Thoughts conveyed by way of short verse May degrade in eccentricity. With bowed head, lonely and friendless. Face up, vast sky where all is free. Like one string stretched to perfect pitch, But lacking all resonancy.
NOTES: Earlier I posted a translation by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping, entitled A One-String Harp that was contained in The Art of Writing (Boston: Shambhala; p. 15) This, however, is my own translation. The original poem in Simplified Chinese is:
The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel; And the former called the latter ‘Little Prig.’ Bun replied, ‘You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry. I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut.’
“I desire that there may be as many different persons in the world as possible”
Henry david thoreau, Walden
Too many people wish that the world consisted
of those who held the same views as they -
who loved what they loved,
who believed what they believed,
who would do what they would do.
I can't imagine a more boring world than that.
If there aren't those with different:
ideas,
desires,
beliefs,
and values,
then who will show me something new:
something that -- for good or for ill --
will change my world
and advance my understanding.
If truth be told,
I'd just as soon spend time
among the crazy sages who --
having rejected all programming --
will not be made prisoner to a train schedule,
let alone to a norm or convention or protocol.
The madmen who shaman one
out of all mental conventions.
But such as they are hand forged,
each vibrating at his or her own wavelength --
hard to see and
not easily found.