THE STORY ISSUE

PARABOLA
TRADITION, MYTH, AND THE SEARCH FOR MEANING

Imagination
SPRING 2009
PLEASE DISPLAY UNTIL
Ishmael Beah
April 30, 2009
$9.50 / $11.50 CANADA Jean Houston
Laura Simms
Diane Wolkstein
PARABOLA
TRADITION, MYTH, AND THE SEARCH FOR MEANING

IMAGINATION
VOLUME 34 NUMBER 1 SPRING 2009

INTRODUCTION: FLINGING THE NET

The reconciling power of good stories
32

THE HEART EATER

Translated and retold by Ishmael Beah
34

THE ODYSSEY
Introduced by Jean Houston, from Samuel Butler’s translation
39

KOSIYA, THE BUDDHIST SCROOGE

Translated and retold by Margo McLoughlin
44

RUTH: WHERE YOU GO, I WILL GO

Retold by Diane Wolkstein
52

A HEN AND A ROOSTER

Retold by Laura Simms
60

THE STORY OF KRAKA AND RAGNAR LODBROK

Retold by Barbara Bluestone
66

MONKEY KING: JOURNEY TO THE WEST

Retold by Diane Wolkstein
68

THE SECRET OF DREAMING

Retold by Jim Poulter
76

THE KING OF THE GODS

Translated by Dorji Penjore
82
 SCENE FROM SHAKESPEARE’S “A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM”
ANONYMOUS, C . 1858, LITHOGRAPH, LONDON

ARTICLES
6 THE MIST WOLF Stephan A. Schwartz
A shaman, a sacred act, and the world is re-imagined

12 IMAGINATION AND THE VOID Patrick Laude

Imagination within the sacred Traditions

20 FINDING THE CENTER, ENTERING THE LAND Geoffrey W. Dennis

The triumph of the imaginative faculty, in the Jewish labyrinth

28 IMAGINATION Christian Wertenbaker

A scientist explores the many facets of imagination

87 A TOPOLOGICAL NOTE ON THE TRINITY Richard Jagacinski

Using imagination to apprehend a sacred mystery

92 A CRACK IN THE WORLD Thomas K. Shor

High in the Himalayas, an expedition to a secret world

103 THE GENEROUS IMAGE Barbara Helen Berger

Lessons from the naked goddess Green Tara

BOOK REVIEWS
111 REINVENTING THE SACRED
Stuart A. Kauffman | reviewed by James George
116 BEADS OF FAITH
Gray Henry and Susannah Marriot | reviewed by Samuel Bendeck Sotillos
124 ACEDIA AND ME
Kathleen Norris | reviewed by Bill Williams

128 ENDPOINT
 EDITOR & PUBLISHER Jeff Zaleski
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VOLUME 34, NO. 1, SPRING 2009
 FOCUS | From the Editor

WELCOME TO PARABOLA’ S ISSUE ON IMAGINATION, which is also our first Story

Issue. The confluence seems appropriate because at their best, sto-
ries offer guidance on the spiritual path. The story of Jesus, or the
life of the Buddha, or the tales of Beelzebub told by G. I. Gurdjieff
come to mind.
This issue of Parabola features nine stories drawn from nine cul-
tures. First comes “The Heart Eater,” a traditional story from the
Mende tribe in Sierra Leone, translated and retold for Parabola by
Ishmael Beah, the author of A Long Time Gone, the bestselling
memoir of Beah’s harrowing time as a child soldier. Joining Beah
with another story is the woman who sheltered him from war, his
adoptive mother, renowned storyteller Laura Simms. The issue
also includes a traditional story heard in the mountains of Bhutan
and retold by Bhutanese folklorist Dorji Penje. Internationally
acclaimed storyteller Diane Wolkstein contributes an excerpt from
the Chinese epic Monkey King. Psychologist Jean Houston reintro-
duces readers to one of the great Western epic stories, the Odyssey,
and Parabola’s epicycle editor Margo McLoughlin offers a tale that
demonstrates the universality of themes (and human character
traits) across traditions.
Imagination plays a critical role in helping us explore how the
world works. As anyone who has prayed or meditated knows, imagi-
nation can too often and too easily take the form of daydreaming
and distracted thinking. Yet as demonstrated by Thomas Shor’s
true-life tale here of fantastic Tibetan adventure, and by Stephan A.
Schwartz’s provocative witnessing of a shaman tearing a crack in the
cosmic egg, imagination can bring us into contact with a reality
greater than that known by our everyday minds. (As St. Paul said,
“We look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which
are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal; but the
things which are not seen are eternal.)
With five further essays from Christian, Jewish, Buddhist,
Traditionalist, and scientific perspectives, the evidence indicates
that, as with any faculty, imagination proves useful or not depend-
ing upon intent and aim. In this issue’s special Story Section, we
hope that the tales offered prove of enduring use, opening the heart
and mind toward the eternal questions, toward the Unknown Self.
JEFF ZALESKI

SPRING 2009 | 5
 THE
MIST WOLF Stephan A. Schwartz

WE ARE STANDING IN A PARKING LOT IN

GATHERING TWILIGHT. Maybe twenty
of us, including half a dozen
physicians and several scientists.
Standing there, leaning in, watch-
ing a Shoshone shaman, Rolling
Thunder, attempt to heal the
wound of a teenage boy lying
on a massage table. It seems a
painful wound, torn into the
muscle of his leg, and the boy is
clearly in discomfort, and just as
obviously medicated. He got this
wound through some kind of
accident, I have heard, and it is
not healing properly. This is what
has brought him to this Virginia
Beach parking lot at the back of
Edgar Cayce’s old hospital. It
is now the headquarters of the
ARE, the organization founded
in 1931 to preserve Cayce’s read-
ings, discourses given from a state
of nonlocal awareness while
Cayce lay seemingly asleep. It
seems fitting to be standing here,
a generation later, watching for
signs of another nonlocal phe-
nomenon: therapeutic intent
expressed as physical healing.
A small log fire that I had built
earlier at Rolling Thunder’s
request flickers on the ground at
the boy’s head. I am here as a
journalist, and this ceremony is
6 | PARABOLA
taking place in the middle of my inter-
view with Rolling Thunder. Part of my
income comes from writing for the
VIRGINIAN-PILOT about unusual people
who come to Virginia Beach, which
mostly means to the ARE.
Hugh Lynn Cayce, executive director
of the ARE, called me late last Monday
afternoon to say a shaman, a medicine
man, as he explained it, was coming. If I
wanted to interview him I could pick
him up at the Greyhound station and
talk to him that afternoon. Saturday he
would be doing a traditional Native
American healing ritual, which I was wel-
come to attend. That’s how I first heard
about Rolling Thunder.
Of course I accepted, and he gave
me the time. Four o’clock. I had to
check the location, it seemed so improb-
able: “The Greyhound…bus station…
in Norfolk?”
“The same,” Hugh Lynn replied.
Most of the people I have met through
Hugh Lynn put themselves forward as
spiritual teachers and shamans and are
accepted, by at least some people, as
being the genuine article. Having spent
hours talking to these men and women,
listening to their stories, their answers
to my questions, their affect, how they
dressed, how they stood, their eyes,
what I can only call their beingness, I
have begun to develop some discern-
ment. It is clear to me that authenticity
is in part a measure of the continuity
between the public persona and private
personality. To the degree they are not
one and the same, that person seems
diminished.
About a month before, Hugh Lynn
had alerted me to an Indian of another
type, a Hindu priest from India. He
arrived in a Cadillac accompanied by an
entourage. In the trunk of the car was
the food he would eat, and the pans it
would be prepared in, and the dishes
upon which it would be served.
“The master is so evolved, he is barely
in touch with the physical plane any-
more,” an acolyte explained to me as he
brought out the boxes of the guru’s
portable kitchen.
SPRING 2009 | 7
 “Wow,” I thought. “This man must be
in a truly exalted state of consciousness.”
I looked forward to hearing him speak
later that night. However, he was quite
disappointing. He had beautiful diction,
but spoke almost nothing but platitudes
and slogans. By the time he was through
I realized I was dealing with shtick,
whether consciously contrived or not I
couldn’t tell. But it taught me a lesson
I never forgot: If an expert is someone
from more than one hundred miles away
with a briefcase, a holy man may be only
someone from a distant land, practicing
an unfamiliar faith, with a different set of
altar ornaments.
THIS IS STILL VERY MUCH IN MY MIND on a hot
summer afternoon as I drive down to the
Greyhound station. The Norfolk itera-
tion of this cultural institution comes
complete with the usual: sailors fooling
around, Marines playing a game of black
jack, old black ladies sitting patiently,
cooling themselves with paper church
fans, and leaning up against the snack
counter a middle-aged Indian, with an
unblocked cowboy hat, an old tweed
jacket, and a bolo tie with a turquoise
slide. He is eating some cheddar cheese
Nabs, and drinking a coke. He smokes a
pipe, I can see; it is sticking out of the
breast pocket of his jacket.
We introduce ourselves, he picks up a
small bag, and we walk out to the car.
Twenty minutes later we are driving
down Shore Drive, which parallels the
coast, and he asks me to stop at a super-
market. Would I go in and buy two
steaks? Sure. In those days I was a vege-
tarian, really a vegan, and buying steaks
for a powerful shaman seems very odd.
Hospitality demands his request be hon-
ored, so I go into the market and buy
him two of the best Porterhouse cuts
8 | PARABOLA
they have. A mile farther Shore Drive
cuts through a state park, and suddenly
we are in beach wilderness such as six-
teenth-century colonists would have
seen, and it runs on for several miles.
We are about midway through when
Rolling Thunder asks me to pull over.
Reaching for his bag, he opens the door
and gets out of the car, asking me when
he is supposed to be at the ARE. I think
he wants to relieve himself in the woods.
But no. He clearly intends to leave me.
About seven p.m., I say. He thanks me,
asks me to build a small fire where he is
to work, and turns and walks down the
bank and into the woods. “Don’t forget
the steaks,” he calls out as he walks away.
He is completely natural in all of this.
It is not being done for effect and, as
it is happening, it seems the most obvi-
ous and appropriate thing for him to
be doing. Only as I watch him vanish
into the trees does it become clear how
unusual this is. Presumably he is going
to sleep in the woods? Rolling Thunder
reminds me of a Polish sergeant I had
when I was in the Army. So thoroughly
secure in his esoteric skillset, that what
seemed improbable to me he did with
effortless competence. I realize he and
the sergeant are just different kinds
of warriors.
THE NEXT AFTERNOON I go up to the ARE
with the steaks in a cooler. Someone has
moved a massage table out into the park-
ing lot. Not quite sure where the fire
should be, I gather wood from the forest
that borders the back of the parking lot
and set it up near the table, then leave for
an early dinner. When I get back just
before seven a crowd has gathered. I get
RIGHT: "WISDOM OF THE SHAMAN" BY JD CHALLENGER
 the cooler out of the car, and go over
and light the fire. Hugh Lynn comes
over, wearing an ironed white shirt,
without a tie, and a windbreaker. He
always reminds me of a prosperous small
town banker, not the youngest son of
one of the most famous clairvoyants in
history. In fact he has the mind of a
Medici, and is the most interesting per-
son I have met doing these interviews.
He introduces me to a couple of the doc-
tors, then goes over to the vans parked
nearby, and talks with two women. They
are the mothers, who have accompanied
their sons. Inside each van one of the
boys to be healed lies quietly in the back.
It is twilight now and I can see them
framed in the overhead light in the vans.
Another physician almost in silhouette
moves between them.
Precisely at seven Rolling Thunder,
looking just as he had the day before,
walks out of the woods holding his small
bag. He goes up to Hugh Lynn who,
seeing him coming, calls everyone
together. He says a few words of intro-
duction, and while he does this Rolling
Thunder kneels down and pulls out from
the bag what I can see, from maybe three
feet away, is the breast and extended
wing of a crow or raven. The pinion
feathers are spread. Seeing me he thanks
me for the fire, and asks if I have brought
the steaks. I go over to the cooler and
bring them over. He takes one, and tears
off the plastic wrap, and the paper tray,
handing this back to me. He walks the
few feet to the fire and drops the steak
into the gravel and dirt, next to the little
fire ring of stones I have made. It is the
strangest thing he has done yet, but like
walking into the woods, it just seems the
thing to do.
He gestures to Hugh Lynn, who goes
over to one of the vans, and the boy
10 | PARABOLA
within is brought out on a stretcher and
placed on the massage table. As Rolling
Thunder talks quietly to him, the boy
seems to be having trouble at first focus-
ing on what is being said, probably
because the move has caused him addi-
tional pain. But gradually he calms, and
lies still, his eyes closed. His mother
comes over and stands to one side. While
this is going on, by unspoken consensus
we observers have been slowly shuffling
forward until we reach an acceptable
compromise between intruding and
being able to observe closely. It turns out
this is an arc about eight feet away from
the boy on the table.
Rolling Thunder begins a soft slow
chant. I cannot make out the words, just
the rhythm of the rising and falling
sound. He begins making slow passes
over the boy’s form using the wing and
breast of the raven, moving it just an
inch or two above his body. I can see the
feathers spread slightly against the air
pressure as his arm sweeps along. Long
graceful strokes. Every second or third
stroke he flicks the wing tip down
towards the steak on the ground. As it
grows darker the fire becomes more
prominent, and the boy and the man
drift into shadow.
THIS GOES ON MONOTONOUSLY. Everything else
is silent. Suddenly, I notice that there is a
white mist-like form taking shape around
and in front of Rolling Thunder’s body.
Sometimes I can see it, sometimes not.
But it becomes stronger, steadier, until it
is continuously present. It is almost dark
now, but the fire gives enough light to
see. Then it takes form, slowly at first,
but as if gathering energy into itself it
takes form. I can clearly see the smoke-
like shape is that of a wolf. Rolling
Thunder moves as rhythmically as a
clock. Sweep. Sweep. Flick. Sweep.
Sweep. Flick.
After about thirty minutes the form
begins to fade, first losing shape, then
becoming increasingly insubstantial.
Finally, it is nothing more than a
chimera, there and not there. Then
it is gone. Rolling Thunder straightens
up and stops. He makes a kind of ges-
ture and somehow we are released to
come forward. The boy is very peaceful.
His mother steps up to him and leans
over him, kissing his forehead. The
wound is completely healed. It looks
like your skin does when a scab falls
off, leaving smooth unlined pink skin,
shiny in its newness. I am astonished.
Clearly, so is everyone else. I go over
to Hugh Lynn, who is in animated con-
versation with a British scientist, Douglas
Dean, who has come down from New
Jersey to see this. Hugh Lynn asks me,
“What did you see?” “Yes, what…?”
Dean says. I tell them, and when I say
the mist took form, they exchange a
look, and Hugh Lynn asks, “What
shape?” When I tell them I saw a wolf,
another look passes between them, and
they tell me that they have seen the
same thing.
There is a kind of break. People go to
the bathroom, get a drink of water. Half
an hour later we gather again. The sec-
ond boy is brought out. I cannot see
anything wrong with him. His mother,
however, is very attentive, so something
is wrong. Hugh Lynn says it is a broken
bone that will not heal. Rolling Thunder
asks for the second steak, and I go back
to the cooler to get it. This one he also
drops to the ground. He says nothing to
me, and I know better than to say any-
thing to him.
The chanting begins, and all appears to
be headed towards what it once was. The
mist which seems about two-inches thick
begins to form. It grows stronger, stops
flickering, but, just as it begins to take
form, it stalls. It happens once. A second
time. A third. This time I look around
and my eyes are drawn to the mother.
I have no idea how I know this, but I
know it is the boy’s mother. She is block-
ing this.
As Rolling Thunder is beginning a
fourth attempt he suddenly stops. He
straightens up, turns and walks over to
Hugh Lynn. He says, “I cannot do this.
The mother will not permit it. She has a
mother’s love, and it is very powerful.”
“Yes. I noticed. I’ll talk to them.”
Hugh Lynn goes over and talks to the
doctor for a while, then the mother and
the son. I can’t hear them. Then he
comes over to where Dean and I are
standing and says, “He was drifting a
way from her, now he is dependent once
again. She is conflicted about giving
that up.”
Rolling Thunder goes over and sits on
the cooler that held the steaks. The
evening is clearly over. People start drift-
ing away. I can hear cars starting and, in
the glare of their headlights, I go over to
kick out the fire. Rolling Thunder is
there before me. He reaches down and I
can see the steaks. Both are withered and
gray. One of them hardly looks like meat
at all.
“You put whatever is wrong into the
steak?”
“That’s right. The fire will purify and
release it.”
He throws the steaks into the hot
coals. The fat crackles and catches fire.
The two of us stand there in silence. It
doesn’t take long, and they are gone.
During those minutes I don’t know what
Rolling Thunder is thinking. I am recon-
sidering how the world works.
SPRING 2009 | 11
 IMAGINATION AND THE VOID
TO BE OR NOT TO BE
Patrick Laude
M. A. FAUGNO

12 | PARABOLA
THE AMBIGUOUS POWER OF IMAGES has never been as
pervasive as it is today through the world of
media and virtual reality. Images shape ideas and
tendencies, determine action, invade daily con-
sciousness, and sometimes rule over opinion.
They can hypnotize and control; they can feed all
sorts of delusions and foster imbalance. In short,
images fill up the vacuum left by the spiritual dis-
array of our contemporary world. So saturated is
modern life with myriads of images of all kinds
that we don’t take notice of most of them any-
more. One must wonder what may remain of the
power of creative imagination when such a pas-
sive, hardly conscious relationship with images
has settled in and become second nature.
Notwithstanding, modern man still values
imagination as a rare, mysterious, and awesome
faculty. Our schools encourage children to
explore, display, enrich their imagination,
although what we mean by it is far from clear, so
blurry and capricious have become the criteria
that validate its worth and function. When we try
to specify what imagination entails, the most like-
ly associations involve subjectivity, individuality,
and freedom from boundaries. Imagination is a
private, idiosyncratic realm that makes one enjoy
the oft-complacent delights of being special. As a
comforting haven of fantasy, it protects us from
the harshness of an objective world of drab real-
ism and cold, inhuman structures. It seemingly
frees one’s mind and heart from the strictures of
an industrialized world of tedious, mechanical,
senseless activity. From all of this we may infer
that imagination is akin to a world of unreality to
which we turn to find solace from a reality that
alienates us and robs us of meaning and happi-
ness. The imaginary is not the real: its very raison
d’être is to be a sort of parallel reality to which we
may escape.
In a world in which reality is defined by action
and outer realizations, imagination is also prized
for its prospective, unconventional, creative
power of exploration and discovery. To the
impediments of memory, akin to the hindering
weight of the past, modern man espouses the

