Tzu and Chuang Tzu. Interestingly, when Buddhism came into China in the 5th century, it became mixed up with the native Taoist traditions and became quite a unique form of Buddhism, called Chan, which later on travelled to Japan where it was taken up by the samurai class, who laid over it a layer of their own bushido philosophy and named it Zen.

  In these texts we are introduced to ways of living our lives in harmony with the forces of nature and the world as well as the inner forces of our own often confused and ignorant self-nature. Much emphasis is placed on being true to our own authentic nature, which Chuang Tzu calls the Authentic or Real Person. Over and over we are shown that to be authentic or enlightened means to be at once a part of the world of change and yet also to be able to operate outside space and time (as described by contemporary scientists who are working with quantum theory).

  We are taught that to be truly free we must be able to work with change rather than against it – we must be able to dance gracefully with the ever-unfolding panorama of change that constitutes life. We are also taught that to remain simple, even if it appears to the outside world that we are simpletons, is the best way to align ourselves with the ever-unfolding Way. In addition we must be humble, flexible and detached from outward form.

  Life in the modern world is full of stress and anxiety; appearing to speed up at an ever-increasing rate such that many things of lasting value have no currency in this age of internet dating and “reality” television programming. Yet it is still possible to gain both understanding and knowledge from these tales of the Tao, written thousands of years ago.

  My intention with these stories is to stimulate thought, insight and even emotion as regards the lessons of this ancient yet evolving body of teachings. The ancient stories of Taoism are as relevant today as they were in the Han dynasty and before. The insights and ideas that they present to us can be of great assistance in troubled times.

  So sit back, relax and with your breath “rising from your heels”, spend some time with these thought-provoking, heart-opening, funny-bonetickling tales.

  SOLALA TOWLER

  The Tales

  TALE 1

  To Be or Not to Be, A Butterfly

  The butterfly flitted on its way, unmindful of the gentle breeze that ruffled its wings. It flew here and there, content in its own way to wander without a goal, without any needs except to be part of the breeze that blew past its wings as it flew along, unhurried, unfurled and even.

  This little butterfly’s life had been brief. From caterpillar to chrysalis inside its quiet and heavy cocoon, it had stayed for what seemed eons of time – quiet, patient, waiting for the moment when it could break out of its prison, unfurl its wings and fly straight up into the air.

  Now it did just so, flitting around in circles, occasionally meeting up with another butterfly, always mindful of predators or a strong and sudden gust of wind that could tear at its thin, translucent wings and send it hurtling down to earth.

  Now and again the butterfly seemed to have glimpses of another life, another form. It seemed to be a much heavier and more ponderous life, this other one. But usually the butterfly ignored these unsettling inner sightings and just did what butterflies do, without thought, without motive, without any other goal than just to be what it was, a butterfly flying free.

  And as it did so the day lengthened into night and the butterfly headed back to the tree where it slept through the long period of darkness. It flew gently toward it and then suddenly stopped.

  The man lay in his bed, bewildered, bemused, lost in thought. It had seemed so real to him, this gentle butterfly life. He lay in the early morning light, listening to the sounds of the village as it slowly came to wake all about him. He heard the creaking of doors as people made their way to the outhouses. He heard the sudden squall of an infant, the bark of a dog, the clomp of an ox as it trudged out to the fields, led by its sleepy master. He heard the sounds of fires being built, the tea kettles and the rice pots being readied for breakfast.

  He lay there a long time, without rising, without moving, other than the slow and deep rising and falling of his belly as he breathed his way into the day. His dream, if that is what it was, had been so vivid, so real. He had actually experienced himself as that butterfly – had felt the breeze on his wings, felt himself carried through the air as light as a seed, had thought only butterfly thoughts. Yet now, here he was, back in his human body, back in the world of cause and effect. But which was truly real and which was the dream – himself as a butterfly, or himself as a
man, waiting here for his students to come and drag him out into the light of day with their incessant questions and demands?

  How did he know that what he was experiencing now was not the dream? That he really was that butterfly, living its simple butterfly life, unattached and a part of the great natural world of Tao. He smiled in the darkness then. Truly, it did not matter if he was a man who had dreamed he was a butterfly or a butterfly who was now dreaming he was a man. He knew what he knew and he knew what he didn’t know. That was what sustained him through the long days and nights of his human life. What he knew or experienced in his butterfly life was also there, just outside the periphery of his vision.

