Boy without a Name: Some endings
THE BOY WITHOUT A NAME, Part Two by Chogyam Trungpa
....I don't really have a home and I never spend more than ten days in one place. Originally I came from East Tibet and I traveled westwards to the lands of Lho and Mon. Grown-ups tend to stay in the same place for a long time and when they do travel they're so busy they never have time to look at the valleys and mountains around them. They don't even notice the interesting stones on the road, or the flowers, but just trample over them.
Of course they never have time to play and all they talk about is how many silver coins they've got and how many yaks their neighbor has. If you ask them to tell you about Lhasa they only know about the big shops in the Barko Market and things like that. They don't seem to know about the birds' nests under the edge of the roofs and the millions of insects that live in the city, beside themselves. So the only way I can see them is by going there myself.
Tibet is such a beautiful country and each part of it has its own particular quality. There are lots of mountains and lakes and trees and things. There are so many things to see that my journey may take me a hundred years. The grown-ups race and fight against time, but for me time is a friend and I have no need to hurry.
Today is the first day of my journey, so here I am, playing in the road. I've only traveled 50 yards or so, but it would take the grown-ups ten years to learn what I've learned in this one day. When I looked up and saw the snow'mountain on the other side of the river, I composed the following song:
O pillar of the sky, you high-peaked mountain of Tibet,
You're surrounded by hills with flowering shrubs and many kinds
of herbs,
But your all-aloneness and your stillness still show through
As you wrap your peaceful cloud around your neck.
The peak of this mountain pierces the sky and his snowcap glitters in the sun. The clouds move slowly across his shoulders, and when you see him, it's as though you see the whole of Tibet in one glance. I spent the whole morning looking at the mountain, but it's
impossible to understand it all. Sometimes he seems to be smiling in the brilliant sunlight, and sometimes he stands solemn and aloof while snow storms rage around him. Occasionally he shows himself in all simplicity, without adornments, and at times like those, one sees him directly and feels very close to him. His stillness and dignity are always there and remain untouched by the changing seasons. The days and months of the year don't really affect him. This mountain seems to have a kind and compassionate nature, as he allows all kinds of birds and animals to live on him and to feed off his body. But I felt I should know more about him, so I stopped to ask a magpie who was perching
on a rock.
Tashi delly, I said. (Thats how we greet people in Tibet.)
Tashi delly, said the magpie in a rather suspicious tone of voice.
"I wonder if you’d be very kind," said I, "and answer some questions for me.
"I haven't time to waste on chattering with you," said the magpie, "I'm busy looking for food. And in any case you humans are usually full of trickery and you might be planning to kill me....
Part Three as contributed by Ocean of Dharma subscribers.
Kate Abato’s ending:
If I kill you, you wouldn't be able to answer my questions.
Frank Reynolds wrote:
THE BOY WITHOUT A NAME, Part Three
By Frank Reynolds
I reached into my bag and drew out a handful of assorted seeds I’d collected on my journey. Sometimes I scattered these seeds so that the trees, bushes, and flowers that had generated them could journey and grow in new places, but sometimes I would eat a handful, so I knew they were tasty. I placed them on a rock a few paces away from the magpie, and a few paces from the rock on which I’d been sitting, then I returned to my rock and sat again.
“Now you don’t have to look for food,” I said, “nor do you need to worry about me harming you because the rock where the seeds are piled is well beyond my reach. I have more seeds if you’re still hungry after eating those, and all I ask in return is that you answer a few questions for me.”
The magpie cocked her head for a moment and scrutinized me with one gleaming eye, but this posture left her other eye aimed directly at the delicious seeds. Soon her appetite overcame her wariness and she fluttered to the other rock and began pecking voraciously at the seed pile, always keeping me in view. She gobbled up the entire pile of seeds so quickly that she seemed almost embarrassed to then ask, “So you say you have questions? And more seeds?”
“First a few questions,” I said, “and then a few seeds.” I told the magpie what I’d observed about the snow mountain, and sang the song I’d just composed, then asked her what more there might be to know about the mountain.
“Oh, there’s much more,” she said, “much, much more.” Now I became the suspicious one, wondering if the bird might fabricate or embellish her stories in quest of food, but since I was more inquisitive than suspicious, I dropped a few more seeds on the rock where she had first perched, resumed my seat, and said, “Then please tell me what you have to tell.” Hopping from rock to rock this way, devouring seeds and chirping out her story, here is what the magpie said:
“This mountain is very unusual in that it has no name, but it changes appearance so much from day to day, from season to season, and when viewed from different sides that no name seems to apply, except “nameless mountain.”