SPRING 2009 | 13
 seemingly unlimited power of projection
of an imagination that defies the con-
straints of reality as it is known. Modern
science and technology thrive on this
sense of unhampered liberty to question,
inquire, and fathom. This is, in a sense,
the very pride that modern mankind
boasts as its uncontested superiority over
ages of allegedly conformist compliance
with unexamined beliefs and unscruti-
nized customs. There is no modernity
without unconstrained imagination,
imagination to think, to do, and to be.
CRITICS OF MODERNITY HAVE SUGGESTED that
such highly subjective, individualized,
and metaphysically unrestricted under-
standing of imagination may ultimately
confine us to alienation and Prometheism.
The artificiality of many of its produc-
tions reinforces mankind’s chronic sepa-
ration from its environment, short of
integration with a qualitative universe
of meaning. It erects walls of isolation
among humans by means of the mesmer-
izing power of technological creations
and projections. Television and the
internet are poor substitutes for bonds
of friendship and communication.
Furthermore, the unbound, direction-
less, and idiosyncratic imagination of our
times is suspected of opening a chasm
between humanity and the divine: it is
likely that the myriads of imaginary
dreams of virtual reality produce a world
in which God has become implausible
and seemingly unneeded. Imagination,
pushed to the limits of its demiurgic
élan, ends up evoking a ghostly, and
ghastly, counter-reality: it is indeed the
imagination of the sorcerer’s apprentice.
At the end of the road this counter-reali-
ty overuns and cancels out what it coun-
ters. The virtual becomes more real than
the actual; it dispels ontological bound-
14 | PARABOLA
aries and realizes the old prophecies of
a world totally enmeshed in the alluring
net of Maya, or swept in the whirlwind
of exponential “surreality.”
To attend to this crisis of modern
imagination, a few questions are in order.
Should imagination be confined to the
realms of the subjective, the individual,
and the phantasmatic, and has it always
been akin to them? Is imagination free
from any laws, and independent from
any objective grounding? Is the contem-
porary disconnection between imagina-
tion and “things as they are” and “things
as we know them” the fundamental rule,
or rather the circumstantial exception?
TRADITIONAL WORLDS have been unanimous
in their metaphysical and spiritual
embrace of imagination. The world of
images has been universally conceived as
an inspiring and pacifying treasury of
wisdom: not only a horizon of dream but
a space of knowledge. Pre-modern
mankind was quite aware that visual rep-
resentations provide a more direct access
to reality than concepts and discourses.
It highly prized the power of imagina-
tion as a privilege to relate to the
beyond. This is why words referring to
seeing and “imaging” often denoted, or
connoted, a sense of knowledge. Thus, a
“theory” amounts to none other, ety-
mologically, than a “vision” of reality.
Rites and symbols bear witness to this
benefit of directness and integrality with
which the discursive process of reason
can never catch up. Myths, parables,
icons, visionary dreams, sacred ideograms,
all bear witness to the instantaneity of
the manifestation of the sacred in and
through images. Even the most icono-
clastic of traditions, namely Judaism and
Islam, have not been able to dispense
with the human need for visual imagery,
 TRADITIONAL WORLDS HAVE BEEN UNANIMOUS IN THEIR METAPHYSICAL AND
SPIRITUAL EMBRACE OF IMAGINATION.
M. A. FAUGNO
if only through their inspiring cultivation
of the illumination and calligraphy of the
word of God.
Such pervasiveness of the imagination
of forms in the world of religions may
surprise: is not the end of the spiritual
journey most often envisaged as a tran-
scendence of all imaginary and discursive
forms? Certainly so, but this transcend-
ing motion cannot bypass images them-
selves since it takes as its starting point
the world of forms in which we live and
“imagine,” and since images ultimately
point to that “unimaginable” that is both
their root and their end. Sacred imagina-
tion proceeds from the divine source of
tradition that it prolongs and unfolds,
thereby providing us with its iconic power
of allusion to and intimation of the
unseen. It offers us a way to gaze upon
the Divine Mystery that we cannot grasp
and that our reason can only infer with-
out ascertaining it with full existential
certainty. God escapes our imagination
in His essence, but He mercifully mani-
fests the beauty of His manifold qualities
in the world of sacred imagination.
AS A SCHOLARLY “PROPHET” OF IMAGINATION,
Henry Corbin emphasized, in the wake
of Swedenborg and Shi’ite and Sufi
theosophy, that the world of imagination
is an objective and universal domain, not
a purely private bubble of fiction. The
necessary distinction between the latter
and the former demanded that he coin a
new word, i.e., the “imaginal,” to pre-
vent his readers from confusing spiritual
imagination for the individual inventions
that we fancy. Imagination is indeed a
SPRING 2009 | 15
 “world,” the mundus imaginalis,
a world more real than our daily
dream. In it and through it the
higher realm of spiritual realities
becomes proportionate to our
terrestrial faculties of perception:
the imaginal unfolds a bridge
between the celestial and the ter-
restrial. In other words, the
“imaginal world” is the interme-
diary realm that joins the spiritual
spheres with physical realities. As
for the “imaginary” domain that
IMAGINATION LIES AT THE JUNCTURE
OF DEATH AND LIFE,
ABSENCE AND PRESENCE.
we vaunt and value, it is nothing
more, at best, than the residual
manifestation of this imaginal
realm. Thus, contemporary forms
of arts, such as moving pictures,
can become the vehicles of the
imaginal archetypes of the myths
of old, and many “imaginative”
works of literature are half
unconscious channels of truly
imaginal realities, half phantas-
matic fabrications of an artist
engrossed with his own genial
figments. Literary and cinematic
works may flaunt imaginal reali-
ties in contexts that often trivial-
ize their modes of manifestation,
but they cannot but be the vehi-
cle, albeit in a passive and uncon-
scious way, of their ultimate
meaning.
Imagination has not only its
16 | PARABOLA
ontological province, but it also
possesses its own laws. In his
ANTHROPOLOGICAL STRUCTURES OF
IMAGINATION ,
Gilbert Durand drew
an extensive repertory of the ways
in which imagination has mani-
fested and functioned through
myths and symbols, through reli-
gions and arts, through ages and
lands. He has shown that
mankind has been remarkably
one in its understanding and use
of imagination as a faculty that
makes us feel at home in the
world of forms in which we live.
Genuine and sound imagination
is neither severed from the cos-
mos, nor from the gods, nor from
the One. It obeys, for example,
the fundamental laws of cosmic
alternation epitomized by the
sequence of days and nights.
There is, therefore, a diurnal and
a nocturnal regime of imagina-
tion: the first provides images of
separation, differentiation and
opposition, as the day that proj-
ects diversity and contrast, yang,
whereas the second proposes
“THE COURT OF THE MYRTLES”
GARDEN OF CLASSICAL ISLAM
THE ALHAMBRA PALACE, GRANADA. SPAIN
FOURTEENTH CENTURY, NASRID PERIOD
(1230–1492)
 visions of reconciliation, fusion and
union, like the night that envelops
and disposes to sleep, yin.
Imagination lies at the juncture of
death and life, absence and presence. It
has been hailed as a victory over death
and putrefaction. Is not the image a sur-
rogate for the living reality that has
elapsed or vanished ? Paintings, photo-
graphs, are images proposed to memory:
we willingly evoke the presence of those
we love by means of the magic of repre-
sentation, or we restore, through it, a
symbolic life to those who have passed
away. In Rome, the imago was a mortu-
ary mask of the dead that patrician fami-
lies carried in a funerary procession. It
was then placed on the altar of ancestors,
like a permanent reminder of death in life
and life in death. The image is a presence
in absence, but it is also an absence in
presence. It is never a full adequation,
nor an utter distance. Imagination lies in
this ambivalent realm that is neither real
nor unreal. As the symbol—which ety-
mologically refers to a token only one
half or one side of which is presented as
a sign of recognition—it always presents
us with a reality the true face of which is
to be found beyond.
From etymology to entomology, our
exploration of the connotations of the
imago teaches us that this term may
also refer to the final stage in the devel-
opment of an insect. This not only
alludes to the idea that the true “image”
may be taken to be the goal or the end
result of a creative process, it also points
to a sense of perfection, as well as to an
intuition of a being’s essence. The image
is more than a representation, it is the
ultimate form of a being, and imagina-
tion captures nature at a stage, or on a
level, that is more real than what we flatly
call reality.
18 | PARABOLA
IMAGINATION FILLS A GAP, but it does so in
two very different ways. As Corbin
reminds us, it can be, positively, like a
bridge, or a pathway, between the world
of visible, physical forms, and the realm
of suprasensory, archetypical, spiritual
realities that cannot, as such, be per-
ceived by our senses, nor enter the world
of forms. This is the intermediary world
of similitude in difference and difference
in similitude. Similitude is the key to
interpretation, the science of deciphering
messages from the beyond; but such a
translation is not one-sided and quasi-
automatic like that of a sign-post or an
allegory, meaning this is that and that’s
it. Difference introduces a wealth of lev-
els and correspondences that makes the
symbol ever more than what it appears to
be. Imagination is the faculty that gives
access to this full domain of meaning.
On the side of creation, it crystallizes, as
it were, spiritual intuitions and realities
into formal, symbolic realities. On the
side of interpretation it “frees” meanings
from their formal shell and connects
them to the living sources of Reality. It
does not create symbols out of nothing,
it simply perceives, or unveils, their
objective reality as merciful and fruitful
intermediaries between the spiritual and
the physical. This imaginal domain is not
vain, phantasmatic imagination at all: it is
an objective domain to which visionaries,
shamans, and mystics have had access, a
symbolic book which we can read in
order to reach intimations of the Beyond
as “through a glass,” not “darkly,” but
rather through the many “colors” of
divine theophanies.
By contrast with the substantive and
sustentive nature of spiritual and symbol-
ic imagination, the trivial market of our
“imaginary” life amounts to no more
than a “filler” in the most pejorative
sense of the word. This is imagination
as “filler of the void,” to use Simone
Weil’s phrase: “It is continually at work
filling up the fissures through which
grace may pass.” There are the fissures
that result from our relativity, from the
fact that we are neither self-sufficient
nor self-fulfilled. The “void” that is to
be filled is the incompleteness of our
terrestrial being, of our individual experi-
ence. It is from or through the “void”
resulting from our relativity that the
“fullness” of the Real can be unveiled.
In need of Reality, our incomplete, frag-
mentary being should open itself to the
completeness, the absoluteness of the
Divine, which is the only fully satisfacto-
ry response to it. But such an opening
implies a “dark night” that our soul
does not want to bear with patience,
or in waiting, to use again one of Weil’s
powerful spiritual metaphors: hence
the compensations of illusory imagina-
tion. Wandering imagination, sterile
imagination, serves our delusions of
metaphysical “immunity,” in the hope
of forgetting the void that is growing
within us, and threatens to make walking
dead of ourselves.
EVEN THOUGH the contemporary concepts
of the “imaginary” and imagination fall
short of the full reality of the imaginal
domain and the plenary spiritual func-
tion of images, they cannot but testify to
the latter as their distant or inverted
reflections. Reality is one, and there is no
absolute “error” in being. First, the sub-
jective bias of our current concept of
imagination does not only stem from an
ignorance of the ontological objectivity
of the imaginal, it also remains, positive-
ly, as a faint mirror image of divine Self-
knowledge. This is suggestively taught
by a hadith: “I was a hidden treasure and
I desired to be known, so I created the
world in order to be known.”
Imagination is an objectification of
the divine Subject through which God
knows Himself in the mode of multiplici-
ty and contrast. Imagination is the exteri-
orized “content” of the Divine Subject
in the way of a wealth of creative mean-
ings “passed into” imaginal forms. The
world springs forth out of God’s imagi-
nation, and human imagination can, and
must, unfold in an analogous creative
process. Human art mimics divine art.
In parallel, the individualistic bent that
characterizes modern imagination,
despite its flowing from an inordinate
cultivation of arbitrary idiosyncrasies,
can also be understood as an obscured
and indirect sense that imagination does
indeed relate each and every soul to the
whole of being, and to the Principle of
the whole. Ibn Arabi’s concept of the
“God of belief” as a personal imaginal
reality, that William Chittick also defined
as “self-disclosure of the Real (that) ties
a knot in the fabric of existence,” is of
necessity limited and colored by the size
and the hues of the individual recipient.
There is no way for the limited to be
connected with the Unlimited but
through representations or limitations
that are as many imaginal apprehensions
of the Real. These limitations are not
exclusive of liberty, and our modern
equation of imagination with freedom
is not unfounded, although not fully
understood in its foundations.
Imagination is liberating because it
reflects God’s utter freedom to create. It
is the projecting and creating power of
His infinity. Reflecting this divine free-
dom on the human level, only the sage
and the saint have enough imagination
to become other than themselves, and
one with all selves.
SPRING 2009 | 19
 FINDING THE CENTER,
ENTERING THE LAND
THE LABYRINTHS OF JEWISH IMAGINATION
Geoffrey W. Dennis

HEBREW LAYRINTH

20 | PARABOLA
TO THE ANCIENT ISRAELITE, the heart was not, as we fancy it today, the
source of emotion. Rather, it was the seat of the mind.
Just as important, it was regarded as the place of the imagina-
tive faculty. Over and over, the Scriptures remind us, God desires
the heart. God wants us to use our imagination to see the world
with divine eyes: to look beyond the obvious, to see past the
ephemera of one’s surroundings and detect the hidden essence,
to imagine the unseen center of things.
And indeed, the imaginings of the heart occupy a unique place
in Judaism, for imagination is a key to coping with the great enig-
ma of exile, which occupies the center of the Jewish experience. It
is the key because imagination thrives in an absence. If we cannot
go home, we can imagine home, and our imagination comforts us
in our separation. It certainly has been a comfort to Jews, who
have constructed in our hearts a spiritual, and therefore enduring,
reality for all we have lost, personally and collectively. This is
imagination’s salvific function.
Jews are millennia removed from the actual Temple, the place
where God “dwelt in our midst.” So in its stead we build, as
Abraham Joshua Heschel so aptly put it, “cathedrals in time”
through our sacred calendar. Though Jews live in every hemi-
sphere and clime, we celebrate only the agricultural rhythms of
our homeland; we live in a kind of dreamtime Land of Israel. We
do not mark as sacred the seasons available to our senses. Instead,
we gather in our synagogues only for the barley harvest, the
spring lambing, and the start of the rainy season in Palestine. The
East European Hasidic master and fabulist Rabbi Nachman of
Bratslav described the condition of the Jewish heart when he
described his own: “My only place is the Land of Israel. Where

SPRING 2009 | 21
 ever I go, I am only going to the Holy
Land….”(Chayyei Moharan, Navritch 6).
This sensibility that life is a pilgrimage
through an imagined landscape is espe-
cially evident in the Jewish use of one
of the enduring archetypes of human
thought, the labyrinth (Hebrew: mavokh,
labirint, sevakh).1 Few symbols typify the
human experience like the labyrinth. It
signifies the inner life of man, the divine
mind, the transition between kinds of
being, and the journey of a soul trying to
navigate the bewildering twists of fate.
For Jews, the labyrinth embodies all
these themes, and more. Consequently,
the labyrinth is, in varied forms and
motifs, a recurrent cultural pattern across
Jewish tradition.
Yet while there is a four-thousand-
year tradition of building labyrinths in
Europe, Africa, and Asia,2 not one, to
our knowledge, was built by Jews. What
is unique about labyrinths in Jewish tra-
dition is that they are more often imag-
ined than realized. Prior to the modern
era, Jews have not had a tradition of con-
structing physical mazes. On rare occa-
sion we have produced artistic render-
ings in books and folk art, but Jewish
labyrinths are by and large literary con-
structs, appearing foremost in imagina-
tive parables and tales. Envisioned at
times as a palace, forest, city, or bridge
to the divine, the imaginal labyrinth of
Judaism is an unobtrusive yet potent
archetype that serves as a metaphor for
the Torah, the world, and the mind
of God.
IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: FINDING THE CENTER
Faith is like a beautiful palace with many beau-
tiful chambers. One enters and goes from
room to room, from hallway to hallway…how
fortunate is he who walks in faith!
22 | PARABOLA
NACHMAN OF BRATSLAV, MOHARAN #420
Nachman’s characterization of faith as
an irrgang of sublime discoveries is an
ancient motif in Judaism. It is the master
image of the mystical Hekhalot (“Palaces”)
literature of Late Antiquity, which offers
to guide a living adept on an ecstatic
soul-ascent through the complex of
celestial precincts. The worthy who
can navigate this supernal maze will
be privileged to encounter the “King
in His Beauty” at the heart of the heav-
enly mansions.3
But the labyrinth finds its primary
Jewish expression not as a description of
heaven but as a simile for Torah, for
sacred instruction. Thus, in the effort to
decode the meaning of SHIR HA-SHIRIM, the
BIBLICAL SONG OF SONGS (a medieval commen-
tator called the book “a lock to which
the key is lost”), one Midrash offers this
mashal (parable) of how, through the use
of illustrative stories, Solomon taught us
not to lose ourselves while seeking the
mysteries of God’s love in Scripture:
It [THE SONG OF SONGS ] is like a great palace
with many entrances and all who enter it
would lose the way to the entrance. A wise
man [Solomon] came and took a rope and
tied it to the entrance, and all would enter
and exit by following the rope.
SONG OF SONGS RABBAH 1:8
One hears the dark echoes of the myth
of Theseus in this brief yet multifaceted
parable about parables, but the Jewish
variations on the themes of the Cretan
labyrinth are striking and instructive. As
in Greek thought, the labyrinth is con-
nected to a deity; it is a holy thing.4 Yet
Minos’ labyrinth sits buried below his
palace and is the domain of monsters; it
RIGHT: ZICHARON BIRUSHELAYIM
JERUSALEM AT THE CENTER
SPRING 2009 | 23
 “OMER CALENDAR, TO COUNT THE FORTY-NINE DAYS BETWEEN PASSOVER AND SHAVUOT, THE BARLEY HARVEST”
THIS OMER CALENDAR MAY ALSO HAVE SERVED AS AN AMULET BECAUSE IT IS INSCRIBED WITH THE MYSTICAL NAME OF GOD
AND BLESSINGS. WATERCOLOR ON PAPER
is a chthonian realm. In this Jewish ver-
sion the labyrinth is the palace, not its
dungeon, and is, therefore, celestial. It
is the divine world, in all its complexity
and obliqueness. Both versions mytholo-
gize the search for salvation, but the
quest here entails a climb toward heaven,
not a descent into the underworld. Still,
it is a meander fraught with dangers. For
all its assumed beneficence, we can lose
ourselves in the profundities of God’s
mind. But the parable assures us that
holding on to the simple moral narratives
of the Tradition serves every Jew as a
thread of Ariadne, allowing us to always
keep our bearings.
The palace-labyrinth is not a metaphor
reserved to the mystic tradition. The
twelfth-century rationalist philosopher
Moses Maimonides reuses the same
image, but applies it to own his
24 | PARABOLA
labyrinthine magnum opus, the MOREH
NEVUKHIM (GUIDE FOR THE PERPLEXED ). Explaining
the need for clear, philosophical knowl-
edge of the divine nature, he offers a
parable for different kinds of people and
their relative understanding of God:
I shall begin the discourse in this chapter
with a parable that I shall compose for
you. I say then: The ruler is in his palace,
and all his subjects are partly within the
city and partly outside the city. Of those
who are within the city, some have turned
their backs upon the ruler’s habitation,
their faces being turned another way.
Others seek to reach the ruler’s habitation,
turn toward it, and desire to enter it and
to stand before him, but up to now they
have not yet seen the wall of the habita-
tion. Some of those who seek to reach it
have come up to the habitation and
walked around it searching for its gate.
Some of them have entered the gate and
 walked about in the antechambers. Some
of them have entered the inner court of
the habitation and have come to be with
the king, in one and the same place with
him, namely, in the ruler’s habitation. But
their having come into the inner part of
the habitation does not mean that they see
the ruler or speak to him. For after their
coming into the inner part of the habita-
tion, it is indispensable that they should
make another effort; then they will be in
the presence of the ruler, whether they see
him from afar or from nearby, or hear the
ruler’s speech or speak to him.
GUIDE FOR THE PERPLEXED, BOOK III, CHAPTER 5,
PINES EDITION
Here wisdom is the key to open the
closed palace of the king. For Maimonides,
the labyrinth is not a building, but the
building of knowledge. Moreover, it is a
building project of such complexity that
one is not able to locate the center with-
out a lodestar (Hence, the title of his
book, GUIDE FOR THE PERPLEXED). But for the
one who does penetrate it, he comes
away an initiate, for having mastered the
gnosis, he is transformed by the experi-
ence. Much wiser for his journey, he
finally encounters the divine king at the
heart of the maze. Once in that presence,
issues of isolation or proximity dissolve
(“…see him from afar or from near-
by…”) and exile is transcended.
For most of Jewish history, the
labyrinthine palace has primarily been
a literary trope. When graphic represen-
tations of labyrinths finally do start to
appear in Jewish art, a new layer of
meaning is added to this symbolic palace.
Starting in the high Middle Ages, occa-
sional pictures of seven-cursal labyrinths
begin to appear in the marginalia of illu-
minated manuscripts (ILLUSTRATION 1 ). In
almost every case, the illustration bears
the label “Jericho” or “The walls of
Jericho.”5 This interpretation of the
ancient city as an irrgang has compelling
intuitive logic. In the biblical account,
the walls of Jericho are the chief barrier
to entering the holy land (Joshua 6:1).
The divine solution, requiring the
Israelites to make seven circuits around
the walls in meditative silence until the
seventh day, punctuated only by the
sound of shofars (6:3–16), suggests a
labyrinthine pilgrimage, inspiring the
artistic rendering of the city sitting in
the heart of a maze.6 Thus the labyrinth
becomes emblematic of a spiritual obsta-
cle. It is only by taking the circuitous
and indirect pathway—by turning back
upon oneself, in a sense—that one may
move through a place of impasse and
prove worthy to enter the unseen good
place beyond.
Whether they signify a puzzle to be
solved or a barrier to be overcome, these
Jewish “building” motifs represent a
daunting yet essentially optimistic view
of the life journey toward enlighten-
ment. Such imaginings trust in the soul’s
capacity to find the center of all things
despite having to make one’s way
through a life that offers many difficul-
ties, a world that does not wear its heart
on its sleeve.
LOST IN THE WOODS: FINDING THE GOOD,
WIDE LAND
The labyrinth of Greek myth is a more
ambiguous symbol. Theseus finds his
way without difficulty to the heart of the
maze, but cannot find his way back with-
out help. Gradually in Jewish tradition
the optimistic labyrinth, in which the
path necessarily leads to God, is overtak-
en by a darker Greek-like theme in which
the goal is not to find one’s way to the
center of the warren, but to escape it
entirely. This is the labyrinth as trap and
prison. Increasingly, the labyrinth
SPRING 2009 | 25
 becomes for Jews a trope for the condi-
tion of exile. By the early modern era,
an increasingly common literary motif
is that of a foreboding forest or wilder-
ness, as exemplified in this famous
Hasidic parable:
A man lost his way in a great forest. Each
time he thought he was getting some-
where, he found himself even more lost.
After a while another lost his way and
chanced upon the first. Without knowing
what had happened to him, he asked the
way out of the woods. “I don’t know,”
said the first, “I only know the way that
leads deeper into the thicket, so let us go a
route neither have gone and try to find the
way together.”
CHAYYIM OF TZANZ 7
Again, it is fruitful to examine the
Greek version of the archetype against
the Jewish. The Cretan labyrinth is a
prison that traps Minotaur, the son of
the king. For all who enter it, confusion
overtakes them when they attempt to
leave. The maze is a realm of fatal forget-
fulness, a zone where memory fails. In
this Jewish version of the myth, Israel,
the eldest son of the King of Kings, finds
himself trapped in the wilderness of the
Diaspora, an arboreal prison of false
turns and trails that dead end, which
must be transcended if one is to return
to the good, wide land—the land of
Israel.8 Moreover, looking at this fable in
light of the earlier “palace” tropes, one is
struck by the absence of any vehicle in
the narrative for Torah or Tradition.
Reflecting the crisis Jews increasingly felt
over the challenges of modernity, divine
instruction is apparently little help in this
dilemma. It, along with its capacity to
guide, is being forgotten or lost. All we
have now to assist us in finding the way
out of the maze of exile is each other.
Perhaps the most daring variation on
26 | PARABOLA
this labyrinth motif is found in the
Yiddish poem “Brother God,” by the
young Abraham Joshua Heschel:
God is fettered in jail,
in labyrinths of transcendence.
You escape and go through all the streets
But Your divinity masks You.9
For this young Hasid torn between
his traditional worldview and his expand-
ing involvement in the modern secular
world, God too is lost in confusion,
His identity also in flux. The labyrinth
encapsulates Heschel’s experience of a
world that has become for him a series
of blind alleys.
Yet, paradoxically, in other Hasidic
writings, the labyrinth, whether it be a
meandering forest or a disorienting city,
is also a place of awakening, where
awareness of our dilemma emerges and
answers are found.10
REACHING FOR THE OTHER SIDE: A PATHWAY
BETWEEN WORLDS
The labyrinth also represents a liminal
zone, a “between” space that must be
passed through if the hero is to arrive
at his destiny. Some mazes do not spiral
to the middle, but egress to another
side. It is a path that leads from life to
death, or death to life. It is a bridge
between worlds.
This is perhaps the most enduring ver-
sion of the labyrinth in Jewish thought.
We see it in an early mystical text, Sefer
Yetzirah, which argues language and
mathematics is the royal causeway
between the world and its Creator:
In thirty-two mysterious paths of Wisdom,
Yah, Eternal of Hosts, God of Israel,
Living Elohim, Almighty God, High and
Extolled, Dwelling in Eternity, Holy Be
His Name, engraved and created His
world in three Sefarim: in writing, number
 and word. Ten Sefirot out of nothing….
SEFER YETZIRAH MISHNAH 1:1, TRANSLATION
BY ARYEH KAPLAN
This description of divine wisdom
flowing through a complex network of
letters and numbers in time evolves into
the doctrine of the ten sefirot that con-
nect upper and lower worlds. In the
Zohar, the sefirot are described as
“paths” and “rungs” between the seeker
and God. Later kabbalists actually graph
the sefirot and their pathways, creating
the ten spheres and twenty-two-chan-
neled Tree of Life so familiar to modern
students of Kabbalah.11 Meant to serve as
a mandala and a flow-chart of the divine
interaction with material reality, it is also
easy to interpret this graph as a maze.
That the kabbalists understood the
sefirot to be a labyrinth is made clear by a
unique design that appears in the pub-
lished version of Moses Cordovero’s
PARDES RIMMONIM . It consists of a sefirotic
“perspective diagram,” a drawing of the
ten first letters of the names of the sefirot
nested inside each other, so that the lines
of each letter’s shape represent the walls,
while the gaps created by the negative
space of each letter form the openings,
with the tenth sefirah (Malchut,
“Kingdom”) at its center (ILLUSTRATION 2 ).
Enigma, obstacle, trap, and transition;
heaven, hermeneutic, wisdom, and the
world—the labyrinth signifies all these
things to the Jewish mind. For Jews it is
an imagined place, always present yet
without locality, where the mysteries of
the unseen God are eternally sought,
negotiated, and discovered.
1 Modern convention distinguishes a “labyrinth”
(Greek) from a “maze” (English) or “irrgang”
(German) by asserting that a labyrinth is a tortuous
route consisting of a single, predetermined path-
way (unicursal), while a maze/irrgang has multiple
pathways (multicursal) that include dead-ends and
false routes. Historic usage of these terms, starting
with the Labyrinth of Minos itself, has not held
true to this typology. I too will use the terms inter-
changeably.
2 Saward, J., LABYRINTHS AND MAZES, New York: Lark
Books, pp. 18–19.
3 Schafer, P. THE HIDDEN AND MANIFEST GOD: SOME
MAJOR THEMES IN EARLY JEWISH MYSTICISM, p. 2.
4 Borgeaud, P., “The Open Entrance to the Closed
Palace of the King: The Greek Labyrinth in
Context,” HISTORY OF RELIGIONS, Vol. 14, No. 1,
(1974), pp. 2–3.
5 It is worth noting that beginning in the Middle
Ages, stone and turf mazes and labyrinths around
England and Germany were often named
“Troy/Trojin,” “Walls of Troy,” or “Troy-
town/Trojaburg.” This suggests a growing cross-
cultural perception of labyrinths as representing a
mighty barrier to be conquered by heroic persever-
ance. In the Western imagination Homeric Troy
embodies this idea, while for Jews it is Jericho
(Russell and Russell, “English Turf Mazes, Troy,
and the Labyrinth,” in FOLKLORE, Vol. 102, No. 1
(1991).
6 The known illustrations of these Jericho
labyrinths are found in the Farhi Bible manuscript
(fourteenth century), the various manuscripts of
YICHUS HA-AVOT (sixteenth century); and the printed
edition of ZICHARON BI-YRUSHALAYIM (eighteenth
century). Sometime in the eighteenth century, the
Jericho labyrinth started to be incorporated into
prayer plaques known as Shivviti (Sarfati, R., ed.,
OFFERINGS FROM JERUSALEM: PORTRAYALS OF HOLY
PLACES BY JEWISH ARTISTS).
7 There are many versions of this parable. The most
well-known appears in Buber, M., TALES OF THE
HASIDIM, vol. 2, p. 213.
8 The Hebrew name for Egypt, the archetypal
place of exile, is Mitzrayim, which literally means
“narrow place.” In the Jewish imagination, Israel
stands as the spatial antipode of Egypt (Ex. 3:8). In
the prayers that Jews daily recite, Israel is referred
to as the “good, wide land” (the “Blessing for
Sustenance”; c.f. B.T. Berachot 48b).
9 Heschel, A.J., THE INEFFABLE NAME OF GOD: MAN, p.
64.
10 In other forms of this motif a dreamer, or a trav-
eler seeking to reach the Holy Land, must first
make his way through a tortuous and confusing
wilderness to find understanding (See for example,
the story of Rabbi Gershon that appears in
Heschel, A., THE CIRCLE OF THE BAAL SHEM TOV, pp.
59–61).
11 See the sefirot appearing in the Appendix of
Illustrations in Dennis, G., THE ENCYCLOPEDIA OF
JEWISH MYTH, MAGIC, AND MYSTICISM.
SPRING 2009 | 27
 IMAGINATION
Christian Wertenbaker