  He almost laughed out loud. Imagine if I shared this with my students, he thought. He could just see their faces as he explained to them that he was not truly sure if what he experienced in his human life was any more real than what he experienced in his butterfly life.

  He slowly rose from his bed, and, stretching out his arms above him like the slow unfolding of butterfly wings, went forth into the day.

  CHUANG TZU

  TALE 2

  The Horse Breeder

  Pen Lo had bred horses for the duke for many years. Now he was getting old and the duke asked him if there was anyone in his family who would be able to take over from him.

  Pen Lo said, “You can tell a high-quality horse by looking at its muscles and appearance, but the best horses are the ones that cannot be judged by their appearance only. You must be able to see their inner nature.

  No one in my family has this ability, but I do know of one man who might be able to help you. He is a poor man who hauls wood and vegetables for a living yet he has the ability to differentiate the great horse from the merely good.”

  The duke was happy then and sent for the man and asked him to find him a special horse. The man was gone for three months and then sent word to the duke that he had found such a horse.

  “What kind of horse is it?” asked the duke.

  “It is a yellow mare,” came the answer.

  So the duke sent for the horse and it turned out to be a black stallion. He was angry then and sent for Pen Lo. “This man you sent to me knows nothing about horses,” he said. “He cannot even tell a mare from a stallion, never mind yellow from black.”

  Pen Lo’s face lit up. “Ah,” he said, “It is even better than I had hoped. His ability is now ten thousand times greater than mine. He has completely transcended judging a horse by its appearance and sees only its inner nature. When he looks at the horse he does not see a male or female or what colour it is but looks instead to its very essence. In this way he can see the potential for greatness in a horse.”

  Indeed, when he had sent for the horse, the duke found that it was the greatest horse he had ever seen.

  LIEH TZU

  What is right in one case

  is not what is right in another;

  What is wrong in one case

  is not what is wrong in another.

  HUAINANZI

  In the world of knowledge,

  Every day something new is added.

  In pursuit of the Tao,

  Every day something is let go.

  LAO TZU

  TALE 3

  Down by the River

  The old man sat on the muddy bank of the great river, fishing quietly and watching the water flow. He liked it here, out with the sun and the mosquitoes, his toes squishing delightfully in the mud, his bottom getting wet with the early morning dew. He didn’t mind a little dampness. He just liked sitting by the river and watching the water flow by. His line trailed out into the water, though he used no bait. Catching a fish was not important.

  The simple act of sitting by the river, toes in the mud, line dancing over the water, was enough for him.

  The old man had been a philosopher and student of the Way for quite some time. He knew he was not popular with certain segments of society, those pedantic logicians and the like who used words as a screen to hide behind or else brandished them like weapons. His teaching had always been a bit convoluted and full of riddles, puns and a sublime sense of the ridiculous. As for arguments with other scholars and philosophers – he just wasn’t interested. He often said that if two people argue and one wins and the other loses, does that mean one is right and the other wrong? Or are they both partly right and partly wrong? Or are both all right and also all wrong? Waiting for final answers is like waiting for nothing, he told his students. Look at everything in relation to the great Tao and leave differing viewpoints as they are. That’s the way to live out one’s life in peace and harmony.

  He knew he was often laughed at behind his back, and sometimes to his face. So what? He didn’t care! He knew what he knew and he also knew what he didn’t know and that was enough for him. Still, his fame had spread lately and he was continually being bothered by people seeking the ultimate truth, as if such a thing could ever be conceptualized and put into plain words. Besides, it wasn’t up to him to tell people the “ultimate truth”. He could only share his truth, and even that changed from day to day, just like the ongoing cycles of the seasons.

  No, he was better off here by the river, alone except for the mosquitoes and an occasional bird. He loved looking at the river and thinking about the great, unfolding Way and his place in it. He had learned a lot just by sitting here and watching the water flow by. He noticed that many people’s energy flow was like water: just little trickles, like a small creek; clogged and muddied, like a dammed-up stream; wild and turbulent like a river in the spring; serenely flowing like the great river in front of him; fast and furious like the rapids upriver, then growing sluggish and heavy like the part of the river that flowed past the village downstream. The trick was to find a rhythm that suited oneself and try to stick to that. It was far better to be harmonious and consistent than it was to change one’s flow every other day or even many times a day. He himself had been quite turbulent in his youth, but a combination of self-cultivation and suffering had changed that. Now he just liked to sit here, toes squishing, line dancing, mind empty, bottom soaking, and enjoy the day.

