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Source: This is a recent story as is told first hand to the author
by someone who was wittness to the story.
It comes from the book: "Taoism, the road to Immortality",
by John Blofield, Shambala Publications,
Boston, 2000
With the coming of the red tide, the recluses were driven from their hermitages back into the world of dust to earn their living as best they could. Rather than describe what little I know from hearsay of this tragic dispersal of the Yellow Emperor's progeny after wellnigh five thousand years, I shall relate a curious little story which reveals that, for two of them, the end was happy. It was told me by a young lady in Singapore who had returned there from her university in China at a time when the communists were completing their take- over of the southern provinces. The university, as you know, lies at no great distance from some hills where there are many temples. While on a sightseeing trip there, I fell under the spell of a very old Taoist and often used to visit him at weekends. The red cadres who descended on the province just before I left made no secret of what was in store for hermits and for Buddhist monks and nuns. 'What will you do. Master ?' I asked, weeping a little at the thought of that poor old man being driven from where he had lived happily almost half his life. 'You are sorry for me, Yi,' he answered. 'Why ? Wouldn't it be laughable if a lifelong disciple of Lord Lao were to be afraid of change ? I am too old to be put to work and these people care too much for the look of things to let me starve in a neighbourhood where so many poor folk have come to love me.' 'How will you live. Master ?' 'Stop weeping, little girl, and I will tell you. At my age, I can see into the future much better than I can recall the past. When they drive away the others, they will let us old and useless ones stay on, living as best we can on what we manage to grow in our vegetable garden. From kindness ? Not exactly. This place is too poor and too remote for them to be in a hurry to use it for some other purpose; and, as three or four of us are so very old, they will look to death to relieve them of the problem of our disposal - rightly so. The Vasty Gate Recluse and I propose to leave this world together on the evening of the Mid-Autumn Festival next year. No, no! Be calm, little Yi. Do you suppose we shall hang ourselves or swallow a Hang or two of opium ? Preposterous! With wine, incense and other things we intend to hide away, we shall perform the festal rites as usual, walk up to the terrace to admire the autumn moon and there sit down. Passing in meditation to the very source of yin and yang, we shall plunge together into the ocean of the void.' Though he laughed so merrily, I burst out weeping again. Then suddenly he said: 'Little Yi, are there herons in Singapore ?' 'Herons, Master ? I no, no, there are not.' 'Good. Rather than have you sad for us, we shall gladly postpone eternal bliss for an hour or so. Be sure to remember what I am going to say. Next year, at the hour of the boar on the night of the festival, go to a high place and watch the sky just above the ocean that surrounds your island. I have a great desire to see the sea by moonlight, never having seen it in all my years. There we shall meet and bid each other a joyous farewell.' Thinking he was trying to comfort me, I nodded, but did not take the words seriously. Then we said goodbye. The following year when the festival came round, my father took me to dine with my fiance's family in a flat overlooking the sea. Although wishing in a sentimental way to do as the old man had asked, I easily allowed myself to be dissuaded by my father's 'You cannot just walk out of a dinner party and go off into the Huang Lao, night by yourself. Whatever would the Huangs think of a girl who behaved like that ?' The meal started late and was a noisy, long-drawn-out affair. We were still at table when the clock struck ten [mid-point of the hour of the boar]. Suddenly I felt strangely dizzy and was advised to go out on to the balcony of the flat, which faced directly on to the sea-shore. It was a lovely clear night with a brilliant moon shining down upon small foam-capped waves. Presently two of these foam-caps rose strangely into the air and sailed rapidly towards me. I put this down to my giddiness until, all of a sudden, I realised that what I had taken for foam-caps were two large white herons Flying very low, they came almost up to where I was sitting and flew round and round uttering what I can only call very happy-sounding cries, long-sustained and beautiful. While this was happening, a sensation of extraordinary bliss made me tingle from head to toe. Instantly I knew that my Taoist friend had not only kept his promise, but had even touched me with something of the ecstasy that would be his for ever in his union with the void! |