day two: time for a talking goldfish, and more viral humor!

First, here’s the viral humor (we need it), brought to us from a friend in cyberspace.  (Thanks, Tom!)

Second, a good message from one of the books I love, as promised yesterday, to help us cope with this weird health crisis. The story below tells of an encounter between a typical bureaucrat and a magical, yet very anxious goldfish.

“One day, when I was walking along a road, I suddenly heard someone calling me. I looked around, but saw nobody. When I looked down, it turned out to be a carp calling me from a dried rut. I went over to it, and asked, ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’ The carp, gasping, replied, ‘I am a minister of the God of the East Sea. I was swept here by a rainstorm, and now I cannot get back. I will soon die, unless you bring me a pail of water and put me in it.’ I said, ‘Of course, I can do that. But you must wait until I persuade the sovereigns of the states of Wu and Yue to allow me to use water from the Xijang River.’ Hearing this, the carp said, ‘Distant water cannot quench present thirst. You’ll find me in the dried fish market tomorrow!'”*

This cryptic fable was written some 2,200 years ago, by a writer unknown by most of us  (Zhuang Zi, c. 369 B.C. — 286 B.C.) who is very famous in China as a chief representative of the Taoist School.

You gotta love a talking goldfish, of course! How even cooler is it that this goldfish is shrewd and critical. For our purposes, the fable provides moral urgency and a sober punchline. “Distant water cannot quench present thirst.” Take it to mean anything you need: if you’re angry about the government’s actions, it works for you. If you’re in despair over getting access to a mask or test, it works for you.

However, it could be a more uplifting lesson too. If you, like me, are staying home to “shelter in place” and allow the coronavirus time to sweep through your region without adding to the casualties, give yourself credit. You are, in effect, giving water to present thirst. You’re feeding the quotient of healthy people so that we can resist the invisible enemy.

Thank you for helping, in any way you can!  And hang in there; we’re in it for the long duration, I think.  I’ll be back tomorrow with another good thought (and more humor, I hope).

*Zhang Fuxin, The Story of Zhuang Zi, trans. Zhang Tingquan (Beijing: Foreign Language Press, 2003), pp. 183-184.

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turning in a circle about oneself: a dog and a Taoist meditation

The two dogs here represent morning and night.

The dog on the left was waiting for attention of a rather intimate nature this morning when I came downstairs. It was Honey Girl, so warm, soft and loving that you felt like lying down on the wood floor beside her for a while, just to feel her warm fur and listen to her breathing.

What a soft launch to the day!

It is not surprising that this day feels so mellow: the students were lively and smart, the conversations were meaningful, and I had chocolate torte for dessert. Perfect, right?

The evening walk with Honey Girl swept us up in cold wind and darkness. The sky had cleared from the rain, and excitingly dynamic white clouds were stretching, morphing and flying across a backlit dark canvas—it was very hugolien and thrilling to the blood.

When we came back in, Honey Girl grabbed one of her (embarrassingly numerous) squeaky toys off the floor—a navy blue and red fuzzy bone–and started making it squeak, then walking all around making a joyful ruckus. She does that when she’s happy. Which is most every day! She does it at our parties too.

Returning home is what I want to capture: a good theme for Thanksgiving!

What I related above is a particularly joyful version of a dog returning home, but the concept is important to human psychology and Taoist philosophy too. Since T’ai chi, Zen, and Taoism are philosophically related, I am keen to understand them better. I really like explanation in The Tao of Painting, and wonder what other people think.*  Chinese painter and writer Mai-Mai Sze (1909-1992) explains the symbol of the fan, the benefit of considering the universe as a circle, and of “turning in a circle about oneself.” Sort of like Honey Girl does every night on the couch.

I paste here the cover and illustration from the page in question:

 

Fan (to turn over), shown here in its modern and old forms, describes the Taoist idea of “returning.” The pictograph represents the right hand turning something over. It indicates that the “other side” or the “returning” is the reverse of one and the same thing or process. The hand is specifically the right one; it appears to emphasize the manifest yang nature of the process.

The course of the Tao is not only circular motion but also, on the one hand, the marking off of a sacred precinct and on the other, fixation and concentration. The enclosing circle prevents “emanations” that, in terms of modern psychology, “protect the unity of consciousness from being split apart by the unconscious.”

“Turning in a circle about oneself” involves all sides of the personality, and has the moral significance of “activating the light and dark forces of human nature and, with them, all the psychological opposites of whatever kind they may be.”**

Wow! Didn’t know dogs were so deep, did you!?

Good night, dear readers, and sweet dreams.

*The Tao of Painting by Mai-Mai Sze, is a huge and impeccably scholarly tome (with its own distinguished box), that contains many beautiful color prints and the entire text of a painting manual from 1600s that is funny, witty, and rings true on many levels. It makes you love Chinese painting—something I never thought I would do. The manual explains things like the playful spirit of goldfish and the stern character of pine trees, the way that mountain ranges should seem to emerge in successive waves of energy, and how emptiness is compelling. I did not know, for example, that hollow trees were revered for the abundant chi that they held after a storm.

**Mai-Mai Sze, The Tao of Painting, 2^nd ed. With a translation of the seventeenth-century Chieh Tzŭ Yüan Hua Chuan or Mustard Seed Garden Manual of Painting ( 1679-1701) (New York: Bollingen Foundation, 1963), 16-18.

 

about Master Zhanguo Peng, the source of t’ai chi awareness in South Bend, IN

Last year, the University of Notre Dame was fortunate to host visiting scholar and T’ai chi master Dr. Zhanguo Peng, an associate professor from the Institute of Chinese Philosophy at Lanzhou University, China. As the 7th generation of descendant of Yang style Tai Chi Chuan, he has practiced Tai Chi for over 20 years and is especially skilled in Pushing Hands. In 2007, he won the championship of Pushing Hands Competition in Gansu province, China. He was awarded Band Six of Chinese Martial Arts and is currently the judge and the guide for the Chinese Martial Arts Association.

I joined in March 2017 and never looked back. He taught in silence and poetic language, and we learned to watch carefully and let the Body-Mind lead the way.  After practicing T’ai chi with the Body-Mind in charge and emerging refreshed, one realizes that the Body-Mind wields an immense power for feeling good, and so life changes its course! Like a mountain stream tumbling through the rocks and roots of a forest, life regains momentum and integrity.

If you, like me, do not have a teacher in person, perhaps you might benefit from the video like I do, every morning. The link to Master Peng’s class at Notre Dame is here:  Master Peng’s T’ai chi class at Notre Dame

This blog is inspired by him and his teachings.

 

how to stop battling your mind

Well, not every day can be a winner. Today’s mood and the dark, stormy weather inspire more sober thoughts on the battle between the Mind and the Body-Mind. (Even Honey Girl seems a little tired and droopy this evening.)

The desire for certainty and safety prompts people to identify their mind with their self-image. It [the mind] cannot let go of itself. It feels that it should not do what it is doing, and that it should do what it is not doing. It feels that it should not be what it is, and be what it isn’t. 

To cling to the mind’s self-image is thus to be in constant contradiction and conflict.  Hence [Zen master] Yün-men’s saying, “In walking, just walk. In sitting, just sit. Above all, don’t wobble.”

In the end, the only alternative to a shuddering paralysis is to leap into action regardless of the consequences […] We must enter into it without second thought, without the arrière-pensée of regret, hesitancy, doubt or self-recrimination. Thus when Yün-men was asked, “What is the Tao?” he answered simply, “Walk on!”

— adapted from Alan Watts, The Way of Zen, 1st ed. 1957 (New York: Vintage, 1989), 138-139, 141.

Bon courage! and let’s hope tomorrow brings more fun!