Zhuangzi’s wife had died. and his comrade, upon coming to convey his condolences, found him with his legs sprawled, drumming away on a pot and singing; “isn’t this too much?” the comrade asked.

“you’re wrong. when she first died, do you think i didn’t grieve like anyone else? but i looked back to her beginning and the time before she was born. not only the time before she was born, but the time before she had a body. not only the time before she had a body, but the time before she had a spirit. in the midst of the jumble of wonder and mystery a change took place and she had a spirit. another change and she had a body. another change and she was born. now there’s been another change and she’s dead. it’s just like the progression of the four seasons, spring, summer, fall, winter. now she’s going to lie down peacefully in a vast room. if i were to follow after her bawling and sobbing, it would show that i don’t understand anything about fate. so i stopped.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s