I. ON GOING ABOUT AND SEEING THINGS
TRAVEL used to be a pleasure, now it has become an industry. No doubt there are greater
facilities for traveling today than a hundred years ago, and governments with their
official travel bureaus have exploited the tourist trade, with the result that the
modern man travels on the whole much more than his grandfather. Nevertheless travel
seems to have become a lost art. In order to understand the art of travel, one should
first of all beware of the different types of false travel, which is no travel at
all.
The first kind of false travel is travel to improve one's mind. This matter of
improving one's mind has undoubtedly been overdone. I doubt very much whether one
s mind can be so easily improved. Anyway there is very little evidence of it at clubs
and lectures. But if we are usually so serious as to be bent upon improving our minds,
we should at least during a vacation let the mind lie fallow, and give it a holiday.
This false idea of travel has given rise to the institution of tourist guides, the
most intolerable chattering kind of interfering busybodies that I can imagine. One
cannot pass a square or a bronze statue without his attention being called to the
fact that So-and-So was born on April 23, 1792, and died on December 2, 1852. I have
seen convent sisters escorting school children to a cemetery, and as the group stopped
before a tombstone, reading to them from a book the dates of the deceased, the age
at which he married, the name and surname of his wife, and such learned nonsense,
which I am sure spoiled the pleasure of the entire trip for the children. The grown-ups
themselves are turned into a group of school children being vociferously lectured
to by the guide, and in the case of travelers of the more studious type, also taking
notes very assiduously like good school children. Chinese tourists suffer like
American tourists at Radio City, with the difference that Chinese guides are not
professional, but are fruit-sellers, donkey drivers and peasant boys, whose
information is less correct, if their personalities are more lively. Visiting Huch'iu
Hill at Soochow one day, I came back with a terrible confusion of historical dates
and sequence, for the awe-inspiring bridge suspended forty feet over the Sword Pond,
with two round holes in the stone slabs of the bridge through which a sword had flown
up as a dragon, became, according to my orange-selling boy, the place where the ancient
beauty Hsishih attended to her morning toilet! ( Hsishih's "dressing table" was
actually about ten miles away from the place. ) All he wanted was to sell me some
oranges. But then I had a chance of seeing how folklore was changed and modified and
"metamorphosed . "
The second kind of false travel is travel for conversation, in order that one may
talk about it afterwards. I have seen visitors at Hup'ao of Hangchow, a place famous
for its tea and spring water, having their picture taken in the act of lifting tea
cups to their lips. To be-sure, it is a highly poetic sentiment to show friends a
picture of themselves drinking tea at Hup'ao. The danger is that one spends less
thought on the actual taste of the tea than on the photograph itself. This sort of
thing can become an obsession, especially with travelers provided with cameras, as
we so often see on sight-seeing buses in Paris and London. The tourists are so busy
with their cameras that they have no time to look at the places themselves. Of course
they have the privilege of looking at them in the pictures afterwards when they go
home, but it is obvious that pictures of Trafalgar Square or the Champs Elysees can
be bought in New York or in Peiping. As these historical places become places to be
talked about afterwards instead of places to be looked at, it is natural that the
more places one visits, the richer the memory will be, and the more places there will
be to talk about. This urge for learning and scholarship therefore impels the tourist
to cover as many points as possible in a day. He has in his hand a program of places
to visit, and as he comes to a place, he checks it off with a pencil on the program.
I suspect such travelers are trying to be efficient even on their holiday.
This sort of foolish travel necessarily produces the third type of false travelers,
who travel by schedule, knowing beforehand exactly how many hours they are going to
spend in Vienna or Budapest. Before such a traveler departs, he makes a perfect
schedule for himself and religiously adheres to it. Bound by the clock and run by
the calendar as he is at home, he is still bound by the clock and run by the calendar
while abroad.
In place of these false types of travel, I propose that the true motives of travel
are, or should be, otherwise. In the first place, the true motive of travel should
be travel to become lost and unknown. iMore poetically, we may describe it as travel
to forget. Everyone is quite respectable in his home town, no matter what the higher
social circles think of him. He is tied by a set of conventions, rules, habits and
duties. A banker finds it difficult to be treated just as an ordinary human being
at home and to forget that he is a banker, and it seems to me, the real excuse for
(ravel is that he shall be able to find himself in a community in which he is just
an ordinary human being. Letters of introduction are all very well for people on
business trips, but business trips are by definition outside the category of pure
travel. A man stands a poorer chance of discovering himself as a human being if he
brings along with him fetters of introduction, and of finding out exactly how God
made him as a human being, apart from the artificial accidents of social standing.
Against the comforts of being well-received by friends in a foreign country and guided
efficiently through the social strata of one's own class, there is the greater
excitement of a boy scout in a forest, left to his own devices. He has the chance
to prove for himself that he can order a fried chicken with the language of fingers
alone, or find his way about town by communicating with a Tokyo policeman. At least,
such a traveler can come home with a less tenderfootish dependence upon his chauffeur
and butler.
A true traveler is always a vagabond, with the joys, temptations and sense of adventure
of the vagabond. Either travel is "vagabonding" or it is no travel at all. The essence
of travel is to have no duties, no fixed hours, no mail, no inquisitive neighbors,
no receiving delegations, and no destination. A good traveler is one who does not
know where he is going to, and a perfect traveler does not know where he came from.
He does not even know his own name and surname. This point has been emphasized by
T'u Lung in his idealized sketch of the Travels of Mingliaotse which I have translated
in the next section. Probably he hasn't got a single friend in a strange land, but
as a Chinese nun expressed it, "Not to care for anybody in particular is to care for
mankind in general. " Having no particular friend is having everybody as one's friend.
Loving mankind in general, he mixes with them and goes about observing the charms
of people and their customs. This kind of benefit is entirely missed by those travelers
on the sight-seeing buses, who stay in the hotel, converse with their fellow
passengers from the home country, and in the case of many American travelers in Paris,
make a point of eating at the favorite rendezvous of American tourists, where they
can be sure of seeing all their fellow passengers who came over on the same ship all
over again, and can eat American doughnuts which taste exactly as they taste at home.
English travelers in Shanghai make sure that they put up at an English hotel where
they can have their bacon and eggs and toast with marmalade at breakfast, and hang
about the cocktail lounge and fight shy of any inducement to get them to take a rickshaw
ride. They are terribly hygienic, to be sure, but why go to Shanghai at all? Such
travelers never allow themselves the time and leisure for entering into the spirit
of the people and thus forfeit one of the greatest benefits of traveling.
The spirit of vagabondage makes it possible for people taking a vacation to get closer
to Nature. Travelers of this kind will therefore insist on going to the summer resorts
where there are the fewest people and one can have some sort of real solitude and
communion with Nature. Travelers of this sort, therefore, do not in their preparation
for journeys go into a department store and take a lot of time to select a pink or
a blue bathing suit. Lipstick is still allowable because a vacationist, being a
follower of Jean Jacques Rousseau, wants to be natural, and no lady can be quite
natural without a good lipstick. But that is due to the fact that one goes to the
summer resorts and beaches where everybody goes, and the entire benefit of a closer
association with Nature is lost or forgotten. One goes to a famous spring and says
to himself, "Now I am entirely by myself, " but after supper at the hotel, he takes
up a paper in the lounge and discovers that Mrs. B  came up to the place on Monday.