  Suddenly he heard a commotion behind him. Two men were sliding down the muddy bank toward him. They wore the insignia of messengers for the local lord who lived on the other side of the river, in a great castle. The old man had never seen this great lord, since he did not condescend to travel among the common people. Years ago the old man had lived in the capital and had known many such men. They were mostly a very boring and irritating crowd, their energy stuck in their feet. They were the reason he had left the capital long ago and retired to this small village by the river.

  The two messengers, who wore costly robes of silk, were struggling to hold up their hems to avoid getting them muddied. They were out of breath by the time they reached the old man, who sat with his back to them.

  “Honoured sir,” they panted. “Are you the one they call ...?” They used an honorific title he had been given years ago at the capital in recognition of his sagehood. He thought at first of denying it but realized they already knew who he was when they first climbed down the riverbank. They were only using a formality. He knew it all so well – the empty, flowery phrases that fell from their tongues like rancid butter.

  Sighing, he got up slowly and turned to face them. “Yes,” he answered. “I am that most unworthy person.” He knew how to play the game.

  The two silken messengers looked at each other. Could this really be the great sage that their lord had sent them after? Why, he looked like a ragged fisherman! Yet there was something about his direct and piercing gaze that held them for a moment, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Then, just as suddenly, it was gone again and the old man stood before them, idly picking his nose. “We have been sent by the great lord of this province to bid you come to his castle so he may humbly prostrate himself before you and beg of you to share some small part of your great wisdom with his lowly household.”

  What rubbish! The old man
knew just what would happen if he allowed himself to be led to the castle. Hours and hours of fawning and false modesty, to be followed by days and days of being a virtual prisoner, arguing with a dimwitted nobleman who had never had an original thought in his head. He would have to deal with whatever other “sages” the noble had ensconced there to argue philosophy before him. All his life he had dealt with those high-minded, long-winded Confucians who confused propriety and wisdom, duty and Tao, classism and true spiritual freedom. He wanted no more to do with them.

  And the logicians were even worse. How they loved to confuse and conspire with endless torrents of words – words with no spirit or real energy behind them, words which clouded one’s thoughts and induced a narcotic, hypnotic effect that numbed the mind to the true reality of the Way. How many endless hours had he already spent trying to get them to let go of their precious concepts and opinions and open themselves to the simple, unadorned truth of the integral and eternal Way?

  No, he could not stomach anymore of that. He had to find a way to turn them away without incurring the wrath of their great lord. Suddenly an idea came to him. “You have the shell of a ritual tortoise at the castle, do you not?”

  The two messengers did not know what to say. This old man was a little abrupt. They had expected him to jump at the chance to be set up in the castle. After all, he would be paid well for his efforts and he would be wearing much finer clothing than the old rags he presently wore and be enveloped in much richer surroundings than this mosquito-infested, muddy riverbank.

  “Yes,” answered one of them finally, “we do have a great and ancient tortoise shell which, as you most assuredly know, great sage, is used for divination at certain times of the year.”

  The old man could imagine the pomp and circumstance of the divination ceremony: the ancient tortoise shell would be carried into the hall of divination between rows and rows of seated nobles and servants, all stiff and formal. The procession would be accompanied by the ancient sing-song music of the Confucians, more irritating and less musical than the whining of the mosquitoes in his ear. Endless speeches and formal testimonials would follow. At last would come the ceremonial heating of the tortoise shell; the cracks that appeared on it could then be read. Would the year in question be good or bad for the great lord and his fief? The priests were not fools; they were not stupid enough to share bad tidings, even if they read them on the tortoise shell. The great lord would not want to know about the floods, the many farmers going hungry, the diseases and the pestilence that would be visited upon the common people that year. No, he would want to hear how beneficent and wise he was, what a great ruler of men he was, what a generous and compassionate father to his people he was. The very thought of it made the old man want to vomit right there at the silken feet of the great lord’s messengers.