But it is even more unusual because it did not start out with a mountain but as a man, a man with no name. This man once had a name, and owned a big shop in the Barko Market in Lhasa with his name on the front in large letters. Since he was a clever merchant he amassed many silver coins and built a big house near the Potala and married the most beautiful maiden in Lhasa and fathered several children. He was also quite generous, as merchants go, donating to monasteries and extending credit to herders after a hard winter. But then one year after the harsh icy winds had become mild breezes and flowers had begun to bloom in the highland meadows, his wife took their children out for a picnic in the mountains while the merchant worked in his shop. An avalanche roared down and buried the family with barely a trace – all that was found was a scrap of the cloth on which they had been sitting and shards that the merchant recognized as his wife’s favorite cup.
“This event left the man desolate. His prosperous life in Lhasa lost all meaning. He stopped tending his shop, so soon it was looted of all its wares. He left his home, which became an encampment for nomads and a nesting place for birds and squirrels until the walls weakened and the timbers gave way, rendering the former mansion a pile of rubble. By then the merchant was long gone, however, travelling the world as a man with no name and no fixed abode, but noticing everything – noticing more and more, it seemed. What started out as flight became a journey.
“Though he no longer had a name or anything to sell, people who encountered the man on his travels began to notice that this strange wanderer radiated qualities which attracted them: wakeful appreciation of the world, openness, simplicity, vast freedom, and dignity suffused with humor. His laughter, it was said, seemed to emerge from some deep cavern in the earth itself.
“So people often gathered and offered hospitality to the man with no name as he journeyed through their villages, asking him questions and listening to what he had to say, and thus learning a great deal that eased their confusion and suffering. Almost everywhere he travelled the villagers would try to get him to take up residence, but the man with no name was never tempted to settle again, until he realized that his life was coming to an end and that he would have no choice in the matter.
“That was when he came here. It is hard to imagine now, but this was once a dry and desolate place, ravaged by wind so relentlessly that practically nothing grew and no animals or people could be sustained here. Yet the man with no name came here nonetheless and simply sat in meditation posture on the barren plateau. It is said that sitting this way, he died with the wish to be of great benefit, for this great mountain appeared around the very spot where he had taken his seat and died, diverting the ravaging winds, gathering rain and snow clouds which water the surrounding desert and make it verdant, providing homes and sustenance for birds and animals, offering meadows where nomads graze their herds and snow lions romp in the fragrant air. The mountain connects earth and sky in a way that is ever-changing in appearance yet indestructibly constant in essence.
“It is said that of all the benefits offered by the mountain with no name, the greatest is inspiration,” the magpie summarized. “A wise woman came here once and discovered a jeweled case embedded in an obsidian wall of a cavern in the mountain’s very heart. She opened the case and drew out a scroll on which a prophecy was written proclaiming that one day someone would come who would fully appreciate the mountain’s qualities, embody them, and be able to draw these qualities forth from others.
“Aha,” the bird concluded, “since it seems that both your seeds and my story are exhausted, I’ll be off.”
I watched the magpie fly straight as an arrow shaft toward the mountain’s glimmering peak, become a dot against its radiant snow cap, and disappear. Then I resumed my journey, alone.
John Eberly wrote:
THE BOY WITHOUT... part three/the end
by John Eberly 12/26/07
This was exactly the answer I thought I'd get and it delighted me when the magpie flew away toward something tasty.
Although I had not traveled far, I knew that traveling means going from here to there and when you get there its here and you're always looking there so I decided to just stop and be wherever it was that I found myself.
And so here I am, and here I stay, living alone but with everything at the same time, without time or space, or name or place. You may decide to travel like I did, and and if you do, you will no doubt see many wonderful, beautiful, extraordinary things, but if you find me, I think you will be disappointed!
THE END
Mark James Fischler wrote:
Yes Magpie our self absorption is a painful part of the human story. If I may though, what does the mountain do that we don't?"
"The answer is in the nothingness that the mountain does, "said the Magpie. "You see there is no mountain. Ask the mountain it's name and it replies as the nameless. Ask the mountain what it does and it will share that it just is. The beingness let's the mountain share its riches, without getting caught up in the human tragedy. That's why the mountain and I walk the same path. Now let me sing, eat, fuck, shit and die."
As the nameless I too will float through the universe on a cloud of dharmic fumes living the life of a bodhisattva.
Lynn Johnston wrote:
In my opinion it would be a shame to give this story an ending.
She offered this continuation:
I was sad to learn that magpies become adults too. I turned away without a reply and continued on my journey that has no end. My eyes wonder at the beauty surrounding me and I am filled with peace and joy as I stop a few steps up the road to watch a bee gathering nectar from a flower.
More endings coming in the next few days!
....I don't really have a home and I never spend more than ten days in one place. Originally I came from East Tibet and I traveled westwards to the lands of Lho and Mon. Grown-ups tend to stay in the same place for a long time and when they do travel they're so busy they never have time to look at the valleys and mountains around them. They don't even notice the interesting stones on the road, or the flowers, but just trample over them.
Of course they never have time to play and all they talk about is how many silver coins they've got and how many yaks their neighbor has. If you ask them to tell you about Lhasa they only know about the big shops in the Barko Market and things like that. They don't seem to know about the birds' nests under the edge of the roofs and the millions of insects that live in the city, beside themselves. So the only way I can see them is by going there myself.
Tibet is such a beautiful country and each part of it has its own particular quality. There are lots of mountains and lakes and trees and things. There are so many things to see that my journey may take me a hundred years. The grown-ups race and fight against time, but for me time is a friend and I have no need to hurry.
Today is the first day of my journey, so here I am, playing in the road. I've only traveled 50 yards or so, but it would take the grown-ups ten years to learn what I've learned in this one day. When I looked up and saw the snow'mountain on the other side of the river, I composed the following song:
O pillar of the sky, you high-peaked mountain of Tibet,
You're surrounded by hills with flowering shrubs and many kinds
of herbs,
But your all-aloneness and your stillness still show through
As you wrap your peaceful cloud around your neck.
The peak of this mountain pierces the sky and his snowcap glitters in the sun. The clouds move slowly across his shoulders, and when you see him, it's as though you see the whole of Tibet in one glance. I spent the whole morning looking at the mountain, but it's
impossible to understand it all. Sometimes he seems to be smiling in the brilliant sunlight, and sometimes he stands solemn and aloof while snow storms rage around him. Occasionally he shows himself in all simplicity, without adornments, and at times like those, one sees him directly and feels very close to him. His stillness and dignity are always there and remain untouched by the changing seasons. The days and months of the year don't really affect him. This mountain seems to have a kind and compassionate nature, as he allows all kinds of birds and animals to live on him and to feed off his body. But I felt I should know more about him, so I stopped to ask a magpie who was perching
on a rock.
Tashi delly, I said. (Thats how we greet people in Tibet.)
Tashi delly, said the magpie in a rather suspicious tone of voice.
"I wonder if you’d be very kind," said I, "and answer some questions for me.
"I haven't time to waste on chattering with you," said the magpie, "I'm busy looking for food. And in any case you humans are usually full of trickery and you might be planning to kill me....
Part Three as contributed by Ocean of Dharma subscribers.
Kate Abato’s ending:
If I kill you, you wouldn't be able to answer my questions.
Frank Reynolds wrote:
THE BOY WITHOUT A NAME, Part Three
By Frank Reynolds
I reached into my bag and drew out a handful of assorted seeds I’d collected on my journey. Sometimes I scattered these seeds so that the trees, bushes, and flowers that had generated them could journey and grow in new places, but sometimes I would eat a handful, so I knew they were tasty. I placed them on a rock a few paces away from the magpie, and a few paces from the rock on which I’d been sitting, then I returned to my rock and sat again.
“Now you don’t have to look for food,” I said, “nor do you need to worry about me harming you because the rock where the seeds are piled is well beyond my reach. I have more seeds if you’re still hungry after eating those, and all I ask in return is that you answer a few questions for me.”
The magpie cocked her head for a moment and scrutinized me with one gleaming eye, but this posture left her other eye aimed directly at the delicious seeds. Soon her appetite overcame her wariness and she fluttered to the other rock and began pecking voraciously at the seed pile, always keeping me in view. She gobbled up the entire pile of seeds so quickly that she seemed almost embarrassed to then ask, “So you say you have questions? And more seeds?”
“First a few questions,” I said, “and then a few seeds.” I told the magpie what I’d observed about the snow mountain, and sang the song I’d just composed, then asked her what more there might be to know about the mountain.
“Oh, there’s much more,” she said, “much, much more.” Now I became the suspicious one, wondering if the bird might fabricate or embellish her stories in quest of food, but since I was more inquisitive than suspicious, I dropped a few more seeds on the rock where she had first perched, resumed my seat, and said, “Then please tell me what you have to tell.” Hopping from rock to rock this way, devouring seeds and chirping out her story, here is what the magpie said:
“This mountain is very unusual in that it has no name, but it changes appearance so much from day to day, from season to season, and when viewed from different sides that no name seems to apply, except “nameless mountain.”
But it is even more unusual because it did not start out with a mountain but as a man, a man with no name. This man once had a name, and owned a big shop in the Barko Market in Lhasa with his name on the front in large letters. Since he was a clever merchant he amassed many silver coins and built a big house near the Potala and married the most beautiful maiden in Lhasa and fathered several children. He was also quite generous, as merchants go, donating to monasteries and extending credit to herders after a hard winter. But then one year after the harsh icy winds had become mild breezes and flowers had begun to bloom in the highland meadows, his wife took their children out for a picnic in the mountains while the merchant worked in his shop. An avalanche roared down and buried the family with barely a trace – all that was found was a scrap of the cloth on which they had been sitting and shards that the merchant recognized as his wife’s favorite cup.
“This event left the man desolate. His prosperous life in Lhasa lost all meaning. He stopped tending his shop, so soon it was looted of all its wares. He left his home, which became an encampment for nomads and a nesting place for birds and squirrels until the walls weakened and the timbers gave way, rendering the former mansion a pile of rubble. By then the merchant was long gone, however, travelling the world as a man with no name and no fixed abode, but noticing everything – noticing more and more, it seemed. What started out as flight became a journey.
“Though he no longer had a name or anything to sell, people who encountered the man on his travels began to notice that this strange wanderer radiated qualities which attracted them: wakeful appreciation of the world, openness, simplicity, vast freedom, and dignity suffused with humor. His laughter, it was said, seemed to emerge from some deep cavern in the earth itself.
“So people often gathered and offered hospitality to the man with no name as he journeyed through their villages, asking him questions and listening to what he had to say, and thus learning a great deal that eased their confusion and suffering. Almost everywhere he travelled the villagers would try to get him to take up residence, but the man with no name was never tempted to settle again, until he realized that his life was coming to an end and that he would have no choice in the matter.
“That was when he came here. It is hard to imagine now, but this was once a dry and desolate place, ravaged by wind so relentlessly that practically nothing grew and no animals or people could be sustained here. Yet the man with no name came here nonetheless and simply sat in meditation posture on the barren plateau. It is said that sitting this way, he died with the wish to be of great benefit, for this great mountain appeared around the very spot where he had taken his seat and died, diverting the ravaging winds, gathering rain and snow clouds which water the surrounding desert and make it verdant, providing homes and sustenance for birds and animals, offering meadows where nomads graze their herds and snow lions romp in the fragrant air. The mountain connects earth and sky in a way that is ever-changing in appearance yet indestructibly constant in essence.
“It is said that of all the benefits offered by the mountain with no name, the greatest is inspiration,” the magpie summarized. “A wise woman came here once and discovered a jeweled case embedded in an obsidian wall of a cavern in the mountain’s very heart. She opened the case and drew out a scroll on which a prophecy was written proclaiming that one day someone would come who would fully appreciate the mountain’s qualities, embody them, and be able to draw these qualities forth from others.
“Aha,” the bird concluded, “since it seems that both your seeds and my story are exhausted, I’ll be off.”
I watched the magpie fly straight as an arrow shaft toward the mountain’s glimmering peak, become a dot against its radiant snow cap, and disappear. Then I resumed my journey, alone.
John Eberly wrote:
THE BOY WITHOUT... part three/the end
by John Eberly 12/26/07
This was exactly the answer I thought I'd get and it delighted me when the magpie flew away toward something tasty.
Although I had not traveled far, I knew that traveling means going from here to there and when you get there its here and you're always looking there so I decided to just stop and be wherever it was that I found myself.
And so here I am, and here I stay, living alone but with everything at the same time, without time or space, or name or place. You may decide to travel like I did, and and if you do, you will no doubt see many wonderful, beautiful, extraordinary things, but if you find me, I think you will be disappointed!
THE END
Mark James Fischler wrote:
Yes Magpie our self absorption is a painful part of the human story. If I may though, what does the mountain do that we don't?"
"The answer is in the nothingness that the mountain does, "said the Magpie. "You see there is no mountain. Ask the mountain it's name and it replies as the nameless. Ask the mountain what it does and it will share that it just is. The beingness let's the mountain share its riches, without getting caught up in the human tragedy. That's why the mountain and I walk the same path. Now let me sing, eat, fuck, shit and die."
As the nameless I too will float through the universe on a cloud of dharmic fumes living the life of a bodhisattva.
Lynn Johnston wrote:
In my opinion it would be a shame to give this story an ending.
She offered this continuation:
I was sad to learn that magpies become adults too. I turned away without a reply and continued on my journey that has no end. My eyes wonder at the beauty surrounding me and I am filled with peace and joy as I stop a few steps up the road to watch a bee gathering nectar from a flower.
More endings coming in the next few days!
posted by Carolyn Gimian at 4:45 PM
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