Next morning on his "solitary" walk, he encounters the entire family of the Dudleys,
who arrived by train the night before. On Thursday night he finds out to his great
delight that Mrs. S and her husband are also having a vacation in this wonderful
secluded valley. Mrs. S  then invites the Dudleys to tea, and the Dudleys invite Mr.
and Mrs. S  to a bridge party, and you can hear Mrs. S  exclaim, "Isn't it wonderful?
It is just like being in New York, isn't it?"
I may suggest that there is a different kind of travel, travel to see nothing and
to see nobody, but the squirrels and muskrats and wood-chucks and clouds and trees.
A friend of mine, an American lady, described for me how she went with some Chinese
friends to a hill in the neighborhood of Hangchow, in order to see nothing. It was
a misty day in the morning, and as they went up, the mist became heavier and heavier.
One could hear the soft beat of drops of moisture on the leaves of grass. There was
nothing to be seen but fog. The American lady was discouraged. "But you must come
along; there's a wonderful sight on top, " insisted her Chinese friends. She went
up with them and after a while saw an ugly rock in the distance enveloped by the clouds,
which had been heralded as a great sight. "What is there? " she asked. "That is the
Inverted Lotus," her friends replied. Somewhat mortified, she was ready to go down.
"But there is a still more wonderful sight on top, " they said. Her dress was already
half damp with the moisture, but she had given up the fight already and went on with
them. Finally they reached the summit. All about them was an expanse of mists and
fogs, with the outline of distant hills barely visible on the horizon. "But there
is nothing to see here, " my American friend protested. "That is exactly the point.
We come up to see nothing, " her Chinese friends replied.
There is all the difference between seeing things and seeing nothing. Many travelers
who see things really see nothing, and many who see nothing see a great deal. I am
always amused at hearing of an author going to a foreign country to "get material
for his new book, " as if he had exhausted all there was to see in humanity in his
own town or country and as if the theme could ever be exhausted. "Thrums" must be
unromantic and the Island of Guernsey too dull to build a great novel upon ! We come
therefore to the philosophy of travel as consisting of the capacity to see things,
which abolishes the distinction between travel to a distant country and going about
the fields of an afternoon.
The two become the same thing, as Chin Shengt'an insisted. The most necessary outfit
a traveler has to carry along with him is "a special talent in his breast and a special
vision below his eyebrows, " as the Chinese dramatic critic expressed it in his famous
running comment on the drama Western Chamber. The point is whether one has got the
heart to feel and the eyes to see. If he hasn't, his visits to the mountains are a
pure waste of time and money; on the other hand, if he has got "a special talent in
his breast and a special vision below his eyebrows, " he can get the greatest joy
of travel even without going to the mountains, by staying at home and watching and
going about the field to watch a sailing cloud, or a dog, or a hedge, or a lonely
tree. I translate below Chin's dissertation on the true art of travel:
I have read the travel sketches of people and realize that very few people understand
the art of travelling. Surely the man who knows how to travel will not be frightened
by a long journey to see all the sights of the land and sea and explore all their
grandeur and mystery. But a certain talent in his breast and a certain vision below
his eyebrows tells him that it is not necessary to go to all the famous beauty spots
of land and sea in order to explore nature's wonder and mystery. One day he goes to
a stone cave after using up a great deal of the energy of his legs, his eyes and his
mind, and when he has done that, the next day he goes again to another blessed spot
and uses up some more of the energy of his legs, his eyes and his mind. People who
do not understand him will say, "What a wonderful time you have been having, visiting
places these days! Just after seeing one stone cave, you have gone ahead to visit
another blessed spot. " They have entirely missed the point. For there is a distance
between the two places he visited perhaps twenty or thirty li, or perhaps, eight,
seven, six, five, four, three, two li, or perhaps even one li or just half a li .
With the special talent in his breast and the special vision beneath his pair of
eyebrows, has he not looked at that little distance of a li or half a li in the same
way he looked at the stone cave and the blessed spot?
It is true that there is something which terrifies the eye and surprises the soul
to find I hat Mother Nature with her great skill and wisdom and energy has suddenly
produced a thing like a stone cave or a blessed spot. But I have often stared casually
at little things of this universe, a bird, a fish, a flower, or a small plant, and
even at a bird's feather, a fish's scale, a flower petal and a blade of grass, and
realized how Mother Nature has also created it with all her great skill and wisdom
and energy. As it is said that the lion uses the same energy to attack an elephant
as to attack a wild rabbit, so does Mother Nature truly do the same thing. She uses
all her energy in producing a stone cave or a blessed spot, but she also uses all
her energy in producing a bird, a fish, a flower, a blade of grass, or even a feather,
a scale, a petal, a leaf. Therefore, it is not alone the stone cave or the blessed
spot that terrifies the eye and surprises the soul in this world.
Furthermore, have we ever thought how the stone cave and the blessed spot were produced?
Chuangtse has wisely said, "To comprehend the different organs of the horse is not
to comprehend the horse itself. What we call the horse exists before its different
organs. " take another analogy, we see forests growing around the great lakes and
timber and rocks spread all over the great mountains. It gives the traveler joy to
know that the great forests and timber and rocks are assembled together to form the
great lakes and great mountains. But the towering peaks are formed by little rocks
and the falling cataracts are formed and nourished by little springs of water. If
we examine them one by one, we see that the stones are no bigger than the palm of
one's hand, and the springs are no bigger than little rivulets. Laotse has said:
"Thirty spokes are grouped around the hub of a wheel, and when they lose their own
individuality, we have a functioning cart. We knead clay into a vessel and when the
clay loses its own existence, we have a usable utensil. We make a hole in the wall
to make windows and doors, and when the windows and doors lose their own existence,
  we have a house to live in. " And so when we view a stone cave or a blessed spot
and see the vertically uprising peaks, horizontally stretching mountain passes, those
that go up and form a precipice, those that go down and form a river, those that are
level and form a precipice, those that go down and form a river, those that are level
and form a plateau, those that are inclined and form a hillside, those that stretch
across and become bridges, and those that come together and become ravines, we realize
that however incomparably manifold they are in their greatness and mystery, this
mystery and grandeur arises when the parts lose their individual existence. For when
they lose their own existence, there are no passes, no precipices, no rivers and no
plateaus, hillsides, bridges and ravines. But it is exactly in their non-existence
that the special talent in our breast and the special vision below our eyebrows wander
and float at ease. And since this special talent in our breast and this special vision
below our eyebrows can wander and float at ease only when these things are non-existent,
why then must we insist on going to the stone cave and to the blessed spot?
If, therefore with the special talent in my breast and the speBy being blanks in space
cial vision below my eyebrows, I can still wander and float about at ease only when
these things lose their individual existence, isn't it then unnecessary that I visit
the stone cave and the blessed spot? For as I have just said, in the distance of twenty
or thirty li, or even one or half li, are there not also everywhere things that lose
their existence? A crooked little bridge a shaggy lonely tree a glimpse of water a
village a hedge a dog  how do I know that the mystery and the grandeur of the stone
cave and the blessed spot where I may wander and float about at ease are not even
here ? . . .
Besides, it is not necessary that we have a special talent in our breast and a special
vision below our eyebrows: should one require a special talent in order to float about
and require a special vision in order to wander at ease, we might not find a single
person in the world who understands the art of traveling. According to Shengt'an [the
writer himself], there are no special talents and no special visions: to be willing
to float about is already to have the special talent, and to be able to wander about
at ease is already to have a special vision. The criteria of Old Mi [Mi Fei] for judging
rocks are hsiou, tsou, t'ou and sou [delicacy, undulation, clarity and slenderness].