ACCORDING TO BOTH G. I. GURDJIEFF and neuroscientist Paul MacLean (although

perhaps in very different senses), a human being has three brains. In
Gurdjieff’s terminology, these are an instinctive/moving brain, an emotion-
al brain, and a thinking brain. One of the main functions of the third
brain—the one whose size and power in us distinguishes us from all other
animals—perhaps its main function, can be called imagination. Imagination
is the ability to make and manipulate images in one’s mind. Pragmatically,
these are images of external reality, whose purpose is to enable navigation
and action in the world, ultimately to ensure survival and reproduction. We
don’t bump into things much, and can plan our meals well ahead, as well as

28 | PARABOLA
fantasize endlessly about the opposite
sex, leading sometimes to action. In the
view of many scientists, this is the origin
and purpose of imagination. However,
these are not its limits: the manipulation
of images in human minds undergoes
many levels of abstraction, evidently
many more than in the minds of other
mammals. A particular chair invokes
the concept of chair, widely connected
to other concepts: furniture, comfort,
posture, gravity, space, materials, mole-
cules, atoms, elementary particles, and
the mathematical abstractions that—
strangely and magically—characterize
those particles and their interactions.
Oddly enough, the “imaginary num-
bers,” derived from the square root of
minus one, are required to mathemati-
cally represent elementary particles and
their transformations.
The outer world is the world of mani-
festation, the inner world that of imagi-
nation. Yet in many respects it is the
inner world that makes possible the
outer: houses, streets, cars, televisions,
etc. We do not just reflect the outer
world, we create it. In many circum-
stances we order it—prevent its fall into
disorganization, driven by entropy. Yet
nature is also highly ordered, by what
are ultimately mathematically inevitable
patterns and relationships. If a God cre-
ated the world it is through these laws;
perceiving and manipulating them, we
resemble the creator.
There are experimental studies that
suggest that we do not become con-
sciously aware of a sensory stimulus until
about half a second after its onset.1 Since
many of our reactions occur more quick-
ly than this, it can be argued that our
LEFT: “HOMMAGE TO ROMAN VISHNIAC”
PAINTING BY YEVGENIA NAYBERG
conscious choices are illusory, after-
the-fact rationalizations, and in many
circumstances this can be clearly shown.
So “free will” does not exist. But this
does not take into account the power
of imagination. We can anticipate various
possible reactions to a stimulus, and pre-
pare the brain to react in one way rather
than another. The sudden appearance
of a visual stimulus in the periphery of
the field of vision usually elicits an eye
movement toward the stimulus, to assess
its significance. A subject can be instruct-
ed, however, to look away from the stim-
ulus when it appears, and will do so
quickly and reliably; people with demen-
tia and young children have difficulty
with this task.
One can observe in oneself a constant
interplay between perception of and
reaction to external phenomena, and
imaginative anticipation and prediction.
This occurs on many levels: catching a
ball is such an interplay, as is building a
bridge. Listening to another person
speak, we are on the one hand building
meaning as syllables become words,
words phrases, phrases sentences, and
sentences paragraphs, while at the same
time anticipating what will come next, so
that a grammatical error or unanticipated
end of a sentence causes surprise. The
cumulative meaning falls into a partially
predetermined framework. After spend-
ing some weeks in Spain and then going
to France, I found myself hearing
Spanish phrases being spoken in the
street by passersby, although they were in
fact speaking French, and even though I
knew French much better than Spanish.
As we go into a room and look around,
what we see is largely dependent on a
preconceived template of a room, based
on long experience, especially in child-
hood. Persons born blind whose sight is
SPRING 2009 | 29
 restored as adults are notoriously unable
to make sense of their visual impressions.
We are constantly predicting the
immediate future, mostly unconscious of
its mysterious unpredictability, and, being
afraid of the unknown, our minds often
quickly incorporate unexpectednesses
into a seamless known fabric: I knew all
along that’s what would happen.
In fact, the future is both largely pre-
dictable and completely unpredictable,
but we do not live with this paradox,
NECKER CUBE
AN OPTICAL ILLUSION WITH NO DEPTH CUES FIRST PUB-
LISHED IN 1832 BY SWISS CRYSTALLOGRAPHER LOUIS
ALBERT NECKER
because for the most part we do not live
consciously in the present. What is the
present moment? Is it my awareness of
sensory stimuli? But these actually
occurred in the recent past; it took some
time for me to be aware of them. Is it my
awareness of what I am going to say or
do next, already formulated but not
manifest until the near future? Sensory
reception and mental anticipation thus
frame the present. In Gurdjieff’s
Movements, or sacred dances, one is
asked to maintain a constant awareness
of bodily sensation and at the same time
to visualize the next position to be taken.
30 | PARABOLA
Thus the present comes into existence.
But most of the time our thoughts are
wandering in the distant past and many
possible distant futures and we are
unaware of the present. Our imagina-
tions are so powerful that, unbridled,
they easily detach themselves from the
body and from the present, and our
bodies are left to muddle through on
their own.
THE PROBLEM OF TIME is a very profound
one. Einstein’s relativity theory demon-
strates the relativity of simultaneity, so
that two observers moving relative to
each other can perceive different time
relationships between two events: for
instance one says that event A occurred
before event B, and the other the oppo-
site. This is similar to the fact that the
spatial distance between two points can
appear different depending on the angle
of view. These considerations make time
a fourth dimension, and four-dimension-
al reality a fixed framework. Our aware-
ness moving along the time dimension
gives us the illusion of events unfolding,
but those events are already there in real-
ity. In such a scheme there is obviously
no room for free will.
The distinction between the past, present
and future is only a stubbornly persistent
illusion.
ALBERT EINSTEIN 2
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
T.S. ELIOT 3
But quantum theory gives us a differ-
ent picture, one in which many possible
outcomes seem to exist for an event prior
to its measurement. Quantum theory
and relativity theory have so far resisted ferred back and forth from one form to
being completely reconciled with each another, from the potential energy of
other, although each has proved to be gravity to the kinetic energy of motion;
incredibly accurate in describing experi- that is what maintains the cycle. All
mental outcomes within its purview. It is vibratory motion is of this nature, and
possible that a future theory that brings the world is essentially made of vibra-
these two, already supremely paradoxical, tions. One can speculate that the con-
theories together will also help to eluci- stant interplay between the immediate
date the nature of time, consciousness, past and the immediate future that
and free will. occurs when the present is consciously
Even Einstein confessed, near the end of attended is also a vibration, serving a
his days, that the problem of the now
“worried him seriously.” In conversation
with the philosopher Rudolf Carnap he
conceded that there is “something essen-
tial about the now,” but expressed the
belief that, whatever it was, it lay “just
outside the realm of science.” Maybe,
maybe not.
PAUL DAVIES 4

The mind has qualities that resemble

phenomena at a quantum level. The sim-
plest examples come from ambiguous
figures, such as the Necker cube, or the
faces and vase illusion, that can be seen
in one of two ways, but not both simul-
taneously. The visual object is neither
one thing nor the other; the mind makes
a choice, and the object becomes that in
the mind. We are constantly making such
choices, as when I heard Spanish in the
French streets; our reality is to a signifi-
cant degree a construction of the mind.
And without this capacity of imagina-
tion, we could not construct the exter-
nally real objects that have transformed
the earth.
The perceived present must have a cer-
tain duration, due to the delays in per-
ception and manifestation, that straddles
the moment in time in which I am now
physically present. Similarly, the essence
of a pendulum cannot be captured in an
instant, but depends on its cycle. In this
cycle energy is constantly being trans-
FACE OR VASE?
mysterious role in the self awareness of
the universe, and made possible by the
proper use of imagination. Thus, per-
haps, is time redeemed.
1 Libet, B., Pearl DK, Morledge DE, Gleason CA,
Hosobuchi Y, Barbaro NM: Control of the transi-
tion from sensory detection to sensory awareness
in man by the duration of a thalamic stimulus. The
cerebral time-on factor. BRAIN 1991; 114:1731-
1757.
2 www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/a/
albert_einstein.html
3 T.S. Eliot. FOUR QUARTETS, “Burnt Norton.”
4 Davies, Paul, ABOUT TIME: EINSTEIN’S UNFINISHED
REVOLUTION. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1995,
p. 77.

SPRING 2009 | 31
 FLINGING THE NET
Tracy Cochran
More than thirty years ago, the first issue of PARABOLA appeared, dedicated to the hero and
the quest. In it P. L. Travers, the creator of Mary Poppins, wrote that the beginnings of
myth are there to be found in the NEW YORK TIMES . Her point was that great and terrible
deeds and events are always unfolding and that larger truths are always there waiting to be
drawn out through “a myth-making process” that is inherent “not just among poets and
mystics…but also, and chiefly, in the folk; and by folk I mean you and me and anyone
walking in the street.”
People innately know that every stick has two ends, wrote Travers. We know that every
hero needs a villain and that great heroes also need to have great flaws and temptations
because it is weakness that summons strength. Travers described this subtle imaginative
intelligence at work in us balancing positive with negative, active with passive, shaping
stories that reflect the inner dynamism in things.
Over the years, the best stories and images in PARABOLA have revealed that the power of
imagination was meant to be more than a source of distraction or delusion. Imagination
can show us what it means to be fully human, whole. When bare facts are woven into nar-
rative, they can show us how the vertical axis of our greatest ideas and aspirations intersect
with the horizontal span of our lives. They can help us find what D. M. Dooling, the mag-
azine’s founder, called in her first editorial “the truly human position, the midpoint and
link between heaven and hell…the specifically human function of the reconciliation of the
opposites, by which life becomes whole and holy.…”

32 | PARABOLA
 The nine stories presented here are diverse. They include a few great Western heroes—Ruth,
Ulysses—along with tales and characters that will be new to most of us readers. The stories are full
of mysteries and ambiguities. With the help of the subtle myth-making faculty that P. L. Travers
described, we may see that they can provide a powerful reminder of our interconnection—with
other human beings and with the larger forces that govern reality.
In her first editorial, Dooling described a parabola as “a curving line that sails outward and
returns with a new expansion.” She compared it to a fisherman’s flung net and, conversely, to a
concave mirror that reflects the light it absorbs. It seemed a good name for journal that was never
meant to be academic, whose purpose was to net material from diverse times and sources that
would draw our attention “to the hub of the wheel, the place where all teachings meet at their
source”—to the center of ourselves.
PARABOLA was founded on the conviction that life has a purpose and that every one was born to
go on a kind of quest to find that meaning. Still, Dooling wondered how we could be heroes in
our own stories (as Travers said we must be) in a world of “murderous contradiction, destruction,
competition.” One story included here sheds light. Ishmael Baeh, the young African author of A
LONG WAY GONE , a memoir of his time as a boy soldier in Sierra Leone, translates a story from Mende,
the language of his tribe, of his earliest childhood memories, before he was swept up in war and
violence. It proves what Travers and every child knows—that even though we are limited, we don’t
have to feel limited. We are born with a capacity to reconcile the most violent contradictions, to
transcend the greatest sufferings. Welcome to PARABOLA ’s first Story Issue.

SPRING 2009 | 33
 THE HEART EATER
Translated from the Mende and retold by Ishmael Beah
Anonymous | Sierra Leone
As a child growing up in a village in Sierra Leone, stories were told as a way to impart
knowledge to young and old, to teach about the moral and ethical standards of our cul-
ture, how to function in the community and with the natural world that was an important
part of our lives. We learned to listen to both the external and internal messages of sto-
ries, because to understand both what is said and what is not said is the holistic way of
understanding a story and experiencing its power and meaning.
The story of the HEART EATER : From an external observation, it could be thought of as
just a fantastical tale, which it is in some sense, but a closer observation unravels that it is
more than just a story with a genie that eats hearts.
At the beginning of the tale, the sentence “before the wind spoke to the ears of the liv-
ing, before mountains walked near villages to protect them from storms…” serves as an
anchor to set the story in a place where the natural world is as alive as the humans and
animals that inhabit that space. This image also shows that after this story, whatever its
conclusion might be, there is going to come about a deeper understanding of this land-
scape, a transformation that always occurs when there are interactions between people,
between people and animals, between people and their environment and so on and so
forth.
The other details that follow about the river and what people do with the water are
very important. This illustrates the life source of a village, the river that is used to grow

34 | PARABOLA
crops, and perform all activities that allow life to flourish. Within this detail, the listener
or reader knows that this is a community that grows its own crops, that doesn’t have tap
water. This information is relevant because when that source of water is affected, the
community changes, its dynamic and functionality is altered.
In addition, the most obvious images in a story have hidden meanings that are some-
times easily ignored by the listeners because they are only looking at the external presen-
tation of the image. An example in this story is the fact stated in the first paragraph that
the village and all the living things in it wash their faces with the river every morning to
avoid crying that brings about unhappiness. The question here then that would allow us
to dig deeper for the meaning of this task of washing faces in the river, is to ask why and
how does this prevent sadness? With this question in mind, it starts to become clear that
sight without ritual gives rise to sadness in this story. And the washing, the ritual, is the
provision of pure sight free from judgment, especially judgment without knowledge. So
the washing of faces is a way to start the day from the unknown, from a clean slate if you
will, and therefore allowing the natural occurrence of things. Another important point of
the story is how useful the hearts that contained fear and unhappiness are to bring about
happiness. Therefore the sack that the hunter carries is a useful one and even the genie
will in time become useful for transformation.
In conclusion, as much as I am tempted to explain the meaning and purpose of this
story from what I know from hearing it as a child, I wouldn’t! Because there is no singu-
lar meaning to explain any story and if I do so, I take away the purity of how each reader
experiences the story. However, I would strongly suggest that you keep in mind that each
detail, each image has a hidden meaning, a visible and invisible meaning.
ISHMAEL BEAH

SPRING 2009 | 35
36 | PARABOLA
ONCE UPON A TIME, BEFORE THE
WIND SPOKE TO THE EARS OF
THE LIVING, before moun-
tains walked near villages
to protect them from
storms, there was a village
called Muwor (the place
of crying). The village
stood near a river that
flowed in abundance, even
in the driest season. It was
a river where people came
to fetch water for their
crops and cooking, to
bathe, and especially to
wash their faces early
every morning. Each
morning before the sun lit
the sky, the entire village
came to the river to wash
their faces. Everyone had
to perform this task; even
children who hadn’t
walked or had a voice for
talking were brought to
the river and their faces
washed by their parents.
Animals of all sorts came
for this morning ritual.
Anything with life that
had eyes had to wash their
faces in the river in the
early morning. If someone
failed to wash his, her, or
its face, they would cry
uncontrollably all day, and
the entire village would be
sad. The only time that it
wasn’t required for all to
wash their faces was when
someone died in the vil-
lage. The elders believed
that this crying was neces-
sary as it cleansed the

SPRING 2009 | 37
 heart and made it understand that death is a part of life.
One morning, everything changed. The night before that morning, a
genie had found a home in the river of tears. The genie had been flying over
the land and had lost its flight and fallen into the river. While in the river, it
felt every sorrow, happiness, and fear of the village as its body was soaked
with the water of tears from all living things on the land. The genie decided
that it would wait at the river in the morning and capture some people so
that it could eat their hearts. The genie felt that their hearts were pure and,
by eating the hearts of the entire village, it would become good. So it waited
in the river for morning.
In the morning, as customary, everyone descended to the riverbank and
began the washing of faces. The genie leapt from the water and caught an
old man. Everyone ran away, even those who hadn’t washed their faces that
morning. The genie took the old man’s heart and ate it. It didn’t feel better
afterwards and thought that perhaps more eating of hearts was required to
become happy. What the genie didn’t realize was that the old man had been
so frightened when attacked that all happiness left his heart and only fear
remained. Therefore the genie had eaten only that fear. Since the people and
all living things were now afraid to come to the river, the village was con-
sumed with terrible sadness and crying. The genie was angry when it heard
all the crying. It believed that the village was crying for the old man it had
eaten. It decided to enter the village and eat the hearts of everything with
life it could find. Still, it remained unhappy. Some people escaped the village
and went to other lands where they told the story of heart-eating genie.
The story fell on the ears of a hunter who decided to travel to the land
with the river of tears. He was not an ordinary hunter. His specialty was
hunting fear and unhappiness and he had collected hearts that contained
both. He loaded his sack with those hearts and headed for the village of
Muwor. The hunter took his own heart out and hid it as he neared the vil-
lage. He then replaced his heart with one of the hearts poisoned with fear
and unhappiness from his hunting sack. He sat by the river and the genie
immediately sprang out of the water and plucked out his heart and ate it. He
took another heart from the sack and put it in his chest and the genie
snatched it quicker than the first time. This went on for hours until the
genie had eaten all the hearts from the sack. It was filled with rage that
fumed out of its pores. The anger, fear, and sadness exhausted the genie and
it came on the land to rest. It was then that the hunter removed his arrow
and shot the genie. The arrow wasn’t the one that killed but it put the genie
into a coma until the hunter decided to shoot it with another arrow to acti-
vate its life fully. He collected the body of the genie and stuffed it in his
hunting sack. News spread of what had happened and people returned to
the land again, and were never afraid to wash their faces in the river, which
sparkled with joy and sometimes ripples of sorrow that came and went with
the seasons.

