I realized something the other day, and I’m not sure what to make of it. Back in High School, and even after that when I worked at a call center, I used to sit and talk about philosophy, and spirituality. It was good times, I remember quite a few very emotional debates on it (especially with a High School teacher and some friends on the idea of the illusional world, and spirituality present in all things). I stopped talking about it at some point… some point I can’t quite put my finger on. I pushed it aside (willingly or unwillingly, I’m also not sure), but now that I’ve realized it, I’m not sure I like the fact it’s missing.

A friend brought to light that I’m having such a conversation with my blog… which I suppose is true. The internal dialog never really left. And I still find myself returning to Chuang Tsu, and the Tao Te Ching, and various other books with spiritual and philosophical currents. Strange… that something would disappear, and in some ways, I didn’t even notice it until yesterday. probably a good 2-3 years after it was gone. Maybe talking to people about it didn’t really do much more than talking to myself about it. I’d like to hope that isn’t the case… because it seems disappointing to think that the value of talking to someone else is little more than the value of talking to myself.

Food for thought, anyway.

Carpenter Shih was on his way to Chi, when he came to a place called Chu Yuan, where he saw an oak tree which was venerated as the home of the spirits of the land. The tree was so vast that a thousand oxen could hide behind it. It was a hundred spans round and it soared above the hill to eighty feet before it even began to put out branches. There were ten such branches, from any one of which an entire boat could be carved. Masses of people came to it, giving the place a carnival atmosphere, but carpenter Shih didn’t even look round, just went on his way. His assistant looked at it with great intensity, and then chased after his master and said, “Since I first took up my axe and followed you, I have never seen a wood such as this. Sir, why did you not even glance at it nor stop, but just kept going?”

He said, “Silence, not another word! This tree is useless. Make a boat from it and it would sink; make a coffin and it would rot quickly; make some furniture and it would fall to pieces; make a door and it would be covered in seeping sap; make a pillar and it would be worm-eaten. This wood is useless and good for nothing. This is why it has lived so long.”

When Master Shih was returning, the tree appeared to him in a dream, saying, “What exactly are you comparing me with? With ornamental Fruit trees? Trees such as the hawthorn, pear trees, orange trees, citrus trees, gourds and other such fruit trees? Their fruits are knocked down when they are ripe and the trees suffer. The big branches are damaged and the small ones are broken off. Because they are useful, they suffer, and they are unable to live out the years Heaven has given them. They have only their usefulness to blame for this destruction wrought by the people. It is the same with all things. I have spent a long time studying to be useless, though on a couple of occasions I was nearly destroyed. However now I have perfected the art of uselessness, and this is very useful, to me! If I had been of use, could I have grown so vast? Furthermore, you and I are both things. How can one thing make such statements about another? How can you, a useless man about to die, know anything about a useless tree?

When carpenter Shih awoke, he told his apprentice what he had dreamt. The apprentice said, “If it wants to be useless, why is it used as a shrine for the spirits of the land?”

“Hush! Don’t say another word!” said Shih, “The tree happens to be here so it is an altar. By this it protects itself from harm from those who do not realize it is useless, for were it not an altar, it would run the risk of being chopped down. Furthermore, this tree is no ordinary one, so to speak of it in normal terms is to miss the point.”

Nan Po Tzu Chi, wandering amongst the mountains of Shang, came upon a great and unusual tree, under which could shelter a thousand chariots, and they would all be covered. Tzu Chi said, “What kind of tree is this? It is surely a most wondrous piece of timber!” However, when he looked up, he could see that the smaller branches were so twisted and gnarled that they could not be made into rafters and beams; and looking down at the trunk he saw it was warped and distorted and would not make good coffins. He licked one of its leaves and his mouth felt scarped and sore. He sniffed it and it nearly drove him mad, as if he had been drunk for three days.

“This tree is certainly good for nothing,” said Tzu Chi. “This is why it has grown so large. Ah-Ha! This is the sort of uselessness that sages live by.”

——–

“…The cinnamon tree is edible, so it is cut down. The varnish tree is useful and it is cut about. Everyone knows the usefulness of the useful, but no one knows the usefulness of the useless!”

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

A post by the man I said hurt a friend of mine on his LJ really reminded me of that poem… well, atleast, in relation to myself. After she and I (in very different ways) called him on his behavior, he removed all his LJ and posted something saying that his friends shouldn’t try to contact him, because he wouldn’t answer. ‘s something I tried a long time ago… to run away from your mistakes rather than face them… and to attempt in a last fit of power to make those who you hurt feel bad for you. Redirection. Last night, at some point, he posted something back to his LJ trying to give an excuse… but in a very cynical obnoxious way. *laughs* and he turned off anonymous posts. Ahhh… how we close ourself to critisism when we feel hurt and left out. It’s his own fault… I have little sympathy for him if he can’t realize that there is little more to do than realize your mistake, atone for it in some way, and move on. This no doubt was what the original idea behind prayer was… but of course now, it’s taken on another meaning, and seems to allow for atrocities as long as you pray and ask for forgiveness afterward… then go out and do them again. Mistakes are supposed to cause learning…