Now a little patch of water, a village, a bridge, a tree, a hedge or a dog at the
distance of one li or half a li has each its great delicacy great undulation, great
clarity and great slenderness. If we fail to see this, it is because we do not
understand how to look at them as Old Mi looked at the rocks. If we only see their
delicacy, their undulation, their clarity and their slenderness, we cannot help but
wander and float about at ease among them. What is there in the grandeur and mystery
of peaks and mountain passes and precipices and rivers and the plateaux, the slopes,
the bridges and the ravines in the stone cave and the blessed spot outside their being
delicate, undulated, clear and slender? Those who insist on visiting the stone caves
and the blessed spots therefore have left much that they have not visited; in fact,
they have not visited any place at all. For those who fail to see the mystery and
grandeur of a single hedge or a dog have seen only what is not grand and what is not
mysterious in the stone caves and the blessed spots.
Toushan [Chin's friend] said, "The one who understands best the art of travel in all
history is Confucius, and the second, Wang Hsichih [acknowledged master of Chinese
calligraphy]. " On being asked to explain, Toushan said, "I know this of Confucius
from the two sentences that for him, ' rice could not be white enough, and mincemeat
could not be chopped fine enough', and I know this of Wang from seeing examples of
his calligraphy. There are things in it which his son Hsienchih could not even
understand. ""What you have just said is devastating to the entire mankind," said
I. Toushan once told me, "When Wang Hsichih was at home, he often counted the pistils
of every flower on every branch in his yard, and he would be thus occupied the whole
day without saying a word, while his students stood by with towels at his side. ""Where
did you find the authority for this statement?" asked Shengt'an. "I found it in my
own heart, " replied Toushan. Such a marvelous person is Toushan. Alas, that the world
has not discovered Toushan and admired his romantic imagination!

II. "THE TRAVELS OF MINGUAOTSE"
a. The Reason for the Flight Mingliaotse was once an official, and he was tired of
the ways of (D  This is a translation from a Chinese sketch, entitled The Travels
of Mingliaotse, which draws a vivid picture of the glorified, cultured vagabond so
much idealized by Chinese scholars, and sets forth a happy, carefree philosophy of
living, characterized by love of truth, freedom and vagabondage. It was written by
T'u Lung (alias T'u Ch'ihshui), a writer who lived toward the end of the sixteenth
century and who together with Hsii Wench'ang, Yuan Chunglang, Li Chowu and others
living at the period, have never been given their due by the orthodox Chinese critics.
the world, of having to say things against his heart and to perform ceremonies against
good form. What is "to say things against one's heart? "A host and his visitor make
a low bow to each other, and after a few casual remarks about the weather, dare not
make another comment. People we have met for the first time shake, hands with us and
insist they are our bosom friends, but after they have parted from us, we are totally
indifferent to each other. When we praise a person, we compare him to the saint Poyi,
and as soon as he has turned away, we talk behind his back and compare him to the
thief Cheh. And when we are sitting at ease enjoying a conversation, we try to preserve
a curt dignity, although we have so much we should like to say to each other; and
we gabble about noble ideals, while we have immoral conduct. Being afraid that to
unbosom our heart would betray the truth and to tell the truth would hurl, we lay
these thoughts aside and let the conversation drift aimlessly on trivial topics.
Sometimes we even play the actor and sigh or shout to cover up our thoughts, so that
our ears, our eyes, our mouth and our nose are no more our own, and our anger, our
joy, our laughter and our condemnations are no longer genuine. Such is the established
convention of society, and there is no way of rectifying it. And what is "lo perform
ceremonies against good form?" In dealings with our fellow-men, no matter of what
rank, we bow and kowtow the whole day, although they are our old friends. We dissociate
ourselves without reason from some, as if they were our mortal enemies, and equally
without reason try to get close to others, although they have no real affinity to
us. Hardly has a nobleman opened his mouth when we answer, "Yes, sir! " with a roar,
and yet he need only raise an arm, and our heads may be chopped off. We see two people
calling on each other, and although they hate to see each other's faces, they spend
their days busily dismounting from their horses and leaving their cards. Now calling
on a friend to inquire after his welfare should not be merely an empty form. Did the
ancient kings who established these ceremonies mean it to be this way? We put on our
gowns and girdles, feeling like caged monkeys, so that even when a louse biles
our body and our skin itches, we cannot scratch it. And when we are walking at leisure
in the streets, we are afraid of disobeying the law. Immediately our eyes look at
our nose and we dare not look beyond a short distance, and if we look beyond a short
distance, other people will look at us and try to detect what we are doing. When we
want to ease ourselves and the feeling is intense, we hardly dare to stop without
some excuse. The higher officials are ever mindful of the sword in front and other
people's criticism behind. The cold and hot seasons disturb their bodies, and the
desire of possession and the fear of loss trouble their hearts. Thus they suffer
greater loss than comes from the mere fear of being incorrect. Even the noblest and
most chivalrous spirits, who have a sense of wise disenchantment and are pleased with
their own being, fall into this trap once they have become officials. So, wishing
to emancipate his heart and liberate his will, Mingliaotse sets forth to travel in
the Country of the Nonchalant .
Some one may say: " I have heard that the follower of Tao lives in quiet and does
not feel lonely, and lives in a crowd and does not feel the noise. He lives in the
world and yet is out of it, is without bondage and without need for emancipation,
and soon a willow tree grows from his left armpit and a bird makes its nest on the
top of his head. This is the height of the culture of quietism and emancipation. To
be a servant in the kitchen, or to pick up the waste on the ground, is one of the
lowest of professions, and yet the saint is not disturbed by it. Are you not making
your spirit the servant of your body, when you are afraid of the restrictions of the
official life, and desire to travel to unusual places?"
And Mingliaotse replies: "He who has attained the Tao can go into water without
becoming wet, jump into fire without being burned, walk upon reality as if it were
a void and travel on a void as if it were reality. He can be at home wherever he is
and be alone in whatever surroundings. That is natural with him. But I am not one
who has attained the Tao, I am merely a lover of Tao. One who has attained the Tao
is master of himself, and the universe is dissolved for him.
Throw him in the company of the noisy and the dirty, and he will be like a lotus flower
growing from muddy water, touched by it, yet unstained. Therefore he does not have
to choose where to go. I am yet unqualified for this, for I am like a willow tree
following the wind when the wind is quiet, then I am quiet, and when the wind moves,
I move, too. I am like sand in the water which is clean or muddy as the water is.
I have often achieved purity and quiet for a whole day and then lost it in a moment,
and have sometimes achieved purity and quiet for a year and then lost it in a day.
It has not been possible for me to let everything alone and not be disturbed by material
surroundings. If an emperor could follow the Tao, why did Ch'ao Fu and Hsij Yu have
to go to the Chi Hill and the Ying River? If a prince could follow the Tao, why did
Sakyamuni have to go to the Himalayas? If a duke could follow the Tao, why did Chang
Liang have to ask for sick leave? And if a minor official could follow the Tao, why
did T'ao Yiianming have to resign from his office? I am going to emancipate my heart
and release my spirit and travel in the Country of the Nonchalant. "
"Let me hear about your travels, " the friend says, and Mingliaotsc replies:
"One who travels does so in order to open his ears and eyes and relax his spirit.
