|
A long time ago, there was a stonecutter who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life.
One day, he passed a wealthy merchant's house, and through the open gateway, saw many fine possessions and important visitors. "How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stonecutter. He became very envious, and wished that he could be like the merchant. Then he would no longer have to live the life of a mere stonecutter.
To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever dreamed of, envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. But soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants, and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. "How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!"
Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around, who had to bow down before him as he passed. It was a hot summer day, and the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. "How powerful the sun is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the sun!"
Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. "How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!"
Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind. "How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!"
Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, hated and feared by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it - a huge, towering stone. "How powerful that stone is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a stone!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a stone!"
Then he became the stone, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the solid rock, and felt himself being changed. "What could be more powerful than I, the stone?" he thought.
He looked down, and saw far below him the figure of a stonecutter.
This very old Chinese tale leaves us wondering; did the man--now a stone--return to the place of the stonecutter? And, having returned to the place where he began, did the stonecutter find contentment?
You see, that's just it; we don't know.
It's a great tale, but not necessarily of the "happily-ever-after" variety. Much as we would wish it so. (We do like to tell people that we are content, even when it may not be true, because it sounds better, and the alternative will make certain that we receive either an arched eyebrow, or a concerned frown.)
We all know the moral of the story: we go looking for treasures we already possess.
Yes, but I believe that there is another underlying narrative in the stonecutter tale. We don't know the reasons for his dissatisfaction. Only that there came a tipping point (as may be true with many of us).
What we do know is this: the issue is not just the disquiet or discomfort or discontent. The issue is the notion that we can fix it.
Repair it.
Resolve it.
Replace it.
Figure it out.
Or in some way, find closure.
In his poem, The Laughing Thrush, WS Merwin writes,
. . .here is where they all sing the first daylight
whether or not there is anyone listening
What if the stonecutter returns to his self, only to find elements of the discontent still there? In other words, when we do "return" to our "self"--to be at home in our own skin--is resolution compulsory?
In his poem, Merwin is reminding us that fullness of life is born when contentment (or at the least a kind of freedom) and uncertainty (even disquiet) are allowed to coexist. Both can be honored.
In other words, what if wisdom is found in surrender?
What if it's not the resolution we need, but the permission to embrace the self that we take on this journey. . .disquiet and all?
At some point I have to ask: Am I willing to be loved for being this me?
In a recent interview Merwin said, "The only way in which the present is superior to the past and future is we don't know how the present is going to turn out. Everything is incomplete."
Granted, this is all easier to swallow sitting on a beach in Hawaii. (Where I am writing this. After I spent two days in Hilo, working with Deacons. Really. Working.)
Being here goes along with the stonecutter's take. I am in the land of enchantment, loaded with the mentality that there is nothing paradise can't cure, until we realize that paradise too can be fractured and our hope for a Zen moment gives way to the reality (or invitation) that we don't run from the present moment--this moment--but perhaps sit with it a spell. . .even to savor it.
One question still nags. What if the stonecutter needs to change? Needs to move on? That is quite possibly true, of the stonecutter, or of any one of us.
But here's the deal: we can't change anything until we can love it.
We can't love anything until we know it.
We can't know anything until we embrace it even in the uncertainty.
And we can't embrace anything until we "sing" our truth whether or not anyone is listening.
(1) The exact author of The Stonecutter is unknown but the tale was already widespread in China and Japan before it was first translated by David Brauns in Japanische Märchen und Sagen (1885)
| 
