[and THIS particular message will take a good ten minutes to compose.]
Preface:
I am held captive by the North, and sit now in an earthen room. The room is eight feet wide and twelve yards deep, its single door is low and small, its windows short and tight. It is dirty and dark. On a summer day like today, various vapors gather here. When the rains come in on all four sides, causing my bed and table to begin to float, this is the energy of water. When the muddy dirt dries halfway and steam bubbles ripple through it, this is the energy of earth. When the skies are clear and oppressively hot and the wind is blocked on all four sides, this is the energy of the sun. When cooking fires are lit under the shade of eaves, making the long heat even more brutal, this is the energy of fire. When the grain in the storage begins to decay, releasing an oppressive mustiness, this is the energy of rice. And when one is shoulder to shoulder with all sorts, rank, dirty, and oily, this is the energy of man. When the stench of privies, rotten corpses, and decaying rats emerge, this is the energy of fetor. These various malign energies overlap one on top of the other, and few are the men exposed to them who can remain unharmed. Moreover, my constitution is weak, yet I have lived amid them going on two years now, and thankfully have emerged unscathed. This is probably because I have something I have cultivated within me that makes it so. But how do I know what I am cultivating in myself? Mencius said, "I am good at cultivating my flood-like qi." There are seven energies, and I have just one. One has held off seven. So why should I worry?! Especially since what I mean by "flood-like" is the "Righteous Spirit" of Heaven and Earth. I hereby compose "The Song of The Righteous Spirit".
The Song of The Righteous Spirit:
Pervading Heaven And Earth is a righteous spirit -- Mixed and manifold, it assumes various forms. Below, it makes rivers and mountains; Above, it makes the sun and stars. In the world of man, it is what Mencius called "flood-like," Surging forth to fill all that lies beneath the blue sky. When the Great Way is tranquil and peaceful, It inspires the bright court with harmony. When events reach and impasse, integrity is tested; Each instance is recorded down in the annals of history. In Qi, it was the Grand Historian's bamboo slips [that told of Cui Zhu's assassination of Duke Zhuang]; In Jin, it was the brush of Dong Hu [that attributed blame to Zhao Dun for Duke Ling's murder]. In Qin, it was the hammer of Zhang Liang [with which he attacks Qin Shihuang's carriage]; In Han, it was the staff of Su Wu [that he carried as envoy]. It was general Yan's head [that refused to bow in submission], It was Palace Attendent Ji Shao's blood [that he spilled defending the Emperor]. It was the teeth of Zhang Xun at Suiyang [that he ground down while defending the city]; It was the tongue of Yan Gaoqing at Changshan [that was cut out when he insulted An Lushan]. Or, it appeared as the cap in Liaodong [that Guan Ning wore in his reclusion], Whose purity was more intense than ice and snow. Or, it appeared as the "Memorial to Dispatch The Troops" [by Zhuge Liang], Which made even ghosts and spirits cry solemnly. Or, at appeared as the oar that crossed the river [which Zu Ti beat, vowing to reclaim the north]; With righteous determination to vanquish the barbarians. Or, it appeared as the tablet that struck the bandit [Zhu Ci]; Whose traitorous head was split open. Each and every place that this spirit springs forth, Has stolid dignity that shall last for eternity. When it suffuses the sun and moon, How can life and death merit disucssion? The Terrestrial Perimeters depend upon it to stand; The Pillar of Heaven relies upon it to rise tall. The fate of the Three Bonds is tied to it; For Righteousness and the Way are its roots. Alas! I have met with an ill-fated year; And am now one held captive, truly powerless. Like the Chu prisoner who fastened his cap strings, I was brought by carriage to the remote north. To be boiled in the cauldron would be sweeter than candy; I begged for this, but could not obtain it. My gloomy cell fills with ghostly will-o'-the-wisp; The spring courtyard is plunged into darkness. The ox and the steed share the same trough; A phoenix is made to eat among chickens. One day I shall be overcome by the damp, I thought, My fate to be an emaciated corpse in some gully. Two winters and springs have passed like this, And a hundred malignancies have kept their distance. Oh this damp and soggy place, Has now become my paradise! Surely it is not because of some clever trick That I am immune to the harm of the elements. I know it is the radiance that lies within, Pure as the white floating clouds that I gaze at overhead. Vast ist he sorrow in my heart; Blue Heaven! When will it end? The great wise men grow more distant each day; Yet their example lives on in the past. Under the breezy eaves, I open a book and read; The ancient path illuminating my face.