He explores the Nine States   and travels over the Eight Barbarian Countries, in the
hope that he may gather the Divine Essence and meet great Taoists, and that he may
eat of the plant of eternal life and find the marrow of rocks. Riding upon the wind
and sailing upon ether, he goes coolly whithersoever the wind may carry him. After
these wanderings, he comes back, shuts himself up and sits looking at the blank wall,
and in this way ends his life. I am not one who has attained the Tao. I would like
to house my spirit within my body, to nourish my virtue by mildness, and to travel
in ether by becoming a void. But I cannot do it yet. I tried to house my spirit
    Ancient nomenclature for parts of North and Central China. @   Stalactites and
stalagmites.
within my body, but suddenly it disappeared outside; I tried to nourish my virtue
by mildness, but suddenly it shifted to intensity of feeling; and I tried to wander,
in ether by keeping in the void, but suddenly there sprang up in me a desire. And
so, being unable to find peace within myself, I made use of the external surroundings
to calm my spirit, and being unable to find delight within my heart, I borrowed a
landscape to please it. Therefore strange were my travels."
b. The Way of Traveling
"I go forth with a friend who loves the mountain haze and each of us carries a gourd
and wears a cassock, taking with us a hundred cash. We do not want more, but try always
to keep it at a hundred to meet emergencies. And we two go begging through cities
and through hamlets, at vermilion gates and at white mansions, before Taoist temples
and monks' huts. We are careful of what we beg for, asking for rice and not for wine,
and for vegetables and not for meat. The tone of our begging is humble, but not tragic.
If people give, we then leave them, and if people don't give, we also leave them;
the whole object being merely to forestall hunger. If some people are rude, we take
it with a bow. Sometimes when there is no place at which to beg and we cannot do
otherwise, we spend one or two from the hundred cash we carry along with us, and make
it up whenever possible. But we do not spend any cash unless we are actually forced
to it.
"We travel without a destination and stop over wherever we find ourselves, and we
go very slowly, perhaps ten li a day, perhaps twenty, or perhaps thirty, forty or
fifty. We do not try to do too much, lest we feel tired. And when we come to mountains
and streams, and are enchanted with the springs and white rocks and water fowls and
mountain birds, we choose a spot on a river islet and sit on a rock, looking at the
distance. And when we meet woodcutters or fishermen or villagers or rustic old men,
we do not ask for their names and surnames, nor give ours, nor talk about the weather,
but chat briefly on the charms of the country life. After a while we part company
with them without regret.
"In times of great cold or great heat, we have to seek shelter, lest we be affected
by the weather. On the road, we stand aside and let other people pass, and at a ferry,
we wait to let other people get into the boat first. But if there is a storm we do
not try to cross the water, or if a storm comes up when we are already halfway across,
we calm our spirit, and leaving it to fate with an understanding of life, we say,
' If we should be drowned while crossing, it is Heaven's will. Can we escape by worrying
over it?' If we cannot escape, there our journey ends. If fortunately we escape, then
we go on as before. If we meet some rough young fellow on the way or accidentally
bump into him, and if the young man is rude, we politely apologize to him. If after
the apology we still cannot escape a fight, then there our journey ends. But if we
escape it, then we go on as before. If one of us falls ill, we stop to attend to the
illness, and the other tries to beg a little for some medicine, but he himself takes
it calmly. He looks within himself and is not afraid of death. And so a severe illness
is changed into a light illness, and a light illness is immediately cured. If it is
willed that our days are numbered, then there our journey ends. But if we escape it,
then we go on as before. It is natural that during our wanderings, we might arouse
the suspicion of detectives or guards and might be arrested as spies. We then try
to escape either by our cunning or by our sincerity. If we cannot escape, then there
our journey ends. But if we escape, then we go on as before. Of course we stop over
for the night at a mat-shed hut or a stone lodge, but if it is impossible to find
such a place, we stop for the night lying outside a temple gate, or beneath a rock
cave, or outside people's house walls or beneath tall trees. Perhaps the mountain
spirits and tigers or wolves may be looking upon us, and what are we to do? I'hr
mountain spirits can do us no harm, but we are unable to defend ourselves against
the tigers or wolves. But haven't we a fate controlled up in heaven ? We therefore
leave it to the laws of the universe, and we do not even change the color of our face.
If we are eaten up, tint is our fate, and there our journey ends. But if we escape
it, then we go on as before. . . .
c. At Austere Heights
"As for my destinations, I visit chiefly the Five Sacred Mountains and the Four Sacred
Waters and generally the sacred places on mountain tops, and secondarily include also
the famous mountains and rivers of the Nine States. But I limit myself to only those
parts within the jurisdiction of the Nine States and where human beings have set foot.
As for those regions lying outside the Celestial Empire, like the Himalayas and the
Ten Small Islands and Three Big Islands of the China Sea, I do not think I should
be able to go there, not being provided with a pair of wings. I expect also to meet
only traveling scholars of the lakes and rivers or retired men of the mountains; as
for the various immortals, I do not think I shall be able to come across them, not
being provided with an immortal body myself.
"When I go up to the Five Sacred Mountains, there I stand high above the celestial
winds and look beyond the Four Seas, and the myriad mountain peaks appear like little
snails, the myriad rivers seem like winding girdles, and the myriad trees appear like
kale. The Milky Way seems to graze by my collar, white clouds pass through my sleeves,
the eagles of the air seem within my arm's reach, and the sun and the moon brush my
temples and pass by. And there I have to speak in a low voice, not only for fear I
may frighten away the spirit of the mountain, but also lest it be overheard by God
on His throne. Above us there is the pure firmament, without a single speck of dust
in that vast expanse of space, while below us rain and thunder and stormy darkness
take place without our knowledge, and the rumbling of the thunder is heard only as
the gurgling of a baby. At this moment, my eyesight is dazzled by the light, and my
spirit seems to fly out of the limitations of space, and I feel as if I were riding
upon the far-journeying winds, but do not know where to go. Or when the western sun
is about to hide itself and the eastern moon is bursting out from below the horizon,
there the light of the clouds shines forth in all directions and the purple and the
blue scintillate in the sky and the distant and the near-by peaks change from a deeper
into a lighter hue in a short moment. Or again in the middle of the night, I hear
the sound of the temple bells and the roar of a tiger, followed by a gust of rustling
wind, and the door of the main temple hall being open, I slip on my gown and get up,
and lo! there the Spirit of the Rabbit  is reclining, and some remains of the last
snowfall still cover up the upper slopes, the light of the night lies like a mass
of undefined white, and the distant mountains present a hardly visible outline. At
such a moment, I feel my body steeped in the cool air and all desires of the flesh
have melted away. Or perhaps I see the God of the Sacred Mountain sitting in state,
giving audience to the inferior spirits. There is a profusion of banners and canopies,
and the air is filled with the music of the flute and the bells, and the palace roofs
are clothed in a mantle of clouds and scarfs of haze, seeming to have and yet not
to have a visible outline, and giving the illusion of now being so near and now being
so far away. Ah, thrice happy is it to hear the music of the gods, and why is it suddenly
interrupted by a gust of cold wind?