38 | PARABOLA
 THE ODYSSEY
Introduction by Jean Houston, translated by Samuel Butler
Homer | Greek
In THE ODYSSEY we find one of the most famous
and beguiling examples of a dramatic journey
of transformation. This journey, with its mys-
teries and initiations, gave its hero, Odysseus,
the fullest possible experience of adventure and
despair, lostness and foundness, mute tragedy
and thrilling triumph. Of even more impor-
tance, it demanded that he engage in initia-
tions, which drove him past the realistic world
of his much-vaunted mastery into wonderlands
peopled by paradox where he was tested and
honed into deeper life and higher knowing.
The story also contains a remarkable ele-
ment: It tells us what can happen in a life that
includes a deep and committed friendship with
an archetypal power, that is, a power that
emanates from a reality deeper than our own
and that can guide and sustain us. In this case,
that power is the goddess Athena.
Odysseus is the exemplar of the many-poten-
tialed being, the man who has seen everything,
can do everything, and, at least with his intel-
lect, can understand everything. We study
Odysseus for his utter potential.
His journey and its many levels of reality call
forth these potentials in ways that have embod-
ied the principal models, or paradigms, of chal-
lenge, response, and growth in the Western
imagination. In his wanderings, Odysseus finds
a full spectrum of archetypal patterns. There is
the heavy-handed savagery and tunnel vision of
the cave-dwelling Cyclops, and its opposite in
the complex sensibilities of the highly civilized
Phaeacians. He meets kind hosts such as
Aeolus, god of the winds, who feed him and
help him, but he also encounters the ruthless
giant Laestrygonians, who feed on him and try
every way to destroy him. Odysseus and his
crew are tempted to dwell in mindless bliss with
the Lotus-Eaters, and are lured to oblivion by
the Sirens. They meet with mindful, quick-wit-
ted advice from the messenger god Hermes,
but also wild, ruinous wrath from the sea god
Poseidon. Odysseus encounters eroticism in its
dangerous and devolutionary character in
Circe, the nymph who reverses evolution by
changing men into wolves and pigs. But there
is also eros in all its subtle delicacy and fresh
awakening in the young Nausicaa, Odysseus’
rescuer on the Isle of the Phaeacians. And he
gains an understanding of the past on his visit
to the ancestors in the Underworld as well as
knowledge of the future from the shade of the
blind prophet Tiresias.
Odysseus’ voyage, with all its physical dan-
gers and thrills, may also be perceived as a pro-
gressive journey into the far more chilling car-
tography of inner space. As our hero plunges
deeper and deeper into this realm, he finds him-
self with fewer and fewer resources and friends,
until at last he washes ashore on Calypso’s Isle
with nothing remaining of his former selfhood.
Here he stays for a full seven years as the
beloved consort of this minor goddess whose
name has the same root as the word “eclipse.”
Finally, the intensity of his longing to return
home to Ithaca prompts the gods to reconsider
his fate and allow him to begin his magical trip
back. The breaking out of this womb of the
ocean, “where the navel of the sea lies,” begins
with a violent confrontation with the Poseidon-
maddened sea. This, in turn, leads Odysseus
from the deep world of archetypal folk to the
mid-world of the Phaeacians, a people of the
in-between who dwell, Homer tells us, at the
boundary between humankind and the gods.
And it is only these beings of an ideal and bal-
anced society who embody the sacred conjunc-
tion of divine and human and thus have the
power to bring Odysseus back home to Ithaca.
At another level, The Odyssey can be read as
a paean to resourcefulness. In essence, it is a
story of survival by means of the ability to change,
adapt, transform, and skillfully orchestrate all
circumstances. This is a critical theme for the
work of self-unfolding, as it shows how resource-
ful people can be when they consciously begin
to create their reality. Odysseus creates his
world by risk, choice, tenacity, and action. Like
us, he often fails. But in failing he discovers
even deeper resources that reflect his truer self.
JEAN HOUSTON
SPRING 2009 | 39
 “LOOK HERE, CYCLOPS,’ SAID I, ‘you have been eating a great deal of man’s flesh,
so take this and drink some wine, that you may see what kind of liquor we
had on board my ship. I was bringing it to you as a drink-offering, in the
hope that you would take compassion upon me and further me on my way
home, whereas all you do is to go on ramping and raving most intolerably.
You ought to be ashamed yourself; how can you expect people to come see
you any more if you treat them in this way?’
“He then took the cup and drank. He was so delighted with the taste of

40 | PARABOLA
the wine that he begged me for another bowl full. ‘Be so kind,’ he said,
‘as to give me some more, and tell me your name at once. I want to
make you a present that you will be glad to have. We have wine even in
this country, for our soil grows grapes and the sun ripens them, but this
I said to him as plausibly as I could: ‘Cyclops, you ask my name and I
will tell it you; give me, therefore, the present you promised me; my
name is Noman; this is what my father and mother and my friends have
always called me.’

SPRING 2009 | 41
 “But the cruel wretch said, ‘Then I will eat all Noman’s comrades before
Noman himself, and will keep Noman for the last. This is the present that I
will make him.’
“As he spoke he reeled, and fell sprawling face upwards on the ground.
His great neck hung heavily backwards and a deep sleep took hold upon
him. Presently he turned sick, and threw up both wine and the gobbets of
human flesh on which he had been gorging, for he was very drunk. Then I
thrust the beam of wood far into the embers to heat it, and encouraged my
men lest any of them should turn faint-hearted. When the wood, green
though it was, was about to blaze, I drew it out of the fire glowing with
heat, and my men gathered round me, for heaven had filled their hearts with
courage. We drove the sharp end of the beam into the monster’s eye, and
bearing upon it with all my weight I kept turning it round and round as
though I were boring a hole in a ship’s plank with an auger, which two men
with a wheel and strap can keep on turning as long as they choose. Even
thus did we bore the red hot beam into his eye, till the boiling blood bub-
bled all over it as we worked it round and round, so that the steam from the
burning eyeball scalded his eyelids and eyebrows, and the roots of the eye
sputtered in the fire. As a blacksmith plunges an axe or hatchet into cold
water to temper it—for it is this that gives strength to the iron—and it
makes a great hiss as he does so, even thus did the Cyclops’ eye hiss round
the beam of olive wood, and his hideous yells made the cave ring again. We
ran away in a fright, but he plucked the beam all besmirched with gore from
his eye, and hurled it from him in a frenzy of rage and pain, shouting as he
did so to the other Cyclopes who lived on the bleak headlands near him; so
they gathered from all quarters round his cave when they heard him crying,
and asked what was the matter with him.
“‘What ails you, Polyphemus,’ said they, ‘that you make such a noise,
breaking the stillness of the night, and preventing us from being able to
sleep? Surely no man is carrying off your sheep? Surely no man is trying to
kill you either by fraud or by force?’
“But Polyphemus shouted to them from inside the cave, ‘Noman is killing

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ULYSSES BLINDING POLYPHEMUS AS HIS MEN WATCH

42 | PARABOLA
me by fraud! Noman is killing me by force!’
“‘Then,’ said they, ‘if no man is attacking you, you must be ill; when
Jove makes people ill, there is no help for it, and you had better pray to
your father Neptune.’
“Then they went away, and I laughed inwardly at the success of my
clever stratagem, but the Cyclops, groaning and in an agony of pain, felt
about with his hands till he found the stone and took it from the door;
then he sat in the doorway and stretched his hands in front of it to catch
anyone going out with the sheep, for he thought I might be foolish
enough to attempt this.
“As for myself I kept on puzzling to think how I could best save my
own life and those of my companions; I schemed and schemed, as one
who knows that his life depends upon it, for the danger was very great.
In the end I deemed that this plan would be the best. The male sheep
were well grown, and carried a heavy black fleece, so I bound them
noiselessly in threes together, with some of the withies on which the
wicked monster used to sleep. There was to be a man under the middle
sheep, and the two on either side were to cover him, so that there were
three sheep to each man. As for myself there was a ram finer than any of
the others, so I caught hold of him by the back, esconced myself in the
thick wool under his belly, and flung on patiently to his fleece, face
upwards, keeping a firm hold on it all the time….
“The crew rejoiced greatly at seeing those of us who had escaped
death, but wept for the others whom the Cyclops had killed. However, I
made signs to them by nodding and frowning that they were to hush
their crying, and told them to get all the sheep on board at once and
put out to sea; so they went aboard, took their places, and smote the
grey sea with their oars. Then, when I had got as far out as my voice
would reach, I began to jeer at the Cyclops.
“….and shouted out to him in my rage, ‘Cyclops, if any one asks you
who it was that put your eye out and spoiled your beauty, say it was the
valiant warrior Ulysses, son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca.’”

From Book IX of Samuel Butler’s translation of THE ODYSSEY, 1900.

SPRING 2009 | 43
 KOSIYA,
THE BUDDHIST SCROOGE
Translated from the Pali and retold by Margo McLoughlin
Anonymous Monk | Southeast Asia
Drawings by Rebecca Louise Carter

From a little, give a little.

From moderate means, give moderately.
From a lot, give a lot—It’s wise.
Then hoarding does not arise.

This verse might easily have been spoken by one of the ghostly visitors who
appeared to Ebenezer Scrooge one Christmas night and frightened him into
changing his miserly ways. Charles Dickens wrote A CHRISTMAS CAROL in 1843.
Close to two thousand years earlier, a Buddhist monk set down Jataka no.
535, in which a stingy treasurer named Kosiya retreats to the forest to enjoy a
meal of rice porridge all alone.1 As he prepares the meal, five of his ancestors,
dressed as begging Brahmins, arrive from the heaven realms to teach him the
dangers of hoarding.
The story of Kosiya offers a Buddhist perspective on the mind and its ten-
dency to retract and hold on to things. The contracted state is both painful
and limiting. Stinginess leads only to more stinginess. Generosity, in contrast,
loosens the mental identification with possessions and permits a whole range
of experiences to follow such as joy, happiness, and connection. Generosity
makes space in the mind and heart, while hoarding creates an interior prison.
In Buddhist psychology, stinginess is not a form of greed. It is a form of aver-
sion, and its principal manifestation is fear. In Kosiya, we recognize the com-
plex web of fears associated with hoarding: fear of loss underlies the fear of
sharing, but there is also the fear of being seen to be stingy. Hoarding and
stinginess are contracted states of mind, arising out of habit and fear of
change. But, as the story shows, even the most entrenched misers (characters
such as Kosiya, or Dickens’s Scrooge) are capable of transformation.
Compassion and imagination combine to make it happen.
MARGO MCLOUGHLIN

44 | PARABOLA
ONCE, IN THE CITY OF VARANASI, THERE WAS A WEALTHY HOUSEHOLDER. He was the
king’s treasurer. The people called him Macchari-Kosiya (which means
“Stingy Owl”) because of the way he sat guard over his wealth. He nei-
ther enjoyed it himself, nor did he share it with anyone else. He took a
meal of dry powdery cakes, made from the husks of rice, and followed
that with some sour rice gruel. He dressed in rough garments woven
from the stalks of plants. He went about in a rickety cart, drawn by a
decrepit old bull. When he went by, the people said, “There goes
Kosiya, poor old Kosiya. He doesn’t look so well. If only he would give
a little, then he would be happy.”
Kosiya came from a line of treasurers renowned for their generosity.
Kosiya’s ancestor, the first treasurer, had built six halls of giving—dana
sala—one at each of the four gates of the city, one in the center of the
city, and one at the gate of his very own home. Every day he gave away
great sums. Before he died he instructed his son, saying, “Remember to
give.” From one generation to another, the tradition of generosity in
Kosiya’s family was well established and each of his ancestors was reborn

SPRING 2009 | 45
 in the heavenly realms.
When Kosiya’s father died, Kosiya said, “What a fool my father was, and
his father and grandfather before him! They gave away their wealth. But not
I. I will not give to anyone.”
He set fire to the six halls of giving and burnt them to the ground. The
beggars came to his door, crying, “Lord Treasurer, do not break the tradi-
tion of your family. Give gifts!” The people in the city were amazed. “That
Kosiya,” they said. “He is destroying the tradition of his own family.”
One day, Kosiya, on his way to see the king, stopped at the home of the
under-treasurer. He found him and his family sitting down to a meal of rice
porridge—payasam. Kosiya knew at once that it had been cooked exactly
the way he liked it best, with crushed sugar, honey and fresh ghee, cinna-
mon and cardamom. His mouth began to water. He longed to taste some
sweet rice porridge.
The under-treasurer leapt up, saying, “Lord Treasurer! Please join us.”
Kosiya very much wanted to eat some rice porridge, but the thought
occurred to him, “If I enjoy some payasam now, in the home of the under-
treasurer, I will owe him. If he and his children come to my house, I will be
obliged to return the hospitality. And if I do, a great quantity of rice will be
used up and my wealth will be destroyed. Therefore, I will not eat.”
Again and again, the under-treasurer entreated: “Lord Treasurer, please
eat with us.” Again and again Kosiya refused.
Finally, the under-treasurer sat down to finish his meal. Kosiya sat down as
well, watching as the family enjoyed their payasam, his mouth watering all
the while. When the meal was done, the two went to see the king. Kosiya
returned home alone, with the craving for sweet rice porridge weighing
heavily upon him. Day and night he could think of nothing but payasam.
He grew weak and pale. At last he took to his bed. He lay down, clutching
his pillow. His wife came to him and stroked him on the back, saying, “My
lord, are you ill? Tell me what ails you.”
“Nothing,” he muttered, with his face buried in the pillow.
“My lord,” she said, “You are pale. You are weak. Is there something
weighing on your heart? Could it be that some craving has arisen?”
There was silence. Then Kosiya answered, “Yes. A craving has arisen.”
“Tell me what it is,” said his wife.
Kosiya described his visit to the home of the under-treasurer where he’d
found the whole family sitting down, eating payasam, cooked exactly the
way he liked it best.
She laughed, “Foolish man! Are you really so poor? I will cook enough
rice porridge to feed the whole city.”
He sat up, as if struck on the head by a stick. “What?” he yelled. “Are you
mad? Feed the entire city! Feed them yourself!”
“All right, then. I’ll cook for all our neighbors, here on this street.”
He shook his head, “No! Let them eat what belongs to them.”
“My dear,” said his wife, “it is not good to eat alone.”

46 | PARABOLA
SPRING 2009 | 47
 Kosiya did not reply.
“I know,” she went on. “I’ll cook enough payasam for you and me. In this
way, your craving will be satisfied.”
He shuddered. He couldn’t bear the thought.
“Well then,” she said, “I shall cook for you alone.”
“No! If you cook in this house others will smell the rice porridge. Others
will want some. Then my wealth will be destroyed.” Kosiya lowered his
voice: “Give me a cooking vessel. Give me four portions of husked rice, a
basket of crushed sugar, a pot of honey, and a pot of milk. I will go into the
forest, cook the rice porridge, and eat.”
His wife sighed and gathered everything. She sent a servant with Kosiya
into the forest, to the bank of a river. The servant built an oven, brought
firewood, and lit a fire. Kosiya began to assemble his porridge. Into the pot
he put the husked rice. He added the milk, the sugar, the ghee, the car-
damom and cinnamon.
Then he said to the servant, “Go and stand in the road. If you see anybody
coming, make a sign. When I am done, I shall call you.”
Now at that moment, Sakka, King of the Gods, was contemplating the
splendor of his heavenly dwelling. He asked himself, “How have I attained
such glory as this?” He remembered his previous lifetime, when he was
appointed Lord High Treasurer, and established a great tradition of giving.
“What of my descendants?” he asked himself. He saw that his descendants
had continued the tradition. He saw that each one had been reborn in the

48 | PARABOLA
heavenly realms.
“But what of the current treasurer?” he asked himself. “Does our tra-
dition of giving continue?” Sakka saw that the current treasurer was
about to eat a meal of rice porridge, all alone in the woods.
Sakka called to his descendants, Chanda, Suriya, Matali, and
Panchasikha. He said to them, “At this very moment our descendant is
preparing to eat a meal all alone, not knowing the benefits of giving. Let
us go to the human realms and teach him the fruits of generosity.”
To the human realms they went, disguised as Brahmins, and
approached Kosiya one by one. (Sakka knew that if they were to
approach Kosiya all at once, the shock would be too great for him, and
he might very well die from it.)
As Kosiya was stirring his rice porridge, up behind him came Sakka,
disguised as a poor Brahmin.
“Ho! Friend! Which is the way to Varanasi?”
Kosiya turned about. “What, are you mad? Do you not even know the
way to Varanasi? Be gone from here!”
Sakka stepped closer, as if he hadn’t heard.
“What are you saying?”
“Deaf old Brahmin, be gone from here!”
“Why are you shouting at me?” said Sakka. “Here I see smoke. I see a
fire. I smell rice porridge cooking. Surely this must be some occasion for
entertaining Brahmins. When the meal is ready I shall take a little.”
Kosiya was furious. “This is no occasion for entertaining Brahmins! Be
gone from here!”
“Why are you so angry?” said Sakka. “When the meal is ready, I will
take a little.”
Kosiya trembled as he spoke. “This little bit of rice is just enough to
keep me alive. And even that I got by begging.”
Sakka said, “Is that so?”
“Yes,” insisted Kosiya.
And then he spoke this verse:
Never do I buy, neither do I sell,
Nor is there any hoarding of rice by me.
This little bit, through much trouble and pain,
Was got by me.
And this I say to you
There is not enough for two!
Sakka smiled. He said, “Your words are fine. Now I will speak a verse
for you.”
“No,” said Kosiya, shooing Sakka away. “I will not hear your verse. Be
gone!”
But Sakka began,
From a little, give a little.

SPRING 2009 | 49
 From moderate means, give moderately.
From a lot, give a lot. It’s wise.
Then hoarding does not arise.

This I say to you, Kosiya:

Practice giving. Do not eat alone.
Step on to the noble path. Be freed.
No happiness is gained by greed.

Kosiya heard Sakka’s words. He knew the respect that was owed to wan-
dering teachers. He said reluctantly, “Your verse is fine, Brahmin. You may
sit down. When the meal is ready, you shall have a little.” Sakka sat down to
one side.
But then, along came Chanda.
“Ho, friend! Which is the way to Varanasi?” he called out.
“What?” said Kosiya, his irritation turning to fury. “Another Brahmin?”
Although Kosiya protested, Chanda spoke a verse as well:
Empty is the offering
Empty is the craving in your heart,
If, when a guest is sitting by,
You do not share a little part.

Kosiya sighed, “Very well. When the rice porridge is ready, you may have a
little.”
Next came Suriya. Then came Matali and Panchasikha.
Each time they spoke a verse, and each time Kosiya moaned and groaned,
but invited them to sit down. When the five Brahmins were seated, the rice
porridge was cooked.
Kosiya said, “Bring a leaf so I may serve you.”
The Brahmins got leaves from an acacia tree. With his wooden ladle
Kosiya put a dollop of rice porridge right in the center of each leaf. There
was still a great quantity of payasam in the pot. Kosiya took the pot and sat
down, opposite his guests.
He was about to taste the rice porridge, when Panchasikha, stood up,
abandoned his human form, and took the form of a great hound.
Approaching where the Brahmins and Kosiya were sitting, he lifted his leg
and let forth a great stream upon the ground. The Brahmins used the wide
rim of their acacia leaves to cover the payasam. Kosiya covered the opening
of the pot with his hands, but a little drop landed on the back of one hand.
Of course, he could not eat, not until his hands were washed.
The Brahmins had clay water-jars with them, filled with water. They took
their jars now and began to sprinkle some water on the porridge, mixing it
in.
Seeing that they had water, Kosiya said, “Give me some water that I may
wash my hands and eat.”
Sakka replied, “Fetch water yourself.”

50 | PARABOLA
 Kosiya was indignant. He said, “Rice porridge has been given to you
by me. Give me some water.”
The Brahmins replied, “We are not in the habit of exchanging alms.
Fetch water yourself.”
Kosiya said, “Very well. If you would be so kind, please watch my por-
ridge.”
He was just descending to the river to wash his hands, when that
hound came closer still. He lifted his leg again and let forth another
great stream, right into the pot of payasam. Kosiya saw him do it. He
was horrified. He took a great stick and, cursing, came after the hound.
But the hound changed into a horse, and the horse was first black, then
white, then dappled, then golden, a great thoroughbred blood horse,
foaming at the mouth, chasing Kosiya through the woods.
Terrified, Kosiya ran to the Brahmins. Sakka and the others made no
further pretense of eating the payasam. They lifted into air and stayed
there, hovering.
Kosiya was amazed. “Who are you, noble Brahmins?” he said, “and
who is this hound of yours?”
“Kosiya,” Sakka responded, “we are your ancestors who established a
great tradition of generosity in the city. Guided by much compassion for
you we have come, not to taste your payasam, but to teach you the ben-
efits of giving.”
At that moment, Kosiya’s mind was released. His ancestors departed
and Kosiya sat down on the riverbank. For a long while he watched the
water run by. His servant, wondering what had happened to his master,
came up and was surprised to find Kosiya smiling, as if planning some
wonderful surprise.
“Let us return now,” said Kosiya. “I have something urgent to attend
to.” As soon as he arrived home Kosiya sent a message to the king, ask-
ing for the loan of every vessel he had. Later in the afternoon, two wag-
ons arrived at Kosiya’s home, filled with bowls, urns, pitchers, jars, cups,
and baskets. Kosiya gave orders to the servants in his household, and
filled every one of those vessels with coins and distributed them all
throughout the city.
Then Kosiya began to cook. He cooked a mountain of rice. He made
great pots of rice porridge with crushed sugar, fresh ghee, honey and
spices. Soon everybody in the neighborhood could smell the payasam
cooking. Kosiya sent his children to invite them and so they came—the
acrobats, the jugglers, the dancers, the musicians, the travelers, the beg-
gars, the outcastes, the under-treasurer and all his children, coming to
eat sweet rice porridge at the home of Macchari-Kosiya, Stingy Owl.

1 The Jataka is a collection of over five hundred stories, composed by early Buddhist
monks, and said to be accounts of the Buddha’s previous lives.

SPRING 2009 | 51
 RUTH:
WHERE YOU GO, I WILL GO
Retold by Diane Wolkstein
Anonymous | Jewish
Drawings by Gustave Doré

If anyone says, “the Bible is violent, patriarchal, hierarchal,” you might suggest
they read THE BOOK OF RUTH . Ruth is the most compassionate, courageous person in
the Hebrew Bible, perhaps in all of Western literature. In the time of the judges,
a lawless period in the eleventh century BCE, Ruth, a Moabite princess, gives up
economic, political, social, and religious security to join the one she admires and
loves. The profound power of her devotion and compassion attracts the righteous
Boaz, who wisely finds a way to change the laws of the Hebrew community to
accept “foreigners.” Ruth’s deep reservoir of love permeates the generations,
changing laws, people, and finally the justice of the land.
This rendition of Ruth, adapted from my TREASURES OF THE HEART: HOLIDAY STORIES
THAT REVEAL THE SOUL OF JUDAISM , combines written and oral texts from Hebrew sources.
DIANE WOLKSTEIN

WHEN THE JUDGES RULED ISRAEL, there was chaos and terrible corruption in
the land. There was no king and the people did as they wished. During
this time, there was a famine, and a wealthy man named Elimelech left
Bethlehem with his wife, Naomi, and their two sons. They might have
stayed to help their own people, but the husband, Elimelech, chose to
go to the land of Moab, even though the Moabites had been enemies
of Israel.
Soon after they settled in Moab, Elimelech died, and his wife, Naomi,
was left alone with her two sons. The sons married Ruth and Orpah,
daughters of the king of Moab. Naomi welcomed her daughters-in-law.
She rejoiced and danced at their weddings, but then misfortune struck
the family—ten years of misfortune. Their horses died; their donkeys
died; their camels died. They had no children. Then Naomi’s sons both
died, and she was left poor and bereft, a widow in a foreign land.
One day, Naomi was working in the fields and overheard a wandering

52 | PARABOLA
RUTH 1:26 “AND RUTH SAID: ‘…FOR WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO; AND WHERE THOU
LODGEST, I WILL LODGE. THY PEOPLE SHALL BE MY PEOPLE AND THY GOD, MY GOD.’”

