think about it's blog

the empty vessel

 abuse

 The Empty Vessel - Solala Towler

Once upon a time, in the Land of the Middle Kingdom, there lived a great emperor. This mighty lord lived in a magnificent castle, surrounded by many guards, ladies in waiting, cooks, artists, philosophers and doctors. He awoke each day to the soft caresses of one of his many wives, ate his breakfast in a wonderful garden surrounded by the morning song of his many birds, and passed his days in the company of his many admirers and flatterers. But he was not happy.

He felt that he was missing out on some essential thing of life. Just what this essential thing was he did not know but he did know that he did not have it and this distressed him no end. He filled his court with various magicians and philosophers, all who tried to tell him that if he would only listen to them and them alone he would find this essential and missing ingredient of his life. But he knew that they each were only trying to better their own individual situation so he did not heed their shining and flattering words.

Instead he winnowed them out, one by one, until there were only two groups left, the Confucians and the Taoists. But he could not decide which one of them had the secret and essential thing that he was lacking. The Confucians were a haughty yet wise lot. They did not flatter him in silken phrases like the other philosophers had. They told him where his character was lacking and how he only had to reinstate the old rituals and he would be fine. They told him of the mighty days of old, when the emperor was truly the Son of Heaven and could rule in Heaven's name. All he had to do was return to those days and revive the ancient ways of the old rites and rituals. Then his kingdom would prosper and he would be happy and fulfilled, both as a ruler and a man.

The Taoists, on the other hand, seemed an unorganized and motley crew. They never seemed to agree on anything, even among themselves. They spent their days doing strange movements, like animals, in the garden and their nights drinking wine, reciting poetry and trying to seduce his ladies in waiting. But they were said to have great powers over the elements and the secret of eternal life. Of course, when he questioned them about this they only shrugged and said, "We have but one precious secret and one only, my lord."

"Well then," he asked, "what is this precious thing?"

"Ah," they countered, "we cannot describe this secret in words, my great and powerful lord; we can only show it to you."

"Agreed," said the emperor and announced a contest between the Confucians and the Taoists. Whoever could show him the true secret of their power, he said, would become the supreme teachers of the land.

On the appointed day the Confucians and the Taoists were led to a great chamber deep in the heart of the castle. A great curtain was drawn down the center of the room, dividing the Taoists from the Confucians. Both groups were told that they were to create a painting, a great work of art, on the wall on either side. This would be the final test of their power and knowledge. Whoever impressed the emperor the most would be awarded the prize.

The Confucians smiled and quickly ordered all the colors that were available in the royal storerooms. They immediately went to work designing and painting a magnificent mural. The Taoists, on the other hand, ordered a great deal of wine and a few dozen soft cloths, the softest that were available. Then they went to work on opening the wine.

Day after day the Confucians labored on their huge and wondrous mural. Day after day the Taoists ordered more wine and simply rubbed the wall with their soft cloths, over and over, while singing old drinking songs at the top of their lungs.

Finally came the day when the Emperor would view each work of art and make his decision. First he visited the Confucian's side of the room, certain that he would be in for a visual treat. He had watched how assiduously the Confucians had applied their layers of colors on the wall and how they stopped often to study the ancient texts and perform slow and stately rituals before taking up their brushes again.

He was not disappointed. The Confucians had created a marvel of color and form. He saw his whole city laid out before him, with his own castle in the very center of the city, with the golden light of the setting sun glinting off its shapely and graceful roofs. And way over on the edge of the painting he saw his own magnificent form astride his favorite warhorse, leading his victorious troops into battle against an already vanquished enemy. A great river ran across the bottom of the painting with cunning little waves painted all over it and the curly shadows of birds suspended above it. It was truly a wondrous and amazing sight. The emperor was at a loss as to how the Taoists could top it.

Imagine his surprise then when he crossed to the other side of the room to view the Taoists' work, only to find a completely blank wall and a lot of slightly tipsy Taoists dancing their strange cloudlike dancing. True, the wall was very shiny and smooth after numerous applications with the soft cloths, but there was nothing there-no paintings of his magnificence, no golden palace, no wondrous river.

"What is this?" he thundered. "You didn't even try to paint a picture. Is this the way you curry my favor?"

"Oh but we have done our best," cried the Taoists indignantly, and a little rudely.

"But there is nothing there," said the Emperor. "Is this truly how you view me? Is this your precious secret?"

"Wait one moment please," said the oldest and tipsiest of the Taoists, his long beard still damp with wine. "Please draw aside the curtain between our walls and you will then truly see our work."

So, shaking his head in wonder, the emperor had the curtain drawn, revealing the dazzling painting of the Confucians. The emperor stood before it once again, marveling at its wonder (and how they seemed to get his noble brow just so). Then, his mind already made up as to who was the winner this day, he turned once again to the Taoists' blank wall, only to find not a blank wall after all but the reflection of the painting on the opposite wall. Only this time, instead of a flat and static picture, he saw reflected in the unbelievably smooth and shiny wall, a moving picture.

Somehow, because of the play of light on the shiny surface, it seemed as though the painting had come alive. There was the palace and the town again, only he thought he could detect movement behind its windows. The river itself moved, the waves lapping against each other and the birds pirouetting overhead. And lastly, he could see himself there, astride his great stallion, whose very nostrils seemed to quiver in the air while his own beard fluttered in the breeze and his lips seemed to move with his own shouted orders to his troops.

He was amazed. He was astounded. He turned to the tipsy Taoists and asked them with humility and wonder in his voice just how they had managed this miracle. The Taoists seemed to hang their heads just a little and answered simply. "It is actually in not doing that we have achieved this wondrous thing, my lord. All we did was create the space for the painting to happen and let it paint itself."

"Is this then your precious secret?" asked the great lord.

"Yes," answered the Taoists, "it is indeed. We call it wu wei or not doing, and it is in creative and natural not doing that we are able to achieve ourselves to the highest level possible." Then they turned and bowed in unison to the dumbfounded Confucians. "We congratulate you, noble sirs, in your great work of art. We watched you every day work so diligently while we drank wine and rubbed a blank wall. What you have created is truly marvelous. But in your industriousness you have only created a flat and lifeless thing, while we, in our formlessness, have created a living world."

It was said that afterward, for the length of his reign, the emperor gave the Taoists in his kingdom his royal ear. They taught him many things, until the day came for him to ascend to the heavens on the back of a dragon to take his place in the realm of the Immortals. 

I personally find the author, Solala Towler, arrogant and self important, but that is another subject and does not change the message of this story.

"It is actually in not doing that we have achieved this wondrous thing, my lord. All we did was create the space for the painting to happen and let it paint itself." 

That line right there says so much to me.  What happens will happen.  Peace, wonder, comfort, ect...they are all relative to the person.  You can't just think these things, you can't force it on other people...but you can live it.  No matter what brings you these things personally, I think it's important to just let it be.  Don't try to force life...live it.

(I know...it's a little on the long side) 

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