no subject
Preface:
I am held captive by the North, and sit now in an earthen room. The room is eight feet wide and twelve yards deep, its single door is low and small, its windows short and tight. It is dirty and dark. On a summer day like today, various vapors gather here. When the rains come in on all four sides, causing my bed and table to begin to float, this is the energy of water. When the muddy dirt dries halfway and steam bubbles ripple through it, this is the energy of earth. When the skies are clear and oppressively hot and the wind is blocked on all four sides, this is the energy of the sun. When cooking fires are lit under the shade of eaves, making the long heat even more brutal, this is the energy of fire. When the grain in the storage begins to decay, releasing an oppressive mustiness, this is the energy of rice. And when one is shoulder to shoulder with all sorts, rank, dirty, and oily, this is the energy of man. When the stench of privies, rotten corpses, and decaying rats emerge, this is the energy of fetor. These various malign energies overlap one on top of the other, and few are the men exposed to them who can remain unharmed. Moreover, my constitution is weak, yet I have lived amid them going on two years now, and thankfully have emerged unscathed. This is probably because I have something I have cultivated within me that makes it so. But how do I know what I am cultivating in myself? Mencius said, "I am good at cultivating my flood-like qi." There are seven energies, and I have just one. One has held off seven. So why should I worry?! Especially since what I mean by "flood-like" is the "Righteous Spirit" of Heaven and Earth. I hereby compose "The Song of The Righteous Spirit".
The Song of The Righteous Spirit:
Pervading Heaven And Earth is a righteous spirit --
Mixed and manifold, it assumes various forms.
Below, it makes rivers and mountains;
Above, it makes the sun and stars.
In the world of man, it is what Mencius called "flood-like,"
Surging forth to fill all that lies beneath the blue sky.
When the Great Way is tranquil and peaceful,
It inspires the bright court with harmony.
When events reach and impasse, integrity is tested;
Each instance is recorded down in the annals of history.
In Qi, it was the Grand Historian's bamboo slips [that told of Cui Zhu's assassination of Duke Zhuang];
In Jin, it was the brush of Dong Hu [that attributed blame to Zhao Dun for Duke Ling's murder].
In Qin, it was the hammer of Zhang Liang [with which he attacks Qin Shihuang's carriage];
In Han, it was the staff of Su Wu [that he carried as envoy].
It was general Yan's head [that refused to bow in submission],
It was Palace Attendent Ji Shao's blood [that he spilled defending the Emperor].
It was the teeth of Zhang Xun at Suiyang [that he ground down while defending the city];
It was the tongue of Yan Gaoqing at Changshan [that was cut out when he insulted An Lushan].
Or, it appeared as the cap in Liaodong [that Guan Ning wore in his reclusion],
Whose purity was more intense than ice and snow.
Or, it appeared as the "Memorial to Dispatch The Troops" [by Zhuge Liang],
Which made even ghosts and spirits cry solemnly.
Or, at appeared as the oar that crossed the river [which Zu Ti beat, vowing to reclaim the north];
With righteous determination to vanquish the barbarians.
Or, it appeared as the tablet that struck the bandit [Zhu Ci];
Whose traitorous head was split open.
Each and every place that this spirit springs forth,
Has stolid dignity that shall last for eternity.
When it suffuses the sun and moon,
How can life and death merit disucssion?
The Terrestrial Perimeters depend upon it to stand;
The Pillar of Heaven relies upon it to rise tall.
The fate of the Three Bonds is tied to it;
For Righteousness and the Way are its roots.
Alas! I have met with an ill-fated year;
And am now one held captive, truly powerless.
Like the Chu prisoner who fastened his cap strings,
I was brought by carriage to the remote north.
To be boiled in the cauldron would be sweeter than candy;
I begged for this, but could not obtain it.
My gloomy cell fills with ghostly will-o'-the-wisp;
The spring courtyard is plunged into darkness.
The ox and the steed share the same trough;
A phoenix is made to eat among chickens.
One day I shall be overcome by the damp, I thought,
My fate to be an emaciated corpse in some gully.
Two winters and springs have passed like this,
And a hundred malignancies have kept their distance.
Oh this damp and soggy place,
Has now become my paradise!
Surely it is not because of some clever trick
That I am immune to the harm of the elements.
I know it is the radiance that lies within,
Pure as the white floating clouds that I gaze at overhead.
Vast ist he sorrow in my heart;
Blue Heaven! When will it end?
The great wise men grow more distant each day;
Yet their example lives on in the past.
Under the breezy eaves, I open a book and read;
The ancient path illuminating my face.