SPRING 2009 | 53
 BOAZ WATCHED HIS WORKERS AND NOTICED ONE WOMAN BENDING
FROM HER KNEES AS SHE GLEANED WHILE THE OTHER WOMEN BENT
FROM THEIR HIPS. SHE WAS MODEST AND BEAUTIFUL.

peddler. God had remembered Judah. There was bread again in Bethlehem.
The famine was over. At once, Naomi left the fields where she had been
working and the place where she had been living and set out barefoot for
Judah. Her two daughters-in-law accompanied her.
After they had gone a short distance, Naomi stopped. She turned to her
daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah. She embraced them and said, “Thank
you for accompanying me on my way, but now, each of you return to your
own mother’s house. How can I thank you? When your husbands died, you
might have run after other men, but you stayed and comforted me, you fed
and supported me. May God care for you with as much hesed, kindness, as
you have shown to me. And may you be blessed with comfort and peace in
the homes of new husbands.”
Again Naomi kissed them. Standing on the road, the three women raised
their voices and wept loudly, realizing that if Naomi went on to Judah and
the younger women went back to Moab, they would never see one another
again. Suddenly, the two younger women protested, saying, “No. We will
go with you to your people.”
“Go with me?” Naomi exclaimed. “My daughters, why would you go with
me? Have I more sons in my womb for you to marry? Return—go home!
I’m too old to attract a man, and, even if tonight, this very night, I were to
marry and bear sons, would you wait until they were grown? Would you
wait fifteen years, depriving yourselves of marriage and children? No, my
daughters, you don’t want to be with me. I’m too bitter. God has taken
all that is dear to me.”
Again, the women raised their voices and wept loudly. Then Orpah
kissed her mother-in-law and turned back toward Moab. On the way a
band of wild men attacked her. The child born from that rape, Goliath,
was the greatest giant of all times. But Ruth clung to Naomi. She would
not leave her.
Naomi explained, “After our people wandered forty years in the desert
and crossed the Red Sea and were hungry and thirsty and asked your people
for bread and water, your people refused. Because of this, the Hebrews do
not allow the Moabites to live with them. But, even if they allowed you to
stay with me, I do not know if any man would marry you. Then, how would
you live?”
Ruth looked at Naomi. Naomi was willing to risk her own life by walking

54 | PARABOLA
alone to Judah rather than allow her or her sister to sacrifice their future.
Ruth loved this old woman—her kindness, her fearlessness, her devo-
tion to her god. She did not want to be separated from her. She said to
Naomi, “Do not force me to leave you, to turn back and not follow
you. Where you go, I will go. Where you live, I will live. Your people
will be my people, and your God, my God. Where you die, there, too,
I will die, and be buried. May El Shaddai grant me this and more that
only death shall separate you from me.”
When Naomi saw the firmness of Ruth’s decision, she said nothing
more. As the two women walked towards Bethelehem, they heard the
sound of a milling crowd and were told that a funeral had just taken
place for a righteous woman. The two women entered the gates of the
city. Immediately, women buzzed around them, whispering, “Naomi?
Is this Naomi? Is this the beautiful Naomi who went away so many years
ago? Who is with her?”
Naomi answered, “Women of Bethlehem, do not call me Naomi.
Naomi means sweet, pleasant. Call me Marah. Marah is bitter! I went
away from here full. El Shaddai, the Nourishing One, has returned me
empty.” Naomi and Ruth arrived in Bethlehem in May at the beginning
of the barley harvest, the first full harvest after many years of famine.

THE NEXT DAY, WHEN RUTH SAW THE HARVESTERS GOING TO THE FIELDS, she said to
Naomi, “Let me go and find a field to glean so we can eat.”
“Go, my daughter,” Naomi said.
Ruth set out, not knowing how she would be treated or received in a
foreign land. She walked in one direction and then another, looking for
a field where she felt safe to glean. At last, she chose a field belonging to
a wealthy landowner named Boaz. Several hours later, he returned from
Bethlehem to inspect his fields. “God be with you,” he greeted his har-
vesters. “And may God bless you,” they answered him.
Boaz watched his workers and noticed one woman bending from her
knees as she gleaned while the other women bent from their hips. She
was modest and beautiful. He lowered his voice and asked his foreman,
“Who’s the new gleaner? Who are her people? Who does she belong to?”
“She’s the Moabite who returned with Naomi from Moab—came
early this morning—asked permission to glean. She’s been working
ever since—”
Boaz walked toward Ruth and said, “My daughter, listen to me. Do
not glean in any other field. I want you to stay here close to my girls.
God has told us, ‘When you reap the harvest, do not completely reap
the corners of your field or go back for the sheaves you have forgotten.
Leave these for the orphan, the widow, and the stranger so they too can
eat.’ My daughter, keep your eyes on the field which the men are har-
vesting and follow behind them. I will order my men not to harm you.
And if you’re thirsty, go over to the jugs and drink the water the men

SPRING 2009 | 55
 have drawn from the well.”
Ruth fell to her knees. She put her face on the earth, and asked Boaz,
“How is it that you are so kind to me when I am a stranger?”
Boaz answered, “Did I not hear what you did for your mother-in-law, how
you left your mother and father and the land of your birth to go to a people
you did not know? Even our father Abraham did not have your courage.
God gave Abraham assurances—blessings and promises—your only assur-
ance is your love.”
At mealtime, Boaz called to her, “Come, eat with us. Dip your bread in
the vinegar so you will be protected from the heat of the day.” Ruth walked
modestly toward the harvesters and sat down. Immediately, Boaz handed
her a large helping of roasted kernels. She ate and was satisfied and had
some left over.
All day, she gleaned in the fields. At the end of the day, she had gleaned
almost thirty pounds—enough food for ten days! She carried the grain in
her shawl to the city and gave it to her mother-in-law as well as the portion
she had saved from the meal she had eaten.
Naomi was amazed. “O my daughter, look at how much barley you’ve
brought us! Where did you glean today?”
“I worked in the field of Boaz,” Ruth answered.
“Boaz!” Naomi echoed the name with joy. “Praise God who is full of
hesed. Do you know who Boaz is? He’s the grandson of Nahshon, the
first one to leap into the Red Sea even before the waters parted. Boaz is
Elimelech’s nephew, also from the tribe of Judah. My daughter, he’s a
relative. He could marry you and redeem you!”
“That’s not all. There’s more,” Ruth added. “He told me I should stay
until the end of the harvest and work with his young harvesters.”
“That’s good,” Naomi agreed. “It’s better for you to stay with the
young women in his field than to go to another field where you might be
harmed.” Ruth gleaned with Boaz’s young women. All day, she gathered
the fallen barley, and at night she slept in the fields. After three months
when the harvest was over, Ruth returned to the city and stayed with her
mother-in-law.

ONE MORNING NAOMI SAID TO HER, “My daughter, I am not at peace. How can I
be at peace if you don’t have a home of your own? Let’s consider together.
Our relative, Boaz—you know him from working with his girls—he’s not
young, but he’s a man of integrity and courage. Tonight there will be a
celebration. Go to the threshing floor. First, bathe and anoint yourself with
sweet-smelling oil. Dress in your best clothes. Enter the room quietly. Don’t
let him see you, but be sure you know where he sleeps so that when it’s
dark, you can find him. After he lies down, go and uncover his robe. Lie
down beside him, and he’ll tell you what to do next.”
Ruth thought of the first time Boaz had spoken to her. He was concerned
that she had found enough to eat. His first words to the others were bless-

56 | PARABOLA
RUTH 2:22 “AND NAOMI SAID UNTO RUTH, HER DAUGHTER IN LAW: ‘…IT IS GOOD, MY
DAUGHTER, THAT THOU GO UNTO THE MAIDENS; SO SHE KEPT FAST UNTO THE MAIDENS
OF BOAZ TO GLEAN.…’”

SPRING 2009 | 57
 ings; his first words to her were blessings. On the first day before Boaz had
arrived in the fields, the other workers had avoided her. After Boaz had
treated her kindly, the others welcomed her. Every few days during the har-
vest he would stop to ask if she was well and bring her a small gift—-figs,
pomegranates, almonds.
Ruth followed her mother-in-law’s instructions. She bathed and anointed
herself with sweet-smelling oil. She put on her best dress and placed a veil
over her head. At the threshing floor, Ruth saw harvesters celebrating and
couples embracing in the corners. Boaz was eating and drinking, speaking
to this and that person. From time to time he stopped, lifted his arms to
heaven and sang a joyous song of praise, thanking El Shaddai for removing
the famine from the land. Then, he moved away from the others and walked
to the end of a pile of grain and lay down in the corner. As quietly as a mist,
Ruth moved toward him. She uncovered his robe and lay down beside him.
In the middle of the night, Boaz woke up startled as if he’d been caught.
He turned and trembled, reached out his hand, and felt the softness of
a woman.
“Who? Who are you?” he asked in surprise.
She whispered, “I am Ruth. Spread your wings over me. Bless me, for you
are a redeemer.”
“I bless you, my daughter,” Boaz said, still holding her. “Your latest act of
loyalty is even greater than your first. You went to the land of your enemy
because of your love for your mother-in-law; and now when you, a beautiful
woman, could ask any young man to marry and redeem you, you ask me, an
old man. My people know that you are a loyal, devoted woman. I want to
redeem you, but there is a relative more closely related to you. Tomorrow
I’ll ask him if he will redeem you. If he refuses, I swear I will do so. Stay here
tonight. Stay with me until morning.”
In the morning, Ruth woke when there was not enough light for one
friend to recognize another. Boaz whispered to her, “Open your shawl so I
may fill it.” Ruth opened her shawl. Boaz poured in six portions of barley-
seed. Then he accompanied her to the town gates.
Ruth returned to Naomi, who asked, “Tell me, my daughter, who are
you?” Ruth could still feel the warmth of Boaz’ hand in the night and his
eyes burning into her in the morning as the barley seed flowed into her
shawl. Ruth found her voice and said, “He gave me this large amount of
barley, saying, ‘Do not return to your mother-in-law empty-handed.’”
“Daughter, stay home with me. I know this man. Boaz will not rest until
he settles the matter today.”

AT THE TOWN GATES, THE MOMENT BOAZ SAW THE RELATIVE PASS BY, he called to him,
“Plony Almony, come and sit down!” The man sat down, and Boaz gath-
ered ten elders and asked them to be witnesses.
Then Boaz said to the relative, “Naomi has returned from Moab. She’s
decided to sell a piece of property belonging to our relative, Elimelech. As

58 | PARABOLA
you know, the land that is apportioned to each tribe is to remain within
the tribe. Since you are the closest relative after Elimelech’s sons, I
am announcing this to you in front of the elders, so that if you wish
to buy the field, you can do so. But if you do not wish to, say so, for I
will buy the field.”
Plony said, “I’m willing to be the redeemer.”
“Then know,” Boaz continued, “that if you buy the field from Naomi,
you must also marry Ruth, the Moabite.”
“The Moabite!” protested Plony. “No! I don’t want trouble. I don’t
want to risk dividing up my children’s inheritance. You marry the
Moabite.”
Boaz turned to the elders and said, “All of you are witnesses. Naomi’s
husband and two sons died in Moab. Today, I am acquiring from
Naomi all that belonged to Elimelech and his sons to perpetuate their
name and estate. And I am inviting Ruth, the Moabite, a woman of
integrity, courage and compassion, to join our community and be my
wife. You are witnesses.”
The people at the gate and the elders answered, “We are witnesses.
Your ancestors, Judah and Nahshon, blessed you with honesty and
courage. May you prosper and your name be known. May your wife’s
new ancestors, Rachel and Leah, who also left the homes of their birth
to go to a new land, bless her with courage and children. And may Ruth
bear you a child as righteous as the child Tamar bore to Judah.”
Boaz married Ruth and brought her to his home. He said to her,
“Last night I gave you barley seed. Tonight, I will give you my own
seed.” He delighted in her all night, and she in him. The next morning
when Ruth awoke, Boaz was still sleeping. Ruth prepared food for him
and returned. He was still sleeping. She tried to wake him. He did not
stir. She shook him. She shook him again and again. He was dead. Ruth
was bereft. She had wanted to live with this good man who had hon-
ored, protected and loved her. Before her life could begin, it had ended.
God remembered Ruth. Nine months later she gave birth to a little
boy. The women of Bethlehem held up the child and said to Naomi:
“What good fortune you have. God has given you a child who will
renew your life and care for you in your old age. He’s the child of your
daughter-in-law, and you are blessed, for she loves you and is better to
you than seven sons!”
Ruth watched Naomi joyfully bring the child to her breast. Naomi was
radiant. The women of Bethlehem said, “A child is born to Naomi.”
They named the boy Obed, meaning “service.” Together, Naomi and
Ruth brought up Obed, who served God faithfully all his life. Ruth
helped to raise Obed’s son Jesse, Jesse’s son David, and David’s son
Solomon. Boaz had died, but his strength and kindness remained with
her. Ruth lived long enough to sit at Solomon’s side and watch as he
ruled Israel with justice and wisdom.

SPRING 2009 | 59
 A HEN AND A ROOSTER
Retold by Laura Simms
Anonymous | Georgian
Drawings by Yevgenia Nayberg

“THE MAIDEN WITH THE BIRDS IS SEATED ON A CLOUD…”

At the crux of this story are a missing hen and rooster. They need to be retrieved in
order to complete a church that no one can find fault with, so that an old king can
retire and place his crown on the head of one of his three sons. It is never mentioned
if the hen and rooster are a bronze statue or living animals. In the alchemy of imagined
events it does not matter. We, the listeners or readers, are taking part in an unfolding
quest. We are turned inside out as we assume someone else is on the journey. But it
is each of us who is beckoned to travel within through a wilderness of arising shapes,
forms, and feelings, drawn up from our awakened awareness. This is the hidden gen-
erosity of the story.
Once Alan Ginsberg asked the Tibetan meditation master Chogyam Trungpa

60 | PARABOLA
Rinpoche, “What is imagination?” Rinpoche answered, “Nowness.” And this is
where the story takes place.
Curious to know what might happen next, we surrender to an ever more illogical
series of events, following an uncanny map that crosses into the realm of waking
dream. Curiosity, patience, perseverance, faith, and compassion are aroused to fulfill
the task: the “unfixing” of the conventional construction, retrieving what was lost or
missing—the magic of birth and death, night and day, masculine and feminine,
nature and noble heart.
The landscape of fairytales is the imagination. The words are the stage on which
the drama unfolds. But who wears the crown and enters the church? Who unites
with the Lady of Earth and Sky, keeper of hen and rooster? Is it not each one of us?
LAURA SIMMS

THERE WAS ONCE AN AGING KING whose reign was fraught with troubles and
wars. He had three sons and his wife was long dead. One day he called
his sons before him in order to decide which one would inherit the king-
dom. He asked the eldest, and then the middle son, “Can you build me
a holy temple that has no fault?” Each prince responded that it was an
impossible request.
So the old king asked his youngest son, “Can you build me a Place for
Prayer that no one in the world can find fault with?” The prince
answered, “I can do that.”
The youngest prince gathered the most famous builders, architects,
carpenters, artists, and scholars of sacred geometry. They designed a
faultless building. When the church was constructed, not a single person
found fault with it.
But as the king was just about to enter the door to place the crown on
his son’s head, an old man passed by.
He looked at the building and remarked, “It is beautiful on the out-
side, but the foundation is uneven.”
The king did not enter. The crown remained on his old head and the
youngest son ordered the temple torn down.
He began again. He had a finer building erected with a perfect foun-
dation. Every detail was reviewed and attended to. Not a single person
found fault with it. Until the same old man happened by. “What a pity
that such an impeccable building has a crooked tower,” he sighed.
The youngest prince had the second temple demolished. An even
more impressive building was built with a more magnificent tower.
As before, not a single person found fault with the construction. Until
the same old man came by.
He threw up his hands. “It is nearly perfect but it lacks a rooster and
a hen!”
This time the king’s son left the building standing and announced he
would leave the kingdom in search of the rooster and the hen. Disappointed,
the old king gave him a three-legged horse and sent him away.

SPRING 2009 | 61
 The youngest prince rode more slowly than he might have crawled until
he stopped near a meadow. There he wept. Not far from the prince was an
old man, so bent over that his toes stepped on his beard. He was trying to
water corn, but no water fell from his pail. He heard the royal sobs and
inquired, “Why are you weeping?” Although the prince felt the man’s task
was futile, he told his story.
The old man lifted his head, “Don’t think your three-legged horse is use-
less,” he said. “It alone can bring you to the young woman who has the
rooster and hen that you seek.” Staring at the horse, he said, “Tell that lame
horse of yours, ‘You are the best horse. I need you badly!’ It will take you
across the sea to where the maiden is found.”
He added, “The maiden with the birds is seated on a cloud. If she sees
you, she will turn you to dust and wind. When you arrive, you must hide.
But, all is not lost. When she lies down to sleep, she unbinds her hair and
hangs it from the sky to the earth. Twist her hair around your arm and hold
tight even when she wakes and screams, ‘Unbind my hair. I am burning.’
Hearing those words, take a firmer hold. She will beg you to release her hair,
making the promise, ‘I swear to give you the earth, the sky, the sea, and the
whole world.’ Don’t believe her!”
The prince listened. “…Only when she swears by the rooster and the hen
that she will give you, will she follow as your wife. Then you should let her
free.” The Prince agreed.
“I forgot something,” the old man continued, “Be careful of the bald-
headed lute player on the cloud beneath hers. He would also like to carry
her away with her birds. However, he has not received these instructions.
When she swears by the birds, whisk her away without hesitation.”
The prince thanked the old man. He said to his three-legged horse,
“Beautiful horse, I need you.” Immediately, the horse flew into the sky as
fast as the wind. It soared over earth and sea to another land and brought
the prince to the place where the maiden with the birds and the long hair of
gold was living. The prince hid unseen until night. As soon as she unbound
her hair, he grabbed it tight and twisted it around his arm.
She cried, “It is burning. Let it go.”
He held on tighter.
She promised him the earth, the sky, the sun, the moon, the sea, and the
entire world. But he did not loosen his grasp until she swore by the rooster
and the hen that she would be his wife and follow him wherever he went.
He made her swear again as he let loose her hair and rushed up to where
she sat.
“Will you marry me?” he asked
“I may and I may not. I too have a three-legged horse. I will place it with
yours. If they fight, I can not be your wife. If they do not fight, I am yours.”
The king’s son agreed, forgetting the instructions from the old man. The
two three-legged horses were set loose together. They gently rubbed against
each other’s necks and whinnied happily. In truth they were mother and son

62 | PARABOLA
and pleased to find one another again. The prince and the woman with
the two birds set off on the backs of their horses to begin their journey.
Unfortunately, they had tarried too long. The bald-headed lute player
awoke, and saw them riding away. He rose from his cloud, seized the
maiden with the birds, and disappeared with them into the earth. Then
he flew up toward the sky and vanished.
The prince begged the two three-legged horses for help. The stirrups
of the horses turned into servants who bound him with ropes to the
spot where the maiden had been taken.
After a short time he grew impatient so he unbound himself and
walked onwards until he came to another meadow. In the meadow there
were three other three-legged horses, grazing. One was black as night;
one was red as dawn; and the third shone like gold. The black horse was
the messenger of death. If someone were to mount it, it would knock
the rider against the rocks. If someone mounted the red horse, he was
carried to the earth. The white horse was the messenger of light.
Whoever mounted that horse would be carried into the sky.
The king’s son tried to catch the black horse but could not. Nor could
he catch the white horse. However, he succeeded in catching the red
horse. He rode downward for a long time until he arrived in an
unknown and distant kingdom on the earth. The horse rose back to the
world above.
Alone, the prince walked until he came to a town. An old woman sat
at the gate of the town. He asked her for water. She said, “I would give
you water but a dragon owns our only well. Every day it demands a per-
son. Today the king’s daughter will be sacrificed.”
“Give me a pitcher and I will bring you water.”
“You are a fool. The dragon will kill you,” she said.
“It is true that I am a fool,” said the prince.
He took the pot from the old woman’s arms and set off. By the well
sat a young woman dressed in black.
“Sister, you do not need to be devoured by the dragon.”
“Leave me alone,” she begged.
“For the moment,” he said and lay down to rest because he was tired.
When the dragon appeared in the sky above the well, the princess tried
to wake the prince. He did not wake up until he felt three of her tears
on his cheek.
He shot an arrow that pierced the dragon’s belly. Water poured from
its body. The prince rushed away to avoid the flood, and fell asleep on
the other side of the growing lake. The princess returned home. The
king, her father, was astonished. He sent servants to search for the
youth who had saved his daughter.
They found him asleep and dragged him to the palace. He feared he
would have to marry the princess and never find the maiden with the
two birds. He grabbed a hare on the road and put it in his pocket. When

SPRING 2009 | 63
 he arrived at the palace the king rewarded him with his daughter’s hand in
marriage. The prince refused.
“He saved my life, but I do not want to marry a man with a rabbit in his
pocket,” the princess said to her father.
The king agreed. “What do you want?” he asked the prince.
“I want to find a way to return home. I am betrothed to a princess who
was carried away by a bald-headed lute player.”
The king gave him water, meat, and gold, and wished him good luck. “I
do not know the way to your kingdom,” sighed the king.
The prince walked a long way until he came to a tall tree with a nest that
held twelve eagle babies. He saw a three-headed snake slithering up the
trunk. Taking pity on the eagles, he killed the serpent and climbed into the
nest to protect them. The grateful eaglets opened their wings and shaded
him from the sun. The prince snuggled in their feathers where he rested.
When the mother eagle returned, she offered to give the prince a gift for
his kindness. He asked to be carried on her wings to the other world. This
she did, soaring between both worlds.
At last the prince continued his search for the maiden with the hen and
the rooster. He traveled until he returned to the place where the bald-
headed lute player had brought her…. “Where is the bald-headed lute
player?” he asked.
She answered, “The moment that he carried me away, he fell asleep. He
has been asleep for three years.”
“How can I destroy him?” asked the prince.
“It is not necessary to destroy him,” she said. “There is a cage with nine
locks. Inside are three birds. One is his strength. One is his heart, and one is
his spirit. If you open the nine locks and set the birds free, the lute player
will awaken. His heart, his soul, and his strength will return to his body and
he will do no more harm.”
The prince broke open the nine locks and set the birds free. The bald-
headed lute player awoke. Nothing more of him is known but that he did
no more harm. His music still exists and can be heard by those with the ears
to listen.
As for the prince, he and the maiden returned to his father’s kingdom with
the rooster and the hen. Just as they placed the birds on top of the tower of
the holy temple he had built, the same old man passed by and said, “Now
there is no fault within or without.”
The aging king entered the temple. He placed the crown on his son’s
head. He placed another crown on the maiden’s head and they were wed.
It is said they lived and ruled together with great kindness and wisdom.
Because of that there was peace in the world for a long time.