"Besides these Five Sacred Mountains, there are a number of other famous mountains,
like Szeming, T'ient'ai, Chinhua, Kuats'ang, Chint'ing, T'ienmu, Wuyi, Lushan, Omei,
Chungnan, Chungt'iao, Wut'ai, T'aiho, Lofu, Kweich'i, Maoshan, Chiuhua, and Linwu,
and such sacred places without number, which have been called the dwellings of the
fairies or the abodes of the spirits. I go forth in sandals, carrying a bamboo cane,
and though I may not be able to visit them all, I wander about as far as my energy
permits. I drink the water of the Gods' Faeces, inquire after the name of the Fairy
Mouse, chew the rice of sesame and drink the dew of pine trees. When I come to a steep
peak or overhanging precipice which rises abruptly into the sky, never scaled by man,
I tie myself to a rope and climb up to the top. Coming to a broken stone bridge, or
an old gate suddenly discovered open, I walk into it without fear; or coming to a
rocky cave so dark that one cannot see its bottom, with but a single ray of light
coming in through a crevice in its roof, I light a torch and go in by myself without
fear, in the hope of finding some highminded Taoists, or immortal plants, or perhaps
the bodily remains of some Taoists who have gone up to heaven.
"I visit also the famous rivers and lakes, like the Tungt'ing, the Yunmeng, the
Chiit'ang, the Wuhsia,   the Chuch'u, the P'engli, the Yangtse, and the Ch'ient'ang.
Such deep expanses of water are the a-bodes of fish, dragons, and the water spirits.
When the air is calm and the water smooth like a mirror, we know that then the Divine
Dragon is peacefully asleep, holding a pearl in its breast. When the lights of the
water merge with the color of the sky under a clear moon, we know then it is the Princess
of the Dragon King and the Mistress of the River coming out in a canopied procession,
flute in hand and clad in their new scarfs of light gauze, treading in embroidered
shoes upon the rippling waves. This procession continues for some time and then
disappears. Ah, how cool it is then! Or a furious wind lashes upon the water and
gigantic waves rise, and we know then it is the spirit of Ch'ihyi  in anger, assisted
by T'ienwu.   Then the great earth churns about like a mill and our earthly abode
shakes and rolls like a sifter, and we seem to see Old Dragon Chang breaking his way
into heaven, carrying his nine sons in his arms. Ah, how magnificent it is then! Or
if we go in for the gentle beauty of well-dressed women, there is no better place
than the West Lake of Hangchow, where the willows line the banks and the peach flowers
look at their own image in the water, and we know then it is the Imperial Consort
Lihua opening her vanity box in the morning. When the water-caltrops are in bloom
and the lotus flowers look fresh and gay on a bright morning and the place is filled
with a subtle fragrance, we know then that the beauties
CD	The Yangtse Gorges.
@	A mythical bird.
CD	The Spirit of the Sea, with eight heads, eight legs and eight tails.

Yichu and Hoteh are coming out of their bath. When the sky is clear and the sun is
shining and the things of the place have a bright charm, and people are leaning upon
their balconies in the vermilion towers in the morning, or boating on the lake with
painted oars in the evening, we know then it is the Queen Yang Kweifei in her smiling
mood. When a mist and rain hang over the lake and the many hills are enveloped in
gray, changing into the most unexpected colors, it is also a source of great delight,
for we know then it is Hsishih, Queen of the Wu kingdom, knitting her eyebrows. "
d . Back to Humanity
Then Mingliaotse walks leisurely past the Six Bridges of Hsiling and goes up to
T'ienchu and Lingch'iao, where after visiting some ancient scholars, he comes out
and looks for Wild Stork Ting in some stone cave amidst the clouds. Then there is
Ch'aoyin (Pootoo) which is the monastic home of Mingliaotse, and where the temple
in honor of the Goddess of Mercy is situated. Mingliaotse goes there to pick lotus
flowers and look at the great sea. Ah, is this not a great delight!
And so wandering farther and farther, happy of heart. Mingliaotse proceeds leisurely,
covering a distance of ten thousand /;' on Soot. And when he is pleased with what
he sees or hears, he stays at a place for ten days.
[At a temple] he sits still with crossed legs to master the Three Precious Spirits.
The five thousand words of Taotehching is not the philosophy subtle and fine? The
Golden Casket of Taoist books is it already lost or still to be found? The Jade Book
of Fusang shall he not ask his neighbors concerning its whereabouts? The Two Books
of Yinfu does their secret lie right before his eyes? The Supreme Ruler guides his
perceptive mind, and the Ancient Buddha directs his spiritual wisdom. And so trying
to understand the law of the changing universe, he is not lonely during his
contemplation.
In the temple of Buddha, there is the gracious appearance of his golden body,
irradiating a glorious halo. The candles have been lighted and the incense smoke fills
the air with a light fragrance, and there the Taoists or monks are seated in order
on their straw cushions, drinking tea and eating fruit and perusing the classics.
After a while, when they are tired, they control their respiration and enter the stage
of quietude. After a long time, they get up, and see the moon shining from behind
the wisterias, while the universe lies hushed in silence. An acolyte is kowtowing
with his head against the ground, and a boy servant is taking a nap near the stove
where the medicine of fairies is being stewed. At this moment how can an earthly
thought enter our minds, even if it is there ?
When out in the open country, he sees low walls enclosing mud huts thatched with straw.
A piercing wind is blowing through the door and a mild sun is shining upon the forests.
The cattle and sheep are returning home to the hillside, and hungry birds are making
a noisy sound in the fields on the plain. An old farmer in ragged clothes and disheveled
hair is sunning himself beneath a small mulberry tree, and an old woman is holding
an earthen vessel filled with water and serving a wheat meal. When the landscape and
the mood of the moment are so sad, one feels too that it is as beautiful as a picture.
If a Taoist on travel should regard such views as too ordinary, he might just as well
not travel at all.
On entering a big city, where crowds jostle and the traffic of carts and horses fills
the streets, Mingliaotse goes along singing and observing the people storekeepers,
butchers,  minstrel singers, fortune-tellers, people occupied in a dispute, jugglers,
animal trainers, gamblers and sportsmen. Mingliaotse looks at them all. And when the
spirit moves him, he enters a wine shop and orders some strong wine with dried fish
and green vegetables, and the two men drink across a table. Thus getting warmed up,
they sing the ditty Gathering the Immortal Plant, and look about, supremely satisfied
with themselves. The people of the street wonder at the sight of these two ragged
souls carrying themselves with such an air of charm and happiness, and suspect that
they are perhaps fairies incarnated.
After a short while, they suddenly disappear altogether.
In the great mansions behind tall gates, dukes and princes or officials of high ranks
are having a wine feast. Food is being served on jade plates, and beauties are sitting
around the table. An orchestra is playing in the hall and the sound of song pierces
the clouds. An old servant with a cane in hand is watching the door. Mingliaotse goes
right in to beg for food. With his bright, wide-open eyes and a dignified air, he
shouts to the company, "Stop all this noise and listen to a Taoist singing the song
of 'Dew Drops on Flowers'" :
Dew drops on flowers,
Oh, how gay! Fear not the cutting wind,
But dread the coming day! Eastward flows the River,
Westward the Milky Way. Farmers till the field where
Once the Bronze Tower lay.
Better to have got A day with this all-precious pot Than future names remembered not.
Oh, make merry while ye may !
Dew drops on flowers,
Oh, how bright! So long they last, they shine
Like pearls in morning light, Where grave mounds dot the wilds,
And winds whine through the night;
Foxes' howls and screech-owls
On poplars ghastly white.
See where red leaves blow, Down on the Fragrant Gullet flow, And mosses over Ch'inien
Palace grow.
while ye might!
After Mingliaotse has finished his song, one of the guests seems to be angry and says:
"Who is this Taoist to spoil our enjoyment in the midst of our wine feast? Give him
a piece of sesame cake and send him away! " Mingliaotse receives the cake and leaves.
Then another guest speaks to his attendant, saying, "Quick ! Ask that Taoist to come
back! ""But we were just enjoying our wine, " says the former, "and he came to spoil
our pleasure. That was why I sent him away with a piece of sesame cake. It's just
fine. Why do you want him to come back?""It seems to me, " replies the latter, "there's
something unusual about this Taoist, and I  want to ask him to return to have a good
look at him. ""Why, he is only a beggar! " replies the former. "What is unusual about
him? All he wants is a cold dish of leftovers. " Then another guest joins in and says,
"It doesn't seem from the song he sang that he is just a beggar."
At this moment, a sing-song girl in red gauze rises up from her seat and says,
"According to my humble opinion, this Taoist is a fallen fairy from heaven. His eyes
and forehead are delicately formed and his voice is strong and clear. He is disguised
as a beggar, but something in his behavior betrays his noble breeding. The song he
sang is graceful and deep in meaning, more like the song of fairies in heaven than
the song of men on earth. What beggar could have sung such a song! He is a fairy
traveling among mortals in disguise. Please ask him to come back, for we must not
lose him." "What has all this to do with him ?" says the last one. "All he wants is
perhaps a drink of wine. You ask him to come back and we'll find out that he is a
common fellow after all. "
The girl in red gauze is still unconvinced and remarks, "Well, all I can say is, we
haven't the luck to meet with immortals. "
Then another girl in green gauze rises up from her seat and says, "Will the gentlemen
make a bet with me? Ask the Taoist to return,and if he is an extraordinary person
then those who say he is extraordinary win the bet, and if we find that he is a common
fellow, then those who say he is a common fellow win. ""Good! " shout the gentlemen
together. They then send a servant to go after Mingliaotse, but he has completely
disappeared, and the servant returns with the news. "I knew that he was no common
fellow! " says the former. "Alas, we have just lost an immortal! " says the girl in
red gauze. "Why, he just went out of the door and has completely disappeared! "
Mingliaotse then proceeds with his cane and leisurely passes out of the outer city
gate. He passes by a dozen big cities without entering one of them, until he comes
to a place where he sees a city wall nestling against a mountain range. There are
fine, tall towers and spacious, magnificent temples, whose roofs overlap one another
in irregular formations, overlooking a clear pond below. It is a beautiful spring
day, birds are singing on splendid trees and all the flowers are in their full glory.
The men and women of the city, clad in their new clothes and riding in carved carriages
or sitting on embroidered saddles, have come out of the city to "pace the spring.
" Some are drinking in the shade of tall trees, and some have spread a mat on the
fragrant grass, and others have climbed up to a high vermilion tower, or are rowing
on "green sparrow" boats; again others are riding shoulder to shoulder to visit the
flowers, or are walking hand in hand and singing folk songs. Mingliaotse feels
extremely happy and hangs about for a long time.
By and by a scholar with a clean face and nice complexion appears, coming along
gracefully in his long gown. Making a low bow to Min-gliaolse, he says, "Do Taoists
come out to pace the spring, too? I have a few friends having a picnic over there,
beneath the cherry trees in front of the little tower across the river. It is a jolly
company and I shall be much pleased if you can join us. Can you come along? '
Mingliaotse gladly follows the young man, and when he arrives, he sees six or seven
scholars, all handsome and young. The first young man introduces him to the company
with a smile. " My friends, this is just a spring party among ourselves. I just met
this Taoist gentleman on the road and saw he was not at all vulgar, and I therefore
propose that we share our cups with him. What do you think?" "Good! " they all reply.
So then they all take their seats in order and Mingliaotse sits at the end of the
table. When sufficient wine has been served and everybody is tipsy and happy, the
conversation waxes more and more brilliant, and they pass witty remarks about the
different people and the gentry. Some declaim poems celebrating the spring, some sing
the song of gathering flowers, some discuss the policies of the court, and some tell
of the secluded charm of hills and woods. There is then an exciting conversation going
on, with each trying to outdo the others, while the Taoist merely occupies himself
by chewing his rice. The first young man looks several times at Mingliaotse amidst
his busy conversation, and says, "We must hear something from this Taoist teacher,
too." And Mingliaotse replies, "Why, I am just enjoying the many fine and wise things
you gentlemen have been saying, and have not been able to understand them all. How
can I contribute anything to your conversation?"
After a while, the company rise up to take a walk in the rice fields, some plucking
flowers and others pulling willow branches on the way. The place is full of beauties,
and everywhere one's eyes turn, one sees beautiful peonies and miwu.'-But Mingliaotse
wanders alone into a hill path, and comes out again after a long while. "Why did you
go alone ?" the gentleman ask. "I was going with two oranges and a gallon of wine
to listen to the orioles, " replies Mingliaotse. "Why, this is a most extraordinary
man, by the way he talks, " says one scholar, and Mingliaotse replies by a courteous
remark concerning his unworthiness.
A short flowering plant.
So then the company sit down again, and one man says, "It won't do to go home from
such an outing without writing some poems, " and another expresses his approval.
Soon one person has completed his poem first, which reads:
The willows drunk with 'circling haze,
And rain-bathed peach flowers brightly gleam.
Fear not thy fragrant cup be empty;
A tavern lies across the stream.
Another finishes his poem, which reads:
My kitchen shares the mountain green;
My tower is sprinkled wet with spray. If ye drink not when spring is here, Soon comes
the windy, wintry day.
After three other persons have contributed their quatrains, Min-gliaotse is invited
to make his contribution. He rises to his feet, and after some expressions of his
diffidence and the friends' insistence, he sings:
I tread along the sandy bank, Where clouds are golden, water clear;
The startled fairy hounds go barking  Into the peach groved; disappear.
Amazed by this poem, the company rise from their seals and make a low bow to Mingliaotse.
"Tut! Tut! To hear such celestial words from a monk! We knew that you were an
extraordinary person." And they all come round to ask for his name and surname, but
Mingliaotse only smiles without giving reply. As they still insist, Mingliaotse says,
"What do you want to know my name for? I am merely a rustic person wandering among
clouds and waters, and we've met with a smile. You can just call me 'The Rustic Fellow
of Clouds and Waters'" This intrigues the company still more, and they express their
desire to invite him to go into the city with them. "I am merely a poor monk enjoying
a vagabond's travel, and all the world is my home, " replies Mingliaotse with a smile.
"But since you are so kind, I will come along. "
They then go back to the city together, and Mingliaotse stays at their homes by turn.
During the days that follow, he finds himself now in a rich man's hall, and now in
a well-hidden small studio, now enjoying a literary wine dinner and now watching
performances of dance and song, and Mingliaotse goes to all the places to which he
is invited. The people of the city hear of the Rustic Fellow of Clouds and Waters,
and the socially active people shower him with invitations, and he visits them all.
When people give him drink, he drinks; when people discuss poetry and literature,
he discusses poetry and literature with them; when people take him out for an excursion,
he goes with them; but when they ask for his name and surname, he merely smiles without
reply. In his discussion of poetry and literature, he makes very apt remarks about
the ancient and modern writers and gives a penetrating analysis of their styles and
forms. Sometimes he discusses the political order of the ancient kings and makes
passing comments on current affairs and enchants the people still more by his witty
remarks.
Especially well-versed is he in the teaching of Taoism regarding "nourishing the
spirit. " Sometimes, when he is watching dancing or singing which borders on the bawdy
and people make ribald jokes to find out his attitude toward these things, he seems
to be enjoying himself, like the romantic scholars. But when it comes to extinguishing
the candle and the host asks him to stay with some girl entertainer, and when the
party becomes really rowdy, he sits upright with an austere appearance, and nobody
can make anything of him. When he takes a nap during the night, he asks for a straw
cushion from the host and sits with crossed legs on it, and merely dozes off when
he is tired. For this reason, admiration and wonder grow about him.
After more than a month's stay, he takes leave suddenly one day, against the persistent
entreaty of the people. His friends give him money and cloth for presents, and write
poems of farewell to him. At the farewell parly, the gentlemen all come to give him
a send-off;sadly they hold his hands and some shed tears. Mingliaotse arrives at the
outer city gate, and after having reserved a hundred cash for himself, he distributes
the gentlemen's presents to the poor and goes away. When his friends hear of this,
they sigh and marvel still more, knowing not what to make of him.
e . Philosophy of the Flight Mingliaotse then follows a mountain path, and finds
himself in deep, rugged mountains. Thousands of old trees, with creepers growing on
them, spread their deep shade so that one walking underneath cannot see the sky. There
is not a trace of human habitation, and not even a woodcutter or a cowherd is in sight.
He hears only the cries of birds and monkeys around him, and a gust of infernally
cold wind makes him shiver. Mingliaotse proceeds with his friend for a long while,
when they suddenly see an old man with a majestic forehead and a delicate face and
green veins showing on his eyeballs. His hair falls down to the shoulders, and he
is sitting on a rock, hugging his knees. Mingliaotse goes forward and makes a bow.
The old man rises to his feet and looks at him steadliy for a long time, but does
not say a word. Going down on his knees, Mingliaotse speaks to him, "Is Father an
extraordinary person who has attained the Tao? How otherwise can I find the sound
of footsteps in this deep mountain solitude? Your disciple has always loved the Tao
and in his middle age has not yet found it. I feel sad at the vanity of this life
which rapidly burns out like a flash from a flint, or like oil in a pan. Will you
please take pity on me and disperse my ignorance?" The old man pretends not to hear
him. But after Mingliaotse insists upon his request, he merely leaches him a few words
ahoul being carefree and quiet anilthe idea of inaction, and after a little while,
goes his way. Mingliaotse's eyes follow him for a long while until he altogether
disappears. How does one explain the existence of such an old man in this deep mountain
solitude?
Then wandering farther on, he chances to come upon an old friend of his. Sometimes
when he thinks of those people with whom he had formed a friendship on the basis of
love of prose and poetry, or of respect for each other's character, or of business
relations, or of personal intimacy and mutual understanding of one another's hearts,
or of a mutual confidence in one another's future, he begins to desire to see them
again. Then he goes straight to the home of his friend, without concealing his
indentity. The friend bows to greet him, and seeing that Mingliaotse is clad in such
a strange dress, is surprised and asks him some questions. "I have already retired
from the world, and Chichen of T'ungming is my master, " explains Mingliaotse. "Are
your sons and daughters all married?" the friend asks. "No, not yet, " replies
Mingliaotse. "When they are all married, then I shall be free of all cares, like the
clearing up of the water of the Yellow River. Tsep'ing  went away and never returned
home, but I am still looking forward to returning to the hills of my homeland, in
order to live in harmony with my original nature. " The host then gives him vegetarian
food, and they begin to talk of the days twenty or thirty years ago, and surveying
the past with a laugh, feel that everything has passed like a dream. The friend then.
bows his head and sighs, expressing his envy of the carefree life that Mingliaotse
is leading.
"Are you not indeed a carefree man!" his friend says. "Now wealth and power and the
glories of this world are things in which people easily get drowned. I sometimes see
an old man with white hair on his head marching slowly with a stoop in an official
procession, still clinging to these things and unwilling to let them go. If one day
he quits office, he looks about with knitted eyebrows. InCD An ancient Taoist who
went up to heaven. quiring if the carriage is ready, he is still slow to depart, and
passing out of the city gate of the capital, he still looks back. When back at his
farm, he still disdains to occupy himself with planting rice and hemp and beans, and
morning and night he will be asking for news from the capital. Or he will still be
writing letters to his friends at the court, and such thoughts flit back and forth
in his breast ceaselessly until he draws his last breath. Sometimes an Imperial order
for his recall to office arrives at the moment when he is breathing his last, and
sometimes the official messenger arrives with the news just a few hours after he closes
his eyes. Isn't this ridiculous ? How have you trained yourself that you are able
to emancipate yourself from such things in good time?"
" I have looked at life in my leisure, " replies Mingliaotse. " It seems that I have
come to an awakening through a sense of life's tragedy. I have looked at the skies,
and wondered how the sun and the moon and the stars and the Milky Way rush westward
day and night like busy people. Today passes and never returns, and although tomorrow
comes, it is no longer today. This year passes and never returns, and although there
is next year, it is no longer this year. And so the days of Nature are steadily
lengthened or unrolled, while the days of my life are daily shortened, and outside
the thirty-six thousand mornings, time does not belong to me. The years of Nature
are steadily unrolled, while the years of my life become steadily shortened, and
beyond a hundred, they do not belong to me. Furthermore, the so-called 'hundred' and
the so-called 'thirty-six thousand' in life are not always as we wish them to be,
and among the days and years, most are passed in bad weather and sorrow and worry
and running about. How many moments are there when the day is beautiful and the company
enjoyable, when the moon and the wind are good and our heart is at ease and our spirit
happy, when there is music and song and wine and we can enjoy ourselves and while
away the hours !
"The sun and the moon pursue their courses, as fast as the bullet, and when their
wheels are about to go behind the Western Precipices,the arms of the strongest man
on earth cannot hold them and make them travel eastward, even the eloquence of Su
Ch'in and Chang Yi cannot persuade them to travel eastward, even the wit and the
strategy of Ch'ulitse and Yen Ying cannot change their minds and make them travel
eastward, even the sincerity of Chingwei who knocked herself against the Rainbow and
was transformed into a bird, trying to fill the sea of her regrets with pebbles, cannot
touch their hearts and make them travel eastward. Writers throughout the ages who
discussed this point have always held it as a matter of eternal regret.
"And I have looked at the earth, where high banks have been leveled into valleys and
deep valleys have been heaved up into mountains, and the water of the rivers and lakes
flows night and day eternally eastward into the sea. Fang p'ing  has said, 'Since
I took over my duty, I have seen the sea three times changed into a mulberry field,
and vice versa .
"Again I have looked at the living things of this world, how they are born and grow
old and fall ill and die, being ground thus in the mill of yin and yang, like oil
in a frying pan which, being heated by fire from below, dries up in a short while;
or like a candle which flickers in the wind and soon goes out, its tears being dried
up and its soot fallen to the table; or like a boat cut adrift on a big sea, washed
forward by successive waves and floating it knows not whither. Besides, the seven
desires of man continue to burn him up and the pleasures of the flesh pare him down;
he is sometimes too much disappointed and sometimes too much elated, and usually too
much worried. Without more than a hundred years at his disposal, he plans to live
for a thousand years, and while sitting like oil on fire, his ambitions stretch beyond
the universe. Why wonder, therefore, that his being quickly deteriorates when old
age comes along and his vital energy is used up and his spirit wanders away from its
abode?
"I have seen princes and dukes and generals and premiers whose crowded roofs form
a skyline like the clouds. When the dinner bell sounds, a thousand people are seen
eating together, and when their gates are opened in the morning, crowds of visitors
rush in. Day and night they give feasts and their halls are full of painted women.
When a monk passes by, they shout at him with a thundering voice and he dares not
even to look at the house. But after twenty or thirty years, the monk passes by again,
and he sees a stretch of wild grass and broken tiles covered by dew and frost, and
a cold sun is shining upon the place and a moaning wind passes by, with not a roof
left standing. What was once the scene of song and dance and merrymaking is today
the pasture ground of a few cowherd boys. Did they ever realize, when they were at
the height of their prosperity and laughing and merrymaking, that this day would come?
And why did the great glories of this world pass away in the twinkling of an eye?
Was it alone, like the Garden of Chinku, ~ the Tower of T'ungt'ai, CBy the Hall of
P'ihsiang^ and the Pool of T'aiyi^ that gradually became ruins after the passage of
hundreds or thousands of years? On my leisure days, I have passed out of the city
and gone up on hills, where I saw a stretch of grave mounds. Do these belong to Yen
or Han or Chin or Wei? Or were these people princes and dukes, or were they pages
and servants? Or were they heroes or were they fools? How can I know from this stretch
of yellow soil? I thought how they, when they were living, clung to glory and wealth,
vied with one another in their ambitions and struggled for fame, how they planned
what they could never achieve and acquired what they could never use. Which one of
them did not worry and plan and strive? One morning their eyes closed for the eternal
sleep, and they left all their worries behind.
" I have stopped over at the residences of officials and wondered how many had taken
another's place as the host of the house. I have looked at the records of the personnel
at court and wondered how many times old names had been struck off and new names put
in. I have been at mountain passes and at ferries, and have gone up a high hill to
look down upon the plain, and I have seen continuous processions of boats and carriages
and wondered how many travelers they have carried away. And so I sighed in silence,
and sometimes my tears dropped and my heart's desires were turned cold like ashes.
"
" I have heard it said by Yentse," replies his friend, " that Sangch'iu was happy
over the fact that there was no death, and that the King Ching of Ch'i shed tears
and was grieved on account of death, and wise people criticized him for not
understanding life. Are you not also lacking in the wisdom of those who understand
life, when you feel sad and even shed tears because of the swift passing of time and
the instability of life?"
"No, " replies Mingliaotse. "I have felt sad from the sense of the instability of
life, and I have come to an awakening from this feeling of sadness. King Ching of
Ch'i feared that his power and glory were temporary and wanted to enjoy them forever
and exhaust the happiness of human life. On the contrary, I feel the instability of
wealth and power and wish to keep them at a distance, in order to run my normal course
of life. Our aims are different. "
"Have you already attained the Tao, then?"
"No, I have not attained the Tao. I am only one who loves it, " replies Mingliaotse.
"Why do you wander about, if you love the Tao?
"Oh, no, do not confuse my wanderings with the Tao, " replies Mingliaotse. "I was
merely tired of the restrictions of the official life and the bother of worldly affairs,
and I am traveling merely to free myself from them. As for winding up the 'great
business of life, '   I shall have to wait until I return and shut myself up. "
"Are you happy, going about with a gourd and a cassock and begging and singing for
your living?"
"I have heard from my teacher, " replies Mingliaotse, "that the art of attaining
happiness consists in keeping your pleasures mild. When (D  Death.people come to a
feast where lambs and cows are killed and all the delicacies that come from land and
sea are laid out on the table, they all enjoy them at first, but when they come to
the point of satiety, they begin to feel a sense of repulsion. Much better are meals
of plain rice and green vegetables, which are mild and simple and good for one's health
and which will be found to have a lasting flavor, after one gets used to them. People
also enjoy themselves at first in parties where there are beautiful women and boys,
where some beat the drum and others play the sheng and a lot of things are going on
in the hall. But after the mood is past, one gets, on the contrary, a sense of sadness.
It is much belter to light incense and open your book and sit quietly and leisurely,
maintaining a calm of spirit, and the charm deepens as you go along. Although I was
at one time of my life an official, I had no property or wealth outside a few books.
At first I traveled with these books, but fearing that they might be the cause of
envy on the part of the water spirits, I threw them into the water. And now I haven't
got a thing outside this body. Does not then the charm of life remain for me long
and lasting, when my burdens are gone, my surroundings are quiet, my body is free
and my heart is leisurely? With a cassock and a gourd, I go wherever I like, stay
wherever I choose and take whatever I gel. Staying at a place, I do not inquire after
its owner, and going away, I do not leave my name. I do not feel ill at ease when
I am left in the cold, and do not become contaminated when I am in noisy company.
Therefore, the purpose of my wanderings is also to learn the Tao.
Having heard this, his friend says with a happy smile, " Your words make me feel like
having taken a dose of cooling medicine. The disturbing fever has left my body without
my knowing it. "
[ Here follows a discussion on the identity of the Three Religions and the existence
of God and Buddha and fairies and ghosts . ]
After a while a young man comes along and, pointing his finger at Mingliaotse, shouts,
"Get away from here, you beggar! A monk ought to go away quietly when he receives
his food. If you keep on babbling nonsense, I must regard you as a sorcerer and
prosecute you at court. " The young man rolls up his sleeve as if to strike at
Min-gliaotse, but the latter merely smiles without making a reply. The quarrel is
settled by some passer-by.
Mingliaotse goes away singing his songs. At night he stops at an inn, and there is
a very well-dressed woman peeping in at the door. Gradually she approaches and begins
slyly to tease him. Mingliaotse thinks to himself that she must be an evil spirit,
and remains sitting alone. "I am a fairy, " says the woman, "and I have come to save
you because I know that you have been trying very hard to learn the Tao. Besides,
I had an appointment with you in the previous incarnation. Please don't doubt me.
I will accompany you to the Enchanted Land." Mingliaotse remembers that when Lii
Ch'engtse was learning the Tao at Chingshan, he was once thus deceived by a temptress
and finally enslaved by an evil spirit. He lost his left eye, and died without being
able to attain the Tao. Even the Classics regard the failure of Lii Ch'engtse as due
to his lack of complete control of his mind and to the existence of evil desires.
It is natural that, when ghosts and fox spirits tempt people, they destroy their life,
and they should therefore be avoided. But even if sages and saints should make a
mistake and be thus deceived, it would be a wrong way to control their mind and preserve
their spirit. So he sits austerely as before and the woman all of a sudden disappears.
Who can know whether she was a ghost or a fox spirit or a temptress?
Thus for three years Mingliaotse continues in his travels, wandering almost over the
entire world. Everything that he sees with his eyes or hears with his ears, or touches
with his body, and all the different situations and meetings, are thus used for the
benefit of training his mind. And so such vagabond travel is not entirely without
its benefits.
He then returns and builds himself a hut in the hills of Szeming and never leaves
it again.