Dinishika

Another story from Lieh-Tzu …..

A student asked Lieh-Tzu – “Why do you value emptiness?”

Lieh-Tzu replied – “Most people like to be praised. They feel good when their accomplishments are acknowledged. However, I feel we would be better off if we were empty of attachments and not imprisoned by recognition, approval, and disapproval. In the long run, we’d have fewer things to worry about. That’s why I value emptiness.”

Lieh -Tzu paused and then continued, “Even if you were given credit for doing something, you should realize that it was not entirely your own doing. Events occur because conditions are right, and your action only contributes to one of the many conditions. We are accustomed to thinking that when things happen, they are our ‘accomplishments‘; we don’t understand that there is actually nothing to accomplish. Therefore, rather than accept credit that does not belong to anyone, why not quiet down and think about the workings of heaven and earth?

“Seeing the emptiness of things can help us cultivate stillness and peace of mind. If you do not know how to keep still in this crazy world, you will be drawn into all kinds of unnecessary trouble.”

Chuang-tzu once told a story about two persons who both lost a sheep.

One person got very depressed and lost himself in drinking, sex, and gambling to try to forget this misfortune.

The other person decided that this would be an excellent chance for him to study the classics and quietly observe the subtleties of nature. Both men experienced the same misfortune, but one man lost himself because he was too attached to the experience of loss, while the other found himself because he was able to let go of gain and loss.

The three main texts that represent Taoism are often cited as –

1. Lao-Tzu’s Tao te Ching
2. Chuang-Tzu
3. Lieh Tzu

Chuang-Tzu and Lieh-Tzu are the purported names of the authors and the sacred texts are of the same name.

On our last online Taoist study, we meditated over Lao-Tzu’s Tao te Ching.
I wish to now introduce you to Lieh-Tzu. The Lieh-Tzu is a collection of stories and philosophical musings of a Taoist sage who lived around the fourth century BCE. Reading one story after another one begins to get a deeper, intuitive feeling of what the Tao is – after pondering over the simple stories.

A story from Lieh-Tzu

“Musician Wen learns to play the lute”

Along time ago there was a musician who could charm birds and fish into dancing with his music. A lute player named Wen from the kingdom of Cheng heard the story and wanted to acquire the skill. So he left his family and went to study with the master musician Hsiang.

For a long time Wen could not play anything. His fingers were tied up in knots, and every time he picked up the lute he could not bring himself to play. After three years he had learned nothing. “You might as well go home,” his teacher said.

Wen put down his lute, signed and said, “It’s not that I haven’t learned any songs or that I can’t tune my instrument properly. I cannot play from my heart, so the music has never become a part of me. That’s why I can’t bring myself to play. Let me rest a bit and see what happens.”

Not long afterward, Wen returned to his teacher.

“How are you getting along with your music?” his teacher asked.

“I think I’ve experienced a breakthrough. Let me show you.”

Wen took the lute and gently touched the string called Autumn. Although it was springtime, a cool wind blew, the leaves crackled in the autumn breeze, and the sky was bright and cloudless. Then in autumn, he touched the string called Spring, and a gentle wind came. Warm rains fell and the flowers bloomed. In the middle of summer, Wen touched the string called Winter, and suddenly the snow fell and the rivers froze. When winter came, he touched the string called Summer. Immediately the sun shone fiercely, the snow disappeared, and the ice melted from the rivers.

Finally, when he touched the last string and played all of them together, a refreshing wind blew, azure clouds floated overhead, sweet dew fell, and fragrant springs bubbled up from the ground.

The master musician Hsiang clapped his chest and exclaimed. “Your music far surpasses what words can describe. The greatest players will have to learn from you now.”

Wen was already an accomplished musician by the time he went to study with Hsiang, but he realized that perfection in technique alone does not make great music. When he was finally able to dissolve the duality between himself and the music, the songs he played not only had the power to create moods but literally changed reality.

Epicurus, born 2000 years ago in Greece, lived in a small garden. The garden was known as Epicurus’ garden. He had no academy like Aristotle nor a school like Plato. He only had a garden. It seems simple and beautiful. A garden seems more natural than an academy. He lived in the garden with a few friends. That was probably the first commune.

They were just living there, not doing anything in particular, working in the garden, possessing just enough to live on. It is said that the King once came to visit and he had been thinking that this man must be living in luxury because his motto was “Eat, drink and be merry”

‘lf this is the message,’ the King thought, ‘I will see people living in luxury, in indulgence.’

But when he arrived he saw very simple people working in the garden, watering trees. The whole day they had been working. They had very few belongings, only enough to live on. In the evening, when they were having dinner, there was not even any butter; just dry bread and a little milk. But they enjoyed it as if it were a feast. After dinner, they danced. The day was over and they offered thanksgiving to Existence, a thanksgiving to Life. And the King wept because he had always thought to condemn Epicurus in his mind.

He asked, ‘What do you mean by saying, “Eat, drink and be merry?”‘

Epicurus said, ‘You have seen. For twenty-four hours we are happy here.

If you want to be truly happy you have to be simple, because the more complex you are, the more unhappy you become. The more complex your life, the more misery it creates. We are simple not because we are seeking God, we are simple because to be simple is to be happy.’

And the King said, ‘I would like to send some presents for you. What would you like for the garden and your community?’

Epicurus was at a loss. He thought and thought and he said, ‘We don’t think that anything else is needed. Don’t be offended; you are a great King, you can give everything — but we don’t need.

If you insist, you can send a little salt and butter.’

It’s true that the philosopher Epicurus taught that pleasure is the highest good. But he said real pleasure comes from appreciating whatever it is you have. His idea was,

“Eat plain bread and vegetables, drink plain water and be merry, for tomorrow you die.”

His idea was to make yourself bulletproof against unhappiness by not wanting things you can’t have and by not wanting things that really wouldn’t make you happy anyway.

There are three kinds of desires, he taught: (1) natural and necessary desires, such as food, shelter, etc.; (2) natural but unnecessary desires, such as for rich food, and (3) vain desires, such as for power, wealth or fame.