RIGHT: “THE WEDDING PORTRAIT”

64 | PARABOLA
SPRING 2009 | 65
 THE STORY OF
KRAKA AND RAGNAR LODBROK
Retold by Barbara Bluestone
Anonymous | Norse
Drawing by Barbara Paxson

Imagination is a heroic trait in Norse lore, as seen in stories as diverse as the pranks of
the trickster god Loki and this legend, adapted from Ragnar Lodbrok’s Saga, which
tells how a young girl won the heart of a king.
BARBARA BLUESTONE

ONE SUMMER DAY, the mighty Viking king Ragnar Lodbrok sailed his dragon-
headed longships into a small harbor called Spangerejd along the coast of
Norway. The king sent his men ashore to find a farm where they could bake
bread. But when they returned, the bread was burned. The king asked
angrily, “How could you fools let this happen?”
The men stammered, “Sire, we forgot to watch the bread, for the maiden
who helped us bake was the most beautiful woman we’ve ever seen.”
Now, Ragnar Lodbrok’s beloved queen had died and he was in need of a
new wife. But not just any woman would do. No, he had vowed that the
woman he would marry must be as wise as she was beautiful. So he said to
his men, “Bid this maiden come to me now. And tell her she must be neither
dressed nor naked, neither eating nor fasting, neither accompanied nor alone.”
The messengers went ashore and made their way up to the little farm.
When the girl heard the king’s command, she drew herself up proudly and
said, “Tell him I will come not today, but tomorrow.” She was not afraid of
the king, for she was no ordinary peasant girl.
Her real name was Aslog. Her father was the great hero Sigurd and her
mother the fierce battle maiden Brynhildr. After her parents’ harrowing
deaths, Aslog’s foster father had hidden her for safety in a giant harp and
taken her far away. But he was robbed and killed by cruel peasants, who
decided to pretend the little girl was their own. The old couple called her
Kraka, meaning Crow. They dressed her in rags and smeared her with soot
and tar to hide her beauty. They treated her like a slave, making her herd
goats, gather firewood, and carry water. But through the years, as she grew
into a lovely young woman, Kraka never forgot that she was the last of the
noble Volsungs and that she had a special destiny.
And so Kraka prepared to meet the king.
Early the next morning, Ragnar Lodbrok stood at the railing of his ship,
peering through the mist. Slowly the sun rose. A playful breeze sprang up,
scattering light on the water and tossing the birches on land. And then he
saw her, walking slowly towards the shore.

66 | PARABOLA
 Her radiant body was covered only by a fishnet and the golden veil of
her long silken hair.
With her pearly white teeth, she was biting into an onion.
And behind her trailed a large dog.
She was neither naked nor dressed. She was neither eating nor fasting.
She was neither accompanied nor alone.
Is it any wonder that Ragnar Lodbrok asked Kraka to be his wife? For
along with her beauty, she had that rarest of qualities, imagination, which
can rise to any challenge and transform the impossible into the possible.

SPRING 2009 | 67
 MONKEY KING: JOURNEY TO THE WEST
Retold by Diane Wolkstein
Wu Cheng’en | Chinese

There are two main protagonists in the Chinese epic JOURNEY TO THE WEST : the Tang Priest or
Tripitaka and Monkey King. The real life inspiration for Wu Cheng’en’s sixteenth-century epic
was the historical Tang monk Xuan Zang, who in the seventh century journeyed ten thousand
miles from China to India to bring back the Buddhist scriptures, returning with 657 Buddhist
sutras and exquisite statues of the Buddha.He immortalized his adventures in seventh-century
India, Afghanistan, and Mongolia in RECORDS OF THE WESTERN LANDS OF THE GREAT TANG PERIOD . In
JOURNEY TO THE WEST , the remarkable Xuan Zang was immortalized as the Tang Priest. However,
the real hero (or anti-hero), the one who is loved by the Chinese throughout the world, is the
renegade, wild Monkey King, who slowly through the course of the novel’s one hundred chap-
ters transforms into Great Sage Equal to Heaven, and at last a Buddha. It is Monkey King who
accompanies the Tang Priest on his journey and protects him so he is able to bring back the
teachings that are known as the three baskets or Tripitaka.
Before I went to Taiwan, I knew how much the Chinese love Monkey King. What I had not
known is that a fictional character could so touch the imagination as to turn into a living deity.
Throughout China, and now in Taiwan, there are Monkey King temples, with trance priests
and followers who attend his temples for support and guidance. Why does Monkey King cap-
ture the imagination? A balance of the physical and the spiritual, his playful, fearless, deter-
mined search for the secret of existence inspires our own quest.
For more about Monkey King, see www.monkeykingepic.com
DIANE WOLKSTEIN

IN CHINA, ON A HILLSIDE CALLED FLOWER FRUIT MOUNTAIN, there was a stone.

A great stone. Thirty-six feet and five inches high. Twenty-four feet
around. The moon shone on the stone. The sun warmed the stone.
The earth perfumed the stone. One day the stone split apart, revealing
a stone egg. The wind blew.The egg cracked. Out leapt Stone Monkey!
The light from the eyes of Stone Monkey flashed across the world. In
Heaven, the Jade Emperor blinked. He ordered his messengers to open
the South Heavenly Gate and look out. They reported, “A monkey is
born from a stone on Flower Fruit Mountain.”
“A creature born of heaven and earth is of no importance to us,” said
the Jade Emperor. “Shut the gate!”
Stone Monkey leapt and climbed and ate and drank and played.
One day, he was splashing in a stream with other monkeys. “Wonder-
ful Water! Where does it begin?” they asked. They followed the stream
up the mountain to a waterfall. “Big splashing water! Whoever goes
through the white water curtain and finds the beginning will be
our king!”
“Make way!” said Stone Monkey, “I’m off!” And he leapt through

68 | PARABOLA
MONKEY KING ON THE MOUNTAIN OF FLOWERS AND FRUITS

SPRING 2009 | 69
 the white water curtain to the other side. What did he find?
To be concise: Paradise. Monkey paradise. Flowers, fruit, trees. No large
crouching beasts, prowling beasts, or flying beasts and no humans! Monkey
leapt back through the waterfall, described paradise; and the monkeys, not
being fools, followed him through the waterfall to paradise where fights
broke out over stone tables, chairs, and cups.
“STOP!” shouted Stone Monkey. “You forgot your promise! I found the
beginning! I am your king! I am Handsome Monkey King!” And the mon-
keys, who love to play, bowed and kowtowed and threw flowers and fruit at
their king.
Monkey King then appointed ministers and ruled….

ONE DAY, HANDSOME MONKEY KING WAS EATING A PEACH, and suddenly, he began to
weep. A tear trickled down his cheek onto his chest down to his tail and
plopped to the ground; followed by another and another.
His subjects cried, “Handsome Monkey King, why do you weep? We
have everything—flowers, fruit, trees; no rain, no beasts, no wind and
no humans!”
“Everything today,” said Monkey. “And tomorrow? Will not Yama, King
of Death, come and take it all away? Ah. . .ohhhh.”
All the monkeys covered their faces. They wept and sobbed and cried:
“We shall die…we shall die…we shall die!”
They made a racket.
Grandfather Monkey spoke. “Monkey King, It may be time for you
to travel.”
“Travel?”
“To the ones who don’t die, who remain like rivers and mountains, the
Buddhas, the Immortals, the Sages.”
“If I must follow the clouds to the ends of the earth, I will find the ones
who don’t die and will learn their secrets.”
“When will you leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Ha, you are already a sage.”
The next day the monkeys feasted and presented their king with a
pinewood raft. They bowed and kowtowed as sage Monkey King pushed off
on his way to find the dharma.

THE WIND CARRIED MONKEY AND THE RAFT TO THE SOUTH CONTINENT, where he beached
his raft and made strange faces at the humans on shore, frightening them
into fleeing and leaving their clothing. Dressing himself in human clothes,
he swaggered across countries, imitating human speech and manners. He
found people suffering stress and strain, seeking profit and fame, rising early,
retiring late, not caring about their impending fate. He built another raft
and drifted across the Western Ocean to the Western Continent.
A magnificent mountain with thick bamboo forests rose before him.

70 | PARABOLA
Fearless of leopards or tigers, Monkey King headed for the peak. The
door to a cave opened. A graceful, ageless boy looked at Monkey
strangely and asked, “Why are you here?”
“I am seeking immortality.”
“Our master was speaking when he stopped and said, ‘Bring the seek-
er outside the door.’ It must be you.”
Monkey King followed the boy through pearly chambers to a green
jade platform where Subhuti sat. Subhuti was a grand priest, empty,
spontaneous, ever-changing. His age and heaven’s age were the same.
On seeing the grand Subhuti, Monkey King fell before him, crying,
“Master, I am here. Your student is here!” He bowed and kowtowed
and kowtowed and bowed.
“Stop!” the master ordered. “Your name before bowing.”
“I have no name.”
“The name of your parents?”
“I have no parents.”
“Were you born from a tree?”
“From a stone.”
“Let me see you walk.”
Monkey scurried about.
“A monkey! Well, I shall call you Sun, meaning, child, little one.”
“Don’t stop there, master—give me my own name as well. I beg you.”
“Wukong, Awake to Emptiness.”
Monkey King leapt for joy. A name! He had become a sentient being.
He leapt and danced until the others had to lead him away to learn to
act and speak properly. He read and discussed scriptures. He practiced
magic signs, pruned trees, gathered firewood, carried water, brought
tea….

ONE DAY, SUBHUTI ASCENDED THE PLATFORM AND INTERWOVE ZEN, TAO, and the
Confucist way with such harmony that a golden lotus sprang from
the ground. The truth so simple and profound hit Monkey King and
he began to laugh and prance until he ran about on all fours.
“What are you doing?” asked Subhuti. “Why are you not listening?”
“Oh, but I am! Your words—I saw flowers falling from heaven—and
I could not help but leap and dance.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Seven times I have eaten my full of peaches on Ripe Peach
Mountain.”
“Then, what learning do you wish? There are three hundred and sixty
side-doors to illumination.”
“Which will bring me immortality?”
“To obtain immortality from these is like scooping the moon from
the sea.”
“Then I won’t learn any!!”

SPRING 2009 | 71
 MONKEY KING AT WAR IN HEAVEN

72 | PARABOLA
 “Mischievous monkey!” Subhuti said, and struck him three times on
the head, turned his back on him, and left the room.
“Bad, rude, ill-mannered monkey!” the others cried.
Sun Wukong grinned. That night he pretended to sleep and counted
his breaths to the third watch, the right time to seek the Truth. The
moon was crisp and cold and clear as he crept in the back door to
Subhuti’s bedroom. When the master awoke and saw Monkey, he cried,
“Mischievous monkey, what are you doing here?”
“Did you not order your student by three taps and turning your back,
to come at the third watch by the back door for secret instructions?”
“Ah, you’ve solved the riddle in the pot. Listen carefully, and I will tell
you the wondrous way of long life. He revealed the cloud somersault
and the seventy two transformations to Monkey, who upon learning
one, understood one hundred….
Some time later, Great Sage, desiring a proper weapon to protect him-
self and his little ones, set out to visit his neighbor, the Dragon King.
He made the magic sign and plunged to the bottom of the Eastern sea.
The Dragon King led him to the ocean treasury. The rarity was shining
with ten thousand rays of golden light. Monkey King lifted the twenty-
foot iron rod. On one end was the inscription: Compliant gold rod.
Weight 13,500 pounds. “A little long,” he said. The treasure shrank two
feet. Monkey looked about him. Had anyone else noticed? The treasure
was compliant with one’s secret wishes.
Great Sage insisted that the Dragon King’s brothers give him gifts.
When his brothers complained, the Dragon King said, “Better to speak
to Heaven than to challenge the one holding the rod….”
In heaven, the Four Dragon Kings demanded that Monkey King be
punished. Kwan Yin stepped forward and said to the Jade Emperor,
“Rather than use force, let’s find a peaceful solution. Why don’t we
invite him to join us? If he’s receptive, we promote him. If he’s disobe-
dient, we arrest him. This way we can keep our eye on him.”
The Jade Emperor nodded. As soon as Monkey King arrived in heav-
en, he held a banquet and immediately became friends with all the stars.
Complaints were then registered against him for over-socializing. So he
was appointed caretaker of the Garden of Immortal Peaches. He worked
conscientiously, happily eating his way through the peach orchard.
One morning, Lady Queen Mother sent her seven maidens to pick
peaches for the Grand Festival. While searching for peaches, they awoke
Great Sage. “Rogues! Thieves! How dare you steal my peaches!” he cried.
“Lady Queen Mother has sent us to gather peaches for the Grand
Festival, and we can’t find enough. Someone has been here before us
and plucked the juiciest ones.”
When Monkey King realized that he had not been invited to the
Grand Festival of Immortal Peaches, he made a magic sign and trans-
fixed the maidens. He then somersaulted to the banquet. The guests

SPRING 2009 | 73
 had not yet arrived. He transfixed the servants and wine-makers and drank
and ate and ate and drank until he stumbled into the upper most of the thir-
ty-three heavens, the home of Lao Tzu. No one was there. On the table
were five gourds filled with the divine elixir that Lao Tzu had been prepar-
ing for five thousand years for the Jade Emperor.
“Good Fortune!” Monkey King cried and swallowed one elixir after
another. When he opened his eyes and saw the empty gourds, he said,
“Time to disappear” and somersaulted back to Water-Curtain Cave.

IN HEAVEN, THE LADY QUEEN MOTHER, THE WINE MAKERS, AND LAO TZU reported to the
Jade Emperor. A great force was sent to earth: The Four Kings, the Nine
Planets, the Twenty-eight Constellations, the Moon, the Sun, the Four
Rivers, the Five Mountains, One Hundred Thousand soldiers. The One
Hundred Thousand soldiers spread a net so tight around Flower-Fruit
Mountain that not a drop of water could escape. The Nine Planets stormed
Water Curtain Cave, shouting, “Come out so we can reduce you to powder!”
“How rudely you speak. Where are your manners?” Monkey King called
and he appeared with the Compliant Gold Rod, and forced them to retreat.
In Heaven, Kwan Yin recommended that the Demon King, Ehr-Lang, be
sent to earth to defeat the rebellious Monkey King. Delighted, Ehr-lang,
master of transformations, a green-faced, scarlet-haired creature, appeared
on earth. He made himself one hundred thousand feet tall. Monkey
changed into a creature the same height and features. They fought three
hundred rounds: thrusting, blocking, hurling insults. Stones, rocks, flying
dust dimmed the cosmos.
In Heaven, Kwan Yin invited the Jade Emperor, Lady Queen Mother, and
Lao Tzu to the South Heavenly gates to look out. “Ah, Ehr-lang may need
some assistance. I will throw down my immaculate vase.”
“No, no. If your vase hits the iron rod, it may shatter,” said Lao Tzu,
“Permit me.” And he dropped his diamond vajra bracelet. It hit Monkey
King’s head. Great Sage toppled over. They punctured his collarbone,
pulling a rope through it so he could not transform. They brought him to
heaven and tied him to the execution block. They hacked and slashed him,
stabbed him. They burned him. To no effect.
“What did you expect?” asked Lao Tzu. “He ate the immortal peaches,
drank the heavenly wine, imbibed the divine elixir. He has a diamond body.
Not easy to destroy. Give him to me. I will smelt him in the cauldron until
he is ashes.”
He untied the rope to Monkey’s collarbone and threw him into the eight-
trigram cauldron. Clever Monkey, what did he do? He hid in the entrance to
the cauldron where the wind passes in and out. Since fire cannot burn wind,
after forty-nine days, when Lao Tzu opened the cauldron, Great Sage leapt
out. He kicked over the cauldron, punched Lao Tzu, took his Compliant
Rod from behind his ear, and fought his way like a white tiger, disregarding
great and small, to the Hall of Perfect Light. The Four Kings and the Nine

74 | PARABOLA
Planets fled to their rooms. The thirty-six fighting thunder lords sur-
rounded him. Monkey King, full of boundless transformations, changed
into a monster with six arms and three heads. He whirled and danced in
their midst; turning round and round, bright and luminous. No one
could stop Monkey King!
The Jade Emperor sent for Buddha.
“Great Sage, let me see your powers,” Buddha said.
“Big Monk, who are you?” Monkey King retorted.
Buddha laughed. “I am the Venerable One. What are your intentions?”
“To take over Heaven! The Jade Emperor’s been here too long. I’ve
all kinds of powers. I know seventy-two transformations. I can cloud-
somersault eight thousand one hundred feet. Why should I not sit on
the throne of heaven?”
“Monkey, I will make you a wager. If you can somersault out of my
palm, you will rule heaven. If you fail, you return to the Regions Below.”
“What a fool! Your palm’s not a foot across. The bet’s on!”
Buddha put out his right hand, the size of a lotus leaf. Monkey King
leapt on it and shouted, “I’m off!” He was gone—invisible to the eye,
flying in space, farther and farther and farther. When he arrived at the
outer regions beyond which there was nothing, he saw five pink pillars.
On the third pillar he wrote his name, Great Sage, Equal to Heaven, and
peed. On returning, he heard Buddha say, “Great Sage, when are you
going to jump?”
“But I did! I went to the edge of space and wrote my name.”
“Poor Monkey,” said Buddha. “You never left my hand. Look!”
Buddha tilted Monkey King in his hand so he could peer down and
with his diamond eyes see on Buddha’s middle finger what he had writ-
ten: Great Sage, Equal to Heaven. Monkey King tried to jump away, but
Buddha flipped his hand, tossing him out the Heavenly Gate down to
earth. Buddha’s fingers turned into the five elements—a five peaked
mountain, which held Monkey King captive, incubating for five hun-
dred years

THOUGH PITIFUL AND BLEAK, MONKEY KING IS GLAD TO BE LIVING. He does not
know that he will remain captive for five hundred years until Kwan Yin
offers him the opportunity to accompany the Tang Priest to the west to
bring back the Buddhist scriptures.
Will Monkey King accept? Ahh, you must turn to the next chapter to
find out!

Adapted by Diane Wolkstein from the first seven chapters of Wu Cheng’en’s JOURNEY TO
THE WEST.

SPRING 2009 | 75
 THE SECRET OF DREAMING
Retold by Jim Poulter
Anonymous | Aborigine, Australia

“The Secret of Dreaming” is a story that I pieced together over a period of years. My fami-
ly has had an ongoing relationship with the Aboriginal community in Australia since 1840,
and I have been fortunate to hear and read many Dreamtime stories and legends. When
told these stories I have always sought explanation of the ideas represented, but sometimes
the explanations can only be hinted at, as Aboriginal lore has various levels of secrecy. This
has meant that I have often been told something in rather cryptic or metaphoric form, and
then sometimes ten years later I have suddenly realized the import of what I had been told.
The story before you therefore represents not something that I have created, but some-
thing that has emerged from the amalgam of what I have been told and learned.
In Aboriginal religion, creation occurred as a result of divine will. The world was dreamt
in the mind of a Supreme Being, not created as an external reality. This means that we are
all figments of a Supreme Being’s imagination. As we know, human consciousness is
marked by the unique capacity to see future possibilities and work toward their realiza-
tion—in other words, the ability to dream. Aboriginal religion holds that this unique
human capacity is a direct inheritance from the original creation dreaming, and this is the
essential theme of “The Secret of Dreaming.”
Many Aboriginal stories recount how Creator Spirits, represented as animal totems,
moved through the world and gave the landscape its final shape. To me this is clearly a
metaphor for original migration. If we understand these Creator Spirit stories as accounts
of first migration, the idea is conveyed that the human mind is the final creative force. That
is, it was only when the original Australians spread throughout the land witnessing the
wonders before them that creation was finally complete. The stories also emphasize that
the observing of these wonders was accompanied by an understanding of human responsi-
bility to future generations through protection of the environment. With this recognition
of human responsibility came the Supreme Being’s decision that the affairs of the real
world could be safely left in humankind’s hands. The consequent merging of the Spirit of
Life into the land to rest is a powerful and pervasive theme of Aboriginal Dreamtime sto-
ries, and indicates the awesome responsibilities entrusted to humankind.
It is through this act that Aboriginal religion expresses belief in a non-interventionist
God. By merging with the land in rest, the Spirit of Life—perhaps most commonly known
as Wandjina—ceased to exercise conscious will over human affairs. Mankind was given con-
sciousness and free will, and our destiny is therefore in our own hands. It is a fundamental
Aboriginal belief that whatever happens in this world is a result of human agency, either
witting or unwitting. We therefore cannot pray to some higher force for guidance or inter-
vention; we can pray only for the inner strength to meet our responsibilities. This view of a
non-interventionist God is more than implicit in Aboriginal art, because Wandjina is always
represented with eyes, but no mouth. In other words, Wandjina sees all but says nothing.
As a result of this trust and knowledge that mankind alone was responsible, Aboriginal
people sought to ensure that the greatest care was exercised in their relationship with the
environment. Reality is dependent on human consciousness and is held in place only by
proper human ritual and observance of responsibility. The story of “The Secret of
Dreaming” attempts to convey this core concept of Aboriginal religion: that humankind has
inherited a divine consciousness and that with this goes sole responsibility for care of the real
world. Or as expressed in the final words of this and so many other Dreamtime stories, The
Spirit of Life rests in the land, and Man is its Caretaker.
JIM POULTER

SPRING 2009 | 77
 THE SECRET OF DREAMING
For the Aboriginal people of
Australia space and time are
woven together. All living crea-
tures and all features of the living
landscape are interconnected. All
are kin. Within this vast web of
relationship everyone (and every-
thing) has its place. Through cer-
emony and ritual the Aboriginal
people activate the presence of
their Spirit Ancestors, which is
always with them. In this way
they reconnect with the time of
creation, known as the eternal
“Dreamtime” or the
“Dreaming.” Through their ritu-
al and stories they remember that
humankind had a particular role
to play in the Dreamtime, one
that is not to be taken lightly,
then or now. What is that role,
and how do we humans fulfill it
today?

Once there was nothing.

Nothing And the color of Fire burned brightly
but the Spirit of All Life in the Mind of the Great Spirit.

For a long time Then came a Dreaming of Wind,

there was nothing.
and the fire danced and swirled
Then in the mind of the Spirit of Life.
in the mind of the Spirit of Life
Then came a Dreaming of Rain
…a Dreaming began.
For a long time
In the empty darkness the battle of Fire Wind and Rain
there was a dreaming of Fire. raged in the Dreaming

78 | PARABOLA
ABOVE: TIM PAYUNKA TJAPANGATI, “TINGARI DREAMING.” ABORIGINAL ART, AUSTRALIA, TWENTIETH CENTURY
PREVIOUS PAGE: MAXIE TJAMITJINPA, “WOMEN’S DREAMING.” ABORIGINAL ART, AUSTRALIA, TWENTIETH CENTURY

And the Great Spirit liked the Dream. The Great Spirit began to grow tired
from the Dreaming,
So the Dreaming continued.
but wanted the Dream to continue.
Then, as the battle waned
between Fire Wind and Rain So life was sent into the Dream
to make it real,
There came a Dreaming
of Earth and Sky and for Creator Spirits
and of Land and Sea. to continue the Dreaming.

For a long time So the Spirit of Life

this Dreaming continued. sent the Secret of Dreaming

SPRING 2009 | 79
 into the world
with the Spirit of the Barramundi.
And Barramundi
entered the deep still waters,
…and began to Dream.
Barramundi Dreamed
of waves and wet sand,
But Barramundi
did not understand the Dream
and wanted to Dream
only of the deep still water.
So Barramundi
passed the Secret of Dreaming
to the Spirit of the Currikee,
which is the Turtle.
And Currikee
came out of the waves
onto the wet sand
…and began to Dream.
Currikee Dreamed
of the rocks and warm sun.
But Currikee
did not understand the Dream,
and wanted to Dream
only of the waves
and wet sand.
So Currikee
passed the Secret of Dreaming
on to the Spirit of the Bogai,
which is the Lizard.
And Bogai
climbed onto a rock
and felt the warm sun on his back,
80 | PARABOLA
…and began to Dream.
Bogai Dreamed
of the wind and the open sky.
But Bogai
did not understand the Dream
and wanted to Dream
only of the rocks
and warm sun.
So Bogai
passed the Secret of Dreaming
onto the Spirit of the Bunjil,
which is the Eagle.
And Bunjil
rose into the open sky,
felt the wind in his wings,
…and began to Dream.
Bunjil Dreamed
of the trees and the night sky,
But Bunjil
did not understand the Dream
and wanted to dream
only of the wind
and open sky.
So Bunjil
passed the Secret of Dreaming
onto the Spirit of the Coonerang,
which is the possum.
And Coonerang
climbed high into the tree,
looked at the night sky,
…and began to Dream.
So Coonerang Dreamed
of wide plains and yellow grass.
But Coonerang And man understood the Dream
did not understand the Dream,
and wanted to Dream So he continued to Dream
only of the trees of all the things
and the night sky. that had been dreamed before.

So Coonerang He dreamed
passed the Secret of Dreaming of the deep still water,
onto the Spirit of the Kangaroo. of the waves and wet sand,
the rocks and open sky,
And Kangaroo the trees and the night sky,
stood tall, and the plains of yellow grass.
looked across the plain of yellow grass
And Man knew through the Dreaming,
…and began to Dream. that all creatures
were his spirit cousins
Kangaroo Dreamed
of music, and song and laughter. …and that he must protect their
Dreaming.
But Kangaroo
did not understand the Dream And he Dreamed
and wanted to Dream of how he would tell these secrets
only of the wide plains to his child
and yellow grass. who was not yet born.

So Kangaroo Then the Great Spirit knew at last

passed the Secret of Dreaming
onto the Spirit of Man. that the Secret of Dreaming was safe.

And man And being tired

walked across the land
and saw all the works of creation
He heard the birdsong at dawn
and saw the red sun at dusk,
…and began to Dream.
Man Dreamed
of sharing the music of dawnbirds,
the dance of the emu
and the red ochre of sunset
And he Dreamed also
of the laughter of children
from the Dreaming of Creation,
the Spirit of Life entered the land
to rest
So that now,
when the spirits of all creatures
become tired
they join the Spirit of Life in the Land
So this is why the Land is sacred
and man must be its Caretaker.

SPRING 2009 | 81
 THE KING OF THE GODS
Translated by Dorji Penjore
Anonymous | Bhutan

THE BOY AND THE OX

The following story was collected in a mountain village in Bhutan and translated by
Bhutanese folklorist Dorji Penjore. It was sent to PARABOLA by way of Consulting Editor
Laura Simms, who describes it as “a remarkable tale about compassion, reincarnation,
and the mystery of cause and effect.” Even for those of us who don’t live in a culture
steeped in Buddhist images and ideas, Simms affirms that this story can resonate in a
reader like a kind of “waking dream of how we might find solace in our lives when
things appear to be irreparably troubled.” Even the most casual readers may be
touched by the story of a small boy taking refuge in the grounded stability of the ox.

82 | PARABOLA
DANGPHO…DINGPHO… there lived a man and a woman who had nine sons.
The youngest of them was mute but as clever, thoughtful, and skilled as
his older brothers. Unfortunately, the brothers saw only his dumbness
and treated him like an animal, often comparing him to their ox. “Go
and live with your companion ox in the barn,” they would make a fun of
him. His parents were no better. Devoid of human company, he indeed
found a friend in the ox and spent most of his nights in the barn. During
the day, he followed his dumb companion to forest, meadow, or field,
and sat scratching the earth with a stick. His family did not know that
even a dumb animal is capable of the same feeling and emotion as ordi-
nary humans.
One day when he was in a meadow with the ox, the boy heard some-
one speaking. “Why are you crying? What makes you always sad? Why
are you coming near me? What has happened to you?”
He looked everywhere but found no one. The person was no other
than his friend the ox. “If an animal can speak, why not I, a human?” he
thought, and he tried to speak. Miraculously, he found he could speak
to the ox. He was happy beyond sky and earth.
“Don’t you know my family is cruel to me? They tell me the two of us
are the same since both of us have no gift of speech. I’m a human, yet I
can’t speak,” he replied.
They talked for the whole day, sharing their sorrows and suffering.
“You have to suffer for nine more years for your past actions. I was born
as an ox for my bad action,” the ox said, promising to take him to the
realm of gods when the time was ripe. When asked whether they had
any connection in previous lives and if that is why they could speak to
each other miraculously, the ox replied that the boy would hear the
answer after nine years. Until then they promised to live together, solve
each other’s problem, share their happiness, and never let anyone know
about their private speech.

NINE YEARS PASSED. Early one morning, the ox asked the boy to hold his
tail tightly and to close his own eyes. “When rains fall, don’t open your
eyes; when winds blow, don’t open your eyes; when it is dark, don’t
open your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them,” the ox advised, and off
they went.
On the way, the cold winds blew, heavy rains fell, and sometimes they
flew through darkness. He trusted the ox and never opened his eyes. He
was faithful, ready to accept whatever destiny the ox had for him. After
some time, the ox asked him to open his eyes. They had reached the
realm of the gods where everything looked different and beautiful.
They built a hut near a flower garden around a king’s palace. The boy
lived in the hut while the ox stayed outside, tethered to a post. The king
saw the ox while he was strolling around the palace. He was attracted by
the ox. All his cares and worries disappeared by merely looking at the

SPRING 2009 | 83
 animal. He wanted to own the animal and asked for its owner.
One morning, the king came to the hut and asked, “Does the ox belong
to you?”
“Yes.”
“Wait son!” the king said. “You don’t even have a good house to live in,
good food to eat, or good clothing to wear. Your body and clothes are
infested with lice. Will you exchange the ox for a good food, good clothing,
and a good house?”
“The ox is both my body and sok. I’ll not sell it,” the boy replied. Sok is a
life-force.
Earlier the ox had advised the boy not to sell him, not even to the king,
no matter the price. The king increased the price but the boy refused. After
all persuasions had failed, the king came up with a plan. He summoned the
boy to the palace. “Tomorrow we’ll play a hide-and-seek game,” the king
said. “The loser will surrender his ox or half of the kingdom.” Fearing for
his life, the boy could not refuse the bet. Back in his hut, the ox told him
not to worry.
The king went to hide first. The boy was to search. The ox informed him
that the king had transformed himself into two tall trees above the road.
“Those trees are different from others and you can easily spot them,” the ox
said. “Go near the trees and pretend to fell them, saying, ‘I haven’t seen
these trees before. If I take them to my king he’ll like it.’”
The boy suffered the whole day without any food or drink, searching for
the two trees. In the evening, he found them above the road as described by
the ox. He pretended to lift his knife and uttered the words. The trees
replied, “Stop! Don’t cut me. It is only me.” The trees instantly transformed
into the king. But the king refused to give half of the kingdom to the boy,
saying, “Not until you find me,” and asked him to hide the next day.
The boy was worried that he would be found by the king and went to his
hut, crying. “Why are you crying?” the ox asked.
“The trees turned out to be the king and I won. But the king refused to
concede the bet and asked me to hide. Where can I hide? His thousand men
can easily find me,” the boy replied.
The ox asked him not to worry. The next morning, he hid beneath the ox.
The king and his servants, soldiers, farmers, and astrologers searched every-
where but no one could find him. In the evening, he went to see the king
and said, “I won. You lost. Will you keep your promise?”
“Where did you hide?” the king asked. “We searched everywhere. A thou-
sand pairs of eyes couldn’t find you while you alone could find me. How is
that possible?”
“You searched for me everywhere but beneath the ox,” he said.
The king had been near the ox twenty times and his servants a thousand
times but no one looked beneath the animal. The boy asked for half the
kingdom, promising him that he would not be his rival. But the king asked
for another hide-and-seek game.

84 | PARABOLA
 THE KING AS A TREE

Before the boy went to find the king yet again, the ox told him,
“When you reach a white waterfall, say that you want to take it to the
king and pretend to fill a kadung.” Kadung is a slender bamboo con-
tainer for storing, carrying and serving alcohol.
The boy did indeed come across a waterfall. He took down his kadung
from his back and prepared to fill it. The waterfall suddenly transformed
into the king and said, “It isn’t waterfall, it is me.”
The king again refused to concede his loss and asked the boy to hide
the next day. The ox told him that a truthful man would never lose, an
honest man would never suffer, and even a king would be powerless
before an honest man. The next morning he was asked to hide inside a
small cave above the road, while the ox himself should be tethered
above the cave.
“Don’t make noise but stay inside the cave, cleaning your body of dirt
and lice,” the ox said.
The king and his servants came to search in the cave but no one
looked inside it. In the evening, the king stopped searching. He was
impressed by the boy’s shrewdness and thought of appointing him as
his minister.
When the boy went to claim his bet, he was greeted with praise. The

SPRING 2009 | 85
 king said he had a clever son who disappeared either by climbing up the sky
or descending down to the earth. “He was a clever man,” the king said,
“but it seems you’re cleverer than him, or you must be his reincarnation.”
The king explained that there was no need for either of them to rule over
one half of the kingdom and offered to appoint him as his minister. The
king continued, “This palace is facing a water shortage. I want you to make
a phochu and a mochu flow down from a cliff above the palace.” Phochu and
mochu literally means male (father) and female (mother) water. The king
demanded that the water form a lake that would neither increase or
decrease, nor sink down into the earth nor overflow.
The boy went to his ox and explained the king’s offer and command. The
ox asked him to cut two trees and wrap them with his hairs. He was to insert
one tree where water was to come out and the other tree along the slope
where water should flow. After that was done, a canal was to be dug along
the slope. “Ask the water to come out and phochu will spring forth. Then
take out mochu in a similar way,” the ox instructed.
The boy followed the instructions. Both phochu and mochu began to fall
from right and left of the palace. The water began to roar and accumulate
below the palace in a lake.
The king complained about the noise and asked the boy to silence the
water, ordering him to grow trees along the water canal with different song-
birds. The ox advised him to raise prayer flags along the canal and he did as
he was told. The next morning different species of trees had grown along
the canal with different types of birds singing like jakalapingka.
Jakalapingka is a song bird.
The king was fully convinced that the boy was his son’s reincarnation. He
was crowned king while the king himself withdrew to a mountain retreat to
pursue a religious life. But as soon as the boy became the king,
the ox began to fly and sing this:
May the human civilization increase?
May Buddha Dharma prosper?
May the time of devil end?
May none listen to evil people?
May many listen to good people?
Even a dumb, thoughtless animal has ways, means, and methods.
As soon as the ox disappeared into the sky, a khandoma
(dakini) miraculously appeared. Indeed, she was the king’s
son, who had been born in the human world to bring her
destined husband, the dumb boy, here. They were
married and lived happily.

THE SHABDRUNG (KING AND LAMA) NGAWANG NAMGYEL (1594–1651)

PAINTED CLAY, COLLECTION OF PENJOR DORJI, BHUTAN

86 | PARABOLA
A TOPOLOGICAL NOTE
ON THE TRINITY
RECONCILING SYMBOLS OF DIVINITY WITH DIFFERENT SHAPES
Richard Jagacinski

WITHIN THE CHRISTIAN RELIGIOUS TRADITION, the concept of the

Trinity is considered a sacred mystery, and poses some con-
ceptual difficulty for monotheism. How, in particular, does
one reconcile the idea of three distinct entities, Father, Son,
and Holy Spirit, with the idea of a single God? Some have
tried to explain the Trinity verbally. Others have tried to
explain it symbolically.
A visual symbolic interpretation of the Trinity that appears
frequently in Christian printed media is the triquetra [FIGURE
1] . From a topological perspective, the triquetra is a trefoil
(“three leafed”) knot. (Topology is a branch of mathemat-
ics that considers fundamental ways of identifying different-
ly shaped objects even when those objects are deformed,
as if made of easily stretchable rubber.) A wide variety of
knots have had symbolic significance in many religious con-
texts (e.g., Piccaluga, 2005). Among knots, the trefoil is the
simplest non-trivial one. Its overlapping path crosses itself
only three times (e.g., Adams, 2004). The attraction of this
shape to artists can be seen in metallic knotted sculptures
such as J. Robinson’s “Immortality” (1982; see Peterson,
2001, p. 151) and A. D. Christoforidis’s “Boundless,
Indivisible” (1996).
The triquetra can be contrasted with another symbolic

SPRING 2009 | 87
 FIGURE 1
THE TRIQUETRA, A TREFOIL KNOT, IS FOUND ON A COVER OF THE BIBLE.
representation of God, the sphere.
Aristotle wrote that the Greek philoso-
pher Xenophanes went against popular
polytheist beliefs and argued for a
monotheistic God with a spherical shape
(Gohlke & Schoningh, 1957, cited in
Hildebrandt & Tromba, 1996, pp. 1–3).
According to Aristotle, Xenophanes con-
sidered the sphere to have omnidirec-
tional spatial symmetry consistent with
an omnipresent God. The simplicity of
the sphere contrasts with the greater
complexity of the trefoil knot.
Taken together, the sphere and the
trefoil knot are respectively symbolic
88 | PARABOLA
representations of a single supreme God
and the Trinity. The unifying contribu-
tion of the mathematical perspective of
topology is to note that they can both
be descriptions of a single symbolic shape
if one is not limited to three-dimensional
space. A circle on a two-dimensional
planar surface can be considered a cross-
section of a spherical surface that exists
in a three-dimensional space. Similarly,
a trefoil knot in three-dimensional space
can be considered a cross-section of a
two-dimensional spherical surface that
exists in a four-dimensional space
(Adams, 2004). More technically,
spheres that have this property are two-
dimensional knotted surfaces in a four-
dimensional space.
To appreciate this abstraction, is it use-
ful to rely on visual illustrations. First
consider the simpler example of a spheri-
cal surface in three-dimensional space,
similar to a hollow rubber ball. Suppose
you put the ball in a meat slicer and cut it
into very thin slabs and arranged them
successively on a table. This operation
approximates taking two-dimensional
planar projections of the three-dimen-
sional object. The projections or slices
start as a dot (the nearest the edge of the
ball), then become circles of increasing
size (as one continues to the center of
the ball), then circles of decreasing size
(as one continues on beyond the center
of the ball), and finally a point again (as
one reaches the farthest edge of the ball).
A similar succession of images could be
obtained by sticking a needle through
SUCCESSIVE PLANAR PROJECTIONS OF A TWO-DIMENSIONAL SPHERICAL SURFACE THAT EXISTS IN A THREE-DIMENSIONAL SPACE,
I.E., SUCCESSIVE CROSS-SECTIONAL IMAGES OF A HOLLOW BALL. “T” CORRESPONDS TO SUCCESSIVE INSTANTS IN TIME AS ONE
WALKS THROUGH THIS SPACE AND THROUGH THE BALL.
the center of the ball, shrinking oneself
to a tiny size, and then taking an imagi-
nary walk along the needle, and looking
at the two-dimensional pattern in a plane
immediately in front of you (Adams,
2004) [FIGURE 2] . The successive images
represent two-dimensional cross-sections
of the ball.
This same type of imaginary walk can
be used to explore a knotted two-dimen-
sional spherical surface that exists in a
four-dimensional space. Namely, taking
an imaginary walk along a needle that
goes through the four-dimensional
object reveals a sequence of three-dimen-
sional images that represent cross-sec-
tions of this abstract sphere (Adams,
2004) [FIGURE 3] . The “ball” is now a knot-
ted two-dimensional surface in four-
dimensional space, and its successive
“cross-sections” start as a point (as one
reaches the nearest edge of the ball), and
then become knots of increasing size (as
FIGURE 2
SPRING 2009 | 89
 FIGURE 3
SUCCESSIVE THREE-DIMENSIONAL CROSS-SECTIONS OF A TWO-DIMENSIONAL SPHERICAL SURFACE THAT EXISTS IN A FOUR-
DIMENSIONAL SPACE, I.E., CROSS-SECTIONAL IMAGES OF A KNOTTED BALL THAT RESIDES IN FOUR-DIMENSIONAL SPACE.
one approaches the center of the ball).
As one continues farther through the
four-dimensional ball, this sequence of
images reverses, to smaller knots, and
then to a point again (as one reaches the
far end of the ball) (Adams, 2004).
The knotted loops within the four-
dimensional ball are trefoil knots, the
symbol of the Trinity. They are found
within a spherical surface, a symbol for
a single supreme God. The sphere in
Figure 3 resides in a four-dimensional
space. Spheres in still higher dimensional
space can also have three-dimensional
cross-sections that are trefoil knots
(C. Adams, 2008, personal communica-
tion). From this topological perspective,
the trefoil knot as a symbol of the
Trinity suggests that a monotheistic
God is better conceived in a higher
dimensional space than the familiar
three dimensions with which people
characterize their positions and motions.
The triquetra might be considered a
puzzling symbol from a medieval scholar
for representing the conceptual difficulty
of the thinking about the Trinity. A
topological interpretation of this symbol
reveals an implied meaning that thoughts
of a single supreme God require a higher
degree of abstraction than we typically
entertain.
This mathematical interpretation of the
Trinity is not intended to replace other
interpretations, but rather to add anoth-
90 | PARABOLA
er layer of meaning at a high level of
abstraction. An important part of the
work of scholars of religion is to under-
stand the relationships among multiple
interpretations of symbols that have
gradually emerged in their meaning.
For example, B. G. Myerhoff notes that
when older indigenous cultures adopt
Christianity, the Christian symbols often
have additional layers of meaning. In
the indigenous Huichol culture of west-
ern Mexico, the sign of the cross can be
interpreted as also signifying “the four
cardinal directions, a significant concern
in Huichol religion” (p. 47). Consistent
with the philosophies of Eliade and
Turner (e.g., Eliade, 1959, pp. 96–97;
Myerhoff, 1974, pp. 194–99), the topo-
logical interpretation of the triquetra
can be considered as making explicit
an implicit layer of meaning of a multi-
referential symbol for the Trinity. The
unification and shared identity of the
three parts of the Trinity are mathemati-
cally interpreted as implying a higher
dimensionality than people normally
use to describe their own behavior and
environment. This higher dimensionality
might be considered an example of
what Eliade (1959, p. 96) termed “sacred
space,” which lies beyond our typical
sensory experience.
Similar sentiments have been expressed
in other ways and in other spiritual tradi-
tions. For example, when the mathemati-
cian of higher dimensional spaces
Thomas Banchoff was a high school
student, he theorized that if the Trinity
can be conceived of as a four-dimension-
al God, then a manifestation of God
on Earth would reveal one person in
our three-dimensional world, and two
aspects of the Trinity would be unob-
servable (Peterson, 2001, p. 42). Another
example within the Christian tradition
is Salvador Dali’s (1954) painting, “The
Crucifixion: Corpus Hypercubicus,”
which depicts Christ hanging on a cross
constructed from a set of three-dimen-
sional cubes that correspond to the
unfolding of a four-dimensional cube
or hypercube (e.g., Banchoff, 1990).
Dali has painted a three-dimensional
image that alludes to a higher dimen-
sional space.
In the TAO-TE CHING , the knot suggests an
unseen realm as well:
The Tao that can be told of is not the
eternal Tao…
The Tao is empty like a bowl…
It unties tangles…
TRANS. BY CHAN, 1969, CH.7, CITED IN ECKEL, 2003
A topologist can mathematically
interpret this poetry as noting that a
one-dimensional knotted loop in three-
dimensional space becomes unknotted
when it is embedded in a four-dimen-
sional space (e.g., Adams, 2004; Rucker,
1984). Tangles in three dimensions
become untangled when they are
embedded in more abstract four-
dimensional space.
A historical review of higher dimen-
sional conceptions of Divinity is beyond
the scope of this article (e.g., see Gardner,
1969; Rucker, 1984), which has concen-
trated on two particular visual symbols,
the knot and the sphere. Mathematical
thinking, like poetry and visual art, deals
in abstract symbols, and the confluence
of these different modes of thought can
be especially rich in layers of meaning
(e.g., see Robbin, 2006).
The author is thankful for helpful comments from
Lindsay Jones.
REFERENCES
Adams, C. C. (2004). THE KNOT BOOK. Providence,
Rhode Island: American Mathematical Society.
Aristotle. (trans. 1957). In P. Gohlke & F.
Schoningh (Eds.), KLEINERE SCHRIFTEN ZUR
PHYSIK UND METAPHYSIK. Paderborn. (Cited in
Hildebrandt & Tromba, 1996.)
Banchoff, T. (1990). BEYOND THE THIRD DIMENSION:
GEOMETRY, COMPUTER GRAPHICS, AND HIGHER DIMEN-
SIONS. New York: Scientific American Library.
Chan, Wing-tsit. (1969). A SOURCEBOOK OF CHINESE
PHILOSOPHY. Princeton: Princeton
University Press. Cited in M. D. Eckel (2003).
GREAT WORLD RELIGIONS: BUDDHISM.
Chantilly, Viriginia: THE TEACHING COMPANY.
Eliade, M. (1959). “Methodological remarks on
the study of religious symbolism.” In M.
Eliade & J. M. Kitagawa (Eds.), THE HISTORY OF
RELIGIONS: ESSAYS IN METHODOLOGY (pp. 86–107).
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Gardner, M. (1969). THE UNEXPECTED HANGING (Ch.
6, The Church of the Fourth Dimension, pp.
65–75). New York: Simon and Schuster.
Hildebrandt, S., & Tromba, A. (1996). THE
PARSIMONIOUS UNIVERSE: SHAPE AND FORM IN THE
NATURAL WORLD. New York: Springer-Verlag.
THE HOLY BIBLE: NEW KING JAMES VERSION. (1984).
Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson
Publishers.
Myerhoff, B. G. (1974). PEYOTE HUNT: THE SACRED
JOURNEY OF THE HUICHOL INDIANS. Ithaca, New
York: Cornell University Press.
Peterson, I. (2001). FRAGMENTS OF INFINITY: A KALEI-
DOSCOPE OF MATH AND ART. New York: John Wiley
& Sons.
Piccaluga, G. (2005). Knots. In L. Jones (Ed.),
ENCYCLOPEDIA OF RELIGION, (2ND EDITION). Detroit,
MI: Macmillan Reference USA.
Robbin, T. (2006). SHADOWS OF REALITY: THE FOURTH
DIMENSION IN RELATIVITY, CUBISM, AND MODERN
THOUGHT. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
SPRING 2009 | 91
 A CRACK IN THE WORLD
THE TRUE STORY OF AN EXPEDITION TO A LAND OF IMMORTALITY
Thomas K. Shor

Don’t listen to anybody. Decide by yourself and practice madness. Develop courage
for the benefit of all sentient beings. Then you will automatically be free from the knot
of attachment. Then you will continually have the confidence of fearlessness and you
can then try to open the Great Door of the Hidden Place.
TULSHUK LINGPA

IT WAS AUTUMN 1962. The Cuban Missile Crisis threatened to end the world as
we knew it. As Kennedy and Khrushchev teetered on the brink, it became
startlingly clear that not only was an apocalyptic end within our technologi-
cal means; it was also an immediate likelihood.
During those same tense days in October 1962, a visionary Tibetan lama
was leading more than three hundred followers up a remote Himalayan
mountain slope in order to find a hidden land of immortality, a place of
refuge and plenty that Tibetan tradition dating back to at least the twelfth
century declared could be opened only at the time of the most dire need,
when cataclysm racked the earth and there was nowhere else to run.
The lama’s name was Tulshuk Lingpa. He was of that rare class of Tibetan
lamas—revered like precious jewels—known as tertons, or treasure revealers.
As a child of eight in eastern Tibet he had been tested by another high ter-
ton who coronated him and gave him his name, which translates to Crazy
Treasure Revealer.
The hidden land was called Beyul Demoshong, and it was ensconced
somewhere on the slopes of Mount Kanchenjunga, the planet’s third highest
mountain, straddling the Sikkim/Nepal border in the eastern Himalayas. It
was Padmasambhava, the eighth-century mystic often credited with bringing
Buddhism to Tibet, who with equal measures of foresight and compassion
created and then magically hid Beyul Demoshong as a place of refuge for an
unseen future age in which survival in this world was rendered impossible.
At the time Padmasambhava hid this land of refuge, he also planted the
mystic knowledge of its opening within the consciousness of one of his

RIGHT: TULSHUK LINGPA, SHORTLY BEFORE HE MOUNTED HIS VISIONARY EXPEDITION IN THE EARLY 1960S

92 | PARABOLA
SPRING 2009 | 93
 disciples. So not only did bad times
have to ripen, but that particular disciple
had to take incarnation and be spirit-
ually developed to the point that he
could uncover this hidden knowledge
within himself.
Tulshuk Lingpa had been visited in a
vision by Khandro Yeshe Tsogyal, the
TULSHUK LINGPA DURING HIS EARLY DAYS IN INDIA
94 | PARABOLA
consort of Padmasambhava. She revealed
to him that deteriorating conditions
meant the time was ripening for the
opening of Beyul Demoshong and that
he was the one destined to open it.
Khandro Yeshe Tsogyal told him in
great detail the landmarks he would
find on his way to the “gate.” She
described rituals he should
perform to appease the spirits.
Opening this hidden land wasn’t
as easy as going to the right
place and stepping through.
It was rather akin to opening a
crack in the very fabric of reality
and passing into another world,
a world from which one could
never return.
While the immediate calamity
in the Tibetan world that neces-
sitated the opening of this hid-
den land was the brutal take-
over of their country by the
Chinese, the timing certainly
corresponded to the closest
brush the world has ever seen
with nuclear holocaust.
Tulshuk Lingpa wrote of his
visions in his “guidebook” to
the hidden land. In it Khandro
Yeshe Tsogyal describes the signs
by which one will know the time
has ripened for the opening.
“At that time,” she said, “the
elements will become unbal-
anced and disease will increase.
Crops and cattle will degenerate.
Internal fights and quarreling
will increase. Poisonous and
chemical weapons will shake
the earth.”
WHILE STILL A CHILD , Tulshuk Lingpa quick-
ly mastered the ancient scriptures and
mystic arts, as well as the arts of painting,
ritual, and healing. At the age of nine-
teen he eloped with a young woman
and went south over the Himalayas
to India. There, despite his youth, he
was given his own monastery in the
high mountains of Lahaul in the Indian
state of Himachal Pradesh and quickly
established himself as a great tantric
practitioner.
It was prophesized that the lama with
the mystic ability to open the hidden
land would first announce himself at the
Tashiding monastery, the central
monastery in the Kingdom of Sikkim.
Because of this, there were those who
had forsaken their homes across the
Himalayas and moved to Tashiding in
order to await his arrival. Some had been
waiting generations for the opportunity
to go to a land of peace and concord.
When Tulshuk Lingpa arrived at
Tashiding with a retinue of disciples, it
didn’t take long for word to spread that
the prophesied lama had arrived. People
flocked to the monastery, and soon there
were more than three hundred people
camped there, waiting to set out on this
most remarkable of journeys.
Tulshuk Lingpa made it clear that only
those with true and unflinching faith
should even think of coming with him.
Opening the way to a hidden land is a
tremendous act, calling as it does upon
tremendous physical, spiritual, and imag-
inative powers. He knew that the fate of
the entire enterprise would hinge upon
the fate of each individual who came
with him. One’s faith had to be total,
and the test of this was given even before
leaving. Only those who would gladly
give up everything—every attachment to
both people and material goods and even
to the notion of return—were fit for such
a journey. If you wanted to plant your
crops as an insurance policy against a
failed attempt, if you wanted only to loan
your house out and not sell it or give it
away in order to have something to
return to, your faith was thereby shown
not to be great enough, and your lack of
faith would present an obstacle sufficient
to block everyone’s way.
TREASURE REVEALERS , or tertons, are
famous for being idiosyncratic and irra-
tional, and by their very nature
inscrutable. Illogical behavior is their
forte. They are expected to act in ways
that defy the rationality to which the rest
of us are bound. After all, they reveal
hidden treasures and find hidden realms.
While Tulshuk Lingpa always had fol-
lowers, there were also people who
thought him mad. Tulshuk means
crazy—but it also means fickle, mutable,
or changeable. So a man with a tulshuk
nature would always be changing his
mind—saying one thing in the morning,
something else in the afternoon, and
contradicting both by evening.
Though hundreds gave away their
worldly goods and flocked to him, and
hundreds more were hiding provisions in
caves along the various routes to Mount
Kanchenjunga so they could travel
quickly when they heard he’d opened the
way, Tulshuk Lingpa also had his detrac-
tors. Chief among them was the king of
Sikkim, who didn’t appreciate a Tibetan
lama entering his kingdom and inciting
his subjects to leave his kingdom for one
far greater.
October of 1962 was not only the time
of the Cuban Missile Crisis; it was also
when the Chinese made incursions into
regions of the Himalayas controlled by
India, launching the Sino-Indian War.
When rumors began to fly that Tulshuk
Lingpa was a Chinese spy looking for a
route by which the Chinese could invade
SPRING 2009 | 95
 THE PARABOLA LIBRARY
A COLLECTION OF TIMELESS WISDOM

1:1 THE HERO In quest of the meaning of Self 9:1 HIERARCHY The ladder of the sacred
1:2 MAGIC The power that transforms 9:2 THEFT The paradox of possession
1:3 INITIATION A portal to rebirth 9:3 PILGRIMAGE Journey toward the holy
1:4 RITES OF PASSAGE Symbols and rituals of transformation 9:4 FOOD Nourishing body and spirit
2:1 DEATH Beyond the limits of the known 10:1 WHOLENESS The hunger for completion
2:2 CREATION From formlessness, something new 10:2 EXILE Cut off from the homeland of meaning
2:3 COSMOLOGY The order of things, seen and unseen 10:3 THE BODY Half dust, half deity
2:4 RELATIONSHIPS Our interwoven human experience 10:4 THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS The mystery of goodness
3:1 SACRED SPACE Landscapes, temples, the inner terrain 11:1 THE WITNESS Silent guides and unsleeping eyes
3:2 SACRIFICE & TRANSFORMATION Stepping into a holy fire 11:2 MIRRORS That which reflects the real
3:3 INNER ALCHEMY Refining the gold within 11:3 SADNESS The transformation of tragedy
3:4 ANDROGYNY The fusion of male and female 11:4 MEMORY & FORGETTING What we remember and why
4:1 THE TRICKSTER Guide, mischief-maker, master of disguise 12:1 THE KNIGHT & THE HERMIT Heroes of action and reflection
4:2 SACRED DANCE Moving to worship, moving to transcend 12:2 ADDICTION The prison of human craving
4:3 THE CHILD Setting out from innocence 12:3 FORGIVENESS The past transcended
4:4 STORYTELLING & EDUCATION Speaking to young minds 12:4 THE SENSE OF HUMOR Walking with laughter
5:1 THE OLD ONES Visions of our elders 13:1 THE CREATIVE RESPONSE To represent the sacred
5:2 MUSIC, SOUND, & SILENCE Echoes of stillness 13:2 REPETITION & RENEWAL Respecting the rhythm of growth
5:3 OBSTACLES In the way, or the Way itself? 13:3 QUESTIONS The road to understanding
5:4 WOMAN In search of the feminine 13:4 THE MOUNTAIN A meeting place of Earth and Heaven
6:1 EARTH & SPIRIT Opposites or complements? 14:1 DISCIPLES & DISCIPLINE Teachers, masters, students, fools
6:2 THE DREAM OF PROGRESS Our modern fantasy 14:2 TRADITION & TRANSMISSION Passages from wisdom
6:3 MASK & METAPHOR When things are not as they seem into wisdom
6:4 DEMONS Spirits of the dark 14:3 THE TREE OF LIFE Root, trunk, and crown of our search
14:4 TRIAD Sacred and secular laws of three
7:1 SLEEP To be restored, or to forget
7:2 DREAMS & SEEING Visions, fantasy, and the unconscious 15:1 TIME & PRESENCE How to welcome the present moment
7:3 CEREMONIES Seeking divine service 15:2 ATTENTION What animates mind, body, and feeling
7:4 HOLY WAR Conflict for the sake of reconciliation 15:3 LIBERATION Freedom from what, freedom for what?
15:4 HOSPITALITY Care in human relationships
8:1 GUILT The burden of conscience
8:2 ANIMALS The nature of the creature world 16:1 MONEY Exchange between humans, and with the divine
8:3 WORDS OF POWER Secret words, magic spells, 16:2 THE HUNTER Stalking great knowledge
divine utterances 16:3 CRAFT The skill that leads to creation
8:4 SUN & MOON Partners in time as fields of force 16:4 THE GOLDEN MEAN Balance between defect and excess

A WEALTH OF RESOURCES TO INFORM, INSPIRE, AND GUIDE YOU on your inner journey. Start
building your own library today, or make a thoughtful gift to a friend! Single copies are $12.50.
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96 | PARABOLA
 To subscribe, to purchase issues from the Parabola Library, and to give gift
subscriptions, call 1-800-560-6984 or visit www.parabola.org
17:1 SOLITUDE & COMMUNITY The self, alone and with others
17:2 LABYRINTH The path to inner treasure
17:3 THE ORAL TRADITION Transmission through spoken word
and silence
17:4 POWER & ENERGY The stunning array of atom and cosmos
18:1 HEALING The return to a state of health
18:2 PLACE & SPACE Seeking the holy in mountain, sea,
and vale
18:3 CROSSROADS The meeting place of traditions and ideas
18:4 THE CITY Hub of the human world
19:1 THE CALL To ask for help, to receive what is given
19:2 TWINS The two who come from one
19:3 CLOTHING Concealing and revealing our inner selves
19:4 HIDDEN TREASURE Value, hope, and knowledge
20:1 EARTH, AIR, WATER, FIRE Essential elements of all things
20:2 THE STRANGER Messenger or deceiver, savior or threat
20:3 LANGUAGE & MEANING Communication, symbol, and sign
20:4 EROS Human sexuality and the life of the spirit
21:1 PROPHETS & PROPHECY Seeing beyond the veil
21:2 THE SOUL Life within and beyond our corporeal existence
21:3 PEACE Seeking inner and outer tranquility
21:4 PLAY & WORK Struggle and relaxation in the
search for meaning
22:1 WAYS OF KNOWING Different avenues to truth
22:2 THE SHADOW Cast by the light we follow
22:3 CONSCIENCE & CONSCIOUSNESS Inner guides to
understanding one’s being
22:4 MIRACLES Enigmatic breaks in the laws of nature
23:1 MILLENNIUM To what end, to what beginning?
23:2 ECSTASY Joy that transports us outside of ourselves
23:3 FEAR Sign of weakness, or of strength?
23:4 BIRTH AND REBIRTH Journey toward renewal
24:1 NATURE Exploring inner and outer terrain
24:2 PRAYER & MEDITATION Petition, praise,
thanksgiving, confession
24:3 NUMBER & SYMBOL Languages that disclose the real
24:4 EVIL The duality within us, within the world
25:1 THRESHOLD Neither here nor there, neither real
nor imaginary
25:2 RIDDLE & MYSTERY Questions and answers
25:3 THE TEACHER One who shows the way
25:4 FATE AND FORTUNE Inevitabilities that speak to us
26:1 THE GARDEN Cultivating within and without
26:2 LIGHT That which illuminates our inner and outer darkness
26:3 THE FOOL In search of divine innocence
26:4 THE HEART Where the quest begins and ends
27:1 THE EGO AND THE “I” Which one is real?
27:2 DYING Ending or the beginning of transformation?
27:3 GRACE Gifts bestowed from above
27:4 WAR Violence as a means to an end
28:1 COMPASSION Actions that embrace others
28:2 PRISON Inner and outer confinement
28:3 CHAOS AND ORDER The interplay of creative forces
28:4 TRUTH AND ILLUSION Seeking clarity amidst confusion
29:1 MARRIAGE Union with the Other
29:2 WEB OF LIFE The interrelationship of being
29:3 THE SEEKER In search of the Way
29:4 FRIENDSHIP Companions on the path
30:1 AWAKENING Casting off slumber
30:2 RESTRAINT The power of not doing
30:3 BODY AND SOUL Two mysteries
30:4 FUNDAMENTALISM Getting out of the box
31:1 COMING TO OUR SENSES Shaking our senses free
31:2 ABSENCE AND LONGING The path of yearning
31:3 THINKING Thinking as prayer
31:4 HOME The homes of great spiritual leaders
32:1 FAITH Seven great acts of faith
32:2 SEX Spiritual teachings on sex
32:3 HOLY EARTH Our sacred planet
32:4 THE NEW WORLD Frontiers of the spiritual
33:1 SILENCE The place of not speaking
33:2 GOD Approaching the Unknown
33:3 MAN & MACHINE Traditions and technology
33:4 JUSTICE The Divine measure
SPRING 2009 | 97
98 | PARABOLA
Sikkim, things got out of hand. When
the king threatened to jail Tulshuk
Lingpa, he and his followers fled the
kingdom. Since the mountain straddled
the Sikkim-Nepal border, and the “gate”
was actually on the Nepal side, they went
to Nepal.
When the Nepali king heard that
many of his own subjects were beginning
to leave their fields and homes in order
to follow Tulshuk Lingpa to this hidden
land of plenty, which they expected to
access from his kingdom, he sent in the
army. Seventy-five combat-ready troops
with rifles drawn encircled Tulshuk
Lingpa’s encampment in an aggressive
manner for two days. Tulshuk Lingpa
and his followers were able to extricate
themselves only by the most skillful
of means.
They climbed to an abandoned nomad
encampment not far from the glaciers
that cap Mount Kanchenjunga, and there
Tulshuk Lingpa and his three hundred
followers made camp. They spent more
than a month in that place, preparing
themselves through ritual and awaiting
the right moment.
One bright sunny day, Tulshuk Lingpa
announced the time had come.
Choosing twenty of his closest disciples,
he set off for the high snow slopes in
order to open the gate of Heaven. They
traveled two days into the glaciers and
snow until they found a cave large
enough for them all to fit in comfortably.
From this cave the land dropped off,
then rose again on the other side of a lit-
tle valley, the snowy slope rising to a little
notch in a ridge, a pass, across which
Tulshuk Lingpa declared was Beyul
Demoshong. They were finally within
sight of the gate!
The next day, in the morning, Tulshuk
Lingpa led the way to the slope rising to
the pass. Just as they started their ascent,
a cloud came low with a whirl of wind
that picked up the snow and made the
air thick with it. Blinded by snow and
pierced by the wind, they retreated,
reaching the cave as a storm came low
on the mountain. For the next two days
the storm kept them pinned in the cave,
where they were in the utmost state of
concentration upon their rituals and
spiritual practices. They needed to
purify themselves to the point where
the weather would clear and allow them
to ascend the snowy slope to the pass
leading to Beyul.
And thus it went for twenty days.
Every time the storms abated, they
would attempt the ascent of the slope
that lay under an ever deeper cover of
snow, and every day they were beaten
back to the cave.
On the twenty-first day, Tulshuk
Lingpa chose two lamas, the Lachung
Lama and Lama Tashi, as well as a young
woman named Hishey—his consort—to
go with him to open the gate. Lama
Tashi was strong and could cut the path
through the deep snow.
They made it to the bottom of the
slope and the weather was fine.
From a distance, as they pushed their
way up through the waist-deep, newly
fallen snow towards the pass, they looked
like four little dots moving slowly up the
vast white slope.
When they suddenly dissolved into
white and disappeared, it took a moment
for those left behind to realize that their
comrades had been engulfed in a cloud
that was pouring down over the pass.
And on the slope, the cloud’s arrival—
like a white and permeable wall—hit
them with a sudden vertigo as the steep
white plane of snow they were climbing
suddenly merged with the air and every-
SPRING 2009 | 99
 thing lost distinction, became uniform,
and started to spin.
And as the snow slope gave way
beneath them, the air itself became
solid as they were plunged into a dark-
ness that roared.
Each of them found themselves alone,
the air sucked from their lungs, a crush-
ing force hitting their bodies. In place of
the green valley each expected to sud-
denly find themselves in, each was
plunged into a world of darkness and
profound silence, unable to move—all
except for the Lachung Lama, who had
been taking up the rear. When the ava-
lanche ended, he found himself with only
his legs buried in the snow, but other-
wise unharmed.
Extricating himself and finding himself
alone on the slope, the Lachung Lama
started digging frantically, looking for
the others. He found Lama Tashi and
Hishey by digging in snow that was red
with blood. They were badly injured and
barely conscious.
A loose page of one of the scriptures
that had been strapped to Tulshuk
Lingpa’s back appeared out of the dense
fog and slapped the Lachung Lama on
the face in a great gust of wind.
Following where it came from with his
eyes, he saw more pages. They had been
mixed with snow by the avalanche and
were waving in the wind. He leapt down
the loose slope and clawed at the snow.
It was by following the density of pages
that he found Tulshuk Lingpa.
Tulshuk Lingpa’s body showed no
external mark of the accident. As the
Lachung Lama dug him out, Tulshuk
Lingpa’s legs were crossed, he was
slumped over, his eyes closed and frosted
with snow—and he was dead.
They brought the injured and the dead
lama down on their backs to the nomad
100 | PARABOLA
encampment where the three hundred
had been awaiting word of the opening.
As one woman who was there and is now
in her late seventies told me years later,
“When the death ceremony was com-
pleted and they cremated the body, it
was like a bomb blast. Everyone just dis-
persed in every direction, without fol-
lowing one another. Those from Bhutan
returned to Bhutan, those from Sikkim
traveled to their villages there.”
Lama Tashi broke an arm and two ribs
in the avalanche. He lost so much blood
from a deep gash above his eye that he
nearly died. Now in his mid eighties, he
is the head lama of Tulshuk Lingpa’s
monastery in Lahaul. When I met him
there it was more than forty years since
that fateful day. His large-boned frame
was still wrapped in a musculature like
that of an athlete. I understood why
Tulshuk Lingpa had chosen him to break
the path through the deep snow. His
high cheekbones and prominent eye-
brows made me feel as if I were in the
presence of an American Indian elder.
“You cannot make this world a
Shangri-La,” he told me. “No improve-
ment will ever get you there. To reach
that state of happiness, you must let go
of this world. One hundred percent.
Maybe it will soon be time again to
attempt an opening. It is written in the
ancient books that when the teachings
are lost, when there is nowhere else to
run, then the time for the opening will
come. Times are getting rough.
“But you can’t just go there. I know
the way. I spent twenty days at the base
of the slope to the pass that opens to
Beyul. I could take you there. But what’s
RIGHT: LAMA TASHI
 WHEN THIS WOMAN FROM TASHIDING WAS IN HER EARLY TWENTIES, SHE WANTED TO GO WITH TULSHUK LINGPA TO THE HIDDEN
LAND. SHE SOLD HER PIG TO RAISE MONEY FOR THE JOURNEY, BUT HER FUNDS WERE STILL INSUFFICIENT TO BUY THE BLANKETS
AND SACKS OF GRAIN SHE NEEDED. IN THE END, SHE NEITHER HAD HER PIG NOR COULD SHE GO ON THE JOURNEY.

the use? I cannot do it alone. We have to
wait for the lama.
“No matter how many years it may
take, we have to keep the belief alive—
and keep it secret. If we keep it really
well in the cave of our hearts and keep
our belief pure, then in our next lives we
will all meet again and we can then go
to Beyul.
“I am very happy that you have come,”
he said. “May we meet again!”
NOTE: This article is excerpted from the author’s
book in progress, A CRACK IN THE WORLD. You can
visit his web site at www.ThomasShor.com

102 | PARABOLA
 THE
GENEROUS IMAGE
Barbara Helen Berger

Adorned with the Sambhogakaya adornments—

earrings, throat-jewel, necklace of many
gems, with armlets and strings of pearls,
You with magnificent light-rays—homage!
CHANDRAGOMIN

AN ARTIST STRETCHES A CANVAS ON A WOODEN FRAME, pulling the

cloth until it is taut like a drum. She primes it with gesso,
then faces the pristine, blank expanse. Beside her are brush-
es of varying size, colors in tubes or jars, a rag, a square of
glass or an old china plate—a palette for mixing colors.
Hours will pass in silence, with only the dab and whisper of
a brush, then the swish of it in the water jar where she
washes it clean between one hue and the next.
On the canvas she’s searching out a form that first stirred
in the mind’s eye, an idