“The Wandering Taoist” — story by Solala Towler (transcript from YouTube)

Dec 26

The cold wind blowing off the western desert ruffled the beard of the old man riding slowly atop the water buffalo. It whipped around his traveling cloak and made him shiver deep within his robes. He tried wrapping the cloak a little tighter around his shoulders but it did him little good. It was a bad time of the year for traveling, but that could not be helped. The stolid beast plodded on slowly toward the frontier.

A horse would have been faster, but this beast was steadier, more surefooted in the mountains and ate very little. He supposed it was a bit of reverse vanity that prompted him to travel on so humble a mount, the last vestige of the once proud royal archivist.

This man, called Lao Tan, was leaving his post and his life in court behind him and heading toward the western frontier. Life in the capital had been going from bad to worse. In fact, as far as he was concerned, society as a whole was falling apart. The court intrigue nauseated him, the constant political maneuvering gave him a headache, and it seemed as though cynicism was trickling down even into the lower classes. The tradesmen and shopkeepers were far more interested in making money than in being of good service. Even the farmers, the bedrock of civilization, were showing signs of dissatisfaction and doubt about their own lives.

Everywhere he looked Lao Tan saw signs that society was askew. It seemed to him that the Way had truly been lost and that things were only going to get worse. Even his students had become cynical, more interested in acquiring mystical powers than simply learning how to live in accord with the eternal Way. As if there were anything more powerful than that.

Armies were massing all along the borders of the various fiefs, ready to go at each other's throats at a moment's notice. And no longer were there chivalrous knights errant as in days past, seeking to redress the wrongs suffered by the weak at the hands of the rapacious strong. The ancient rules of combat in which battles were fought by favorites, thus avoiding needless bloodshed, were being ignored. Now, armies went at each other in wholesale slaughter, while the poor peasants whose lands they ravaged in battle suffered the loss of their crops, their sons and even their daughters to the bloodthirsty soldiers.

All in all, it had seemed like a good time to leave the festering swamp that society had become and head into the wilderness to pass his days in contemplation of the Way. So he had said goodbye to his students and his position, and since his wife had left this world of dust years before, he mounted his sturdy buffalo, and along with one of his most trusted and promising students carrying his qin, slowly plodded toward the setting sun.

As he traveled further and further from the capital it seemed to Lao Tan that he was able to breathe easier and his mind, so long cluttered with the endless minutiae of imperial service, became clear. He had wielded great power and greater responsibility as Keeper of the Archives in the capital. The people of the Middle Kingdom had long venerated the sacred power of the written word and, as Lao Tan was in charge of the imperial library, his was a most glorious post. Or so it had seemed in the beginning.

But after years of watching the supposedly learned men of the kingdom calcify their minds with mindless repetition of the writings of those who had come before them, never venturing an original idea or thought, lest it get them in trouble with the intelligentsia of the court, he had begun to sicken of the life at the imperial court. He longed to breathe the air of mountains, to feel himself imbued with the de or sublime energy of those lofty places. He longed to sit with men and women who were not afraid to speak their minds, not afraid to dig deep into themselves for truth, knowledge, and experience of the ineffable and absolute Way.

And so he had mounted his buffalo, with its greenish tinge, and saying a few last goodbyes to his students and few friends, had set out on this slow and ponderous way, feeling freer than he had for many years.

Of course, as he traveled he came to towns where he was known, and men there - ostentatious, wealthy, and shallow men - tripped each other up to be able to feast and fete him, believing that he still had power and connections in the capital. Often he let them have their fantasies, especially when his student was half-starved and freezing from their journey, and let his officious hosts wine and dine them.

He was careful to promise them nothing but he could see the greed in their eyes as they sat with him, asking for his teaching while ignoring his very words of truth. 'Empty your minds and fill your bellies,' he had told them. And they, misunderstanding his words said, 'Yes, yes, take more of our humble and miserable food. Fill your belly with our unworthy dishes,' while serving him on gold platters.

But now, at last, he was past all the towns and cities of the kingdom, out on the edge of the wilderness, where he planned to live out his last days in peace, stillness, and quiet communion with the Tao. He had one last barrier to pass, one last test of his resolve.

At the end of the day he reached the outermost gate of the kingdom. He slowly and stiffly dismounted and turned to the gatekeeper who had come out of his tiny hut to greet him. Yinhi was a longtime friend and student and was about as old as Lao Tan himself.

'Master Lao,' he said, coming forward, his wrinkled face breaking into a broad smile. 'It's so good of you to visit. Are you on a vacation from the capital?’

‘No,’ answered Lao Tan, I’m afraid I'm done with all that. I am on my way out there.' He pointed to the vast desert on the other side of the pass.

Yinhl frowned. ‘But that way is very hard* and may even mean your death.’

'No matter,' said Lao Tan. 'It is time for me to leave my old life behind and see what the Tao has in store for me.’

Later, after a simple but delicious meal, Lao Tan and his friend sat by the fire and listened to the night sounds around them.

'Master Lao,' began Yinhi, 'if you are really going, never to return, I beg you to please write something for your students so they may have some of your wisdom to refer to in the troubled times ahead.’

'I am afraid that if they did not hear me when I was speaking to them, they surely will not listen to mere words on pa per,' answered Lao Tan.

Lao Tan's student sat in the shadows and did not say anything. He had already exhausted all his words in begging his master for written instructions. That is why he had elected to accompany him out to the wilderness, away from his easy life in the court and out to who knows where, as long as he cbuld stay by his teacher's side.

'But,' entreated Yinhi, 'if things are really getting as bad as you say, then we will surely be in need of whatever wisdom you can leave us.’

‘I dislike writing things down,' answered Lao Tan, getting up and stretching. 'I feel there is really no way to convey the immensity of the Way in simple words, no matter how clever or polished. Now I must go to bed, old friend. I will be leaving at first light.’

Before going to bed, Lao Tan sat awhile, thinking over what Yinhi had said. He did feel a little guilty about leaving his students and friends back at the capital. Perhaps writing a few lines would not be such a bad thing after all. It might even help him formulate his thoughts a little better in his own mind. He got out his writing implements and began mixing his ink. Then, with his brush poised over a long strip of bamboo, he stopped.

How could he possibly put into words the immensity and depth of the Way? How could he, in a few lines, bring forth all that he had experienced and learned in a lifetime of seeking the great and sublime Tao? For a moment the thought overwhelmed him. But even though he was quitting this sad and misguided world, he felt responsible to the people who were struggling under the weight of fear and ignorance. If it was possible to leave behind a small token of his concern for them, he felt he had a duty to do what he could.

And so, after taking one deep breath 'from the bottom of his heels' he put his brush to the bamboo and began to write…

SOURCE: (TRANSCRIPT): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pLPTqHW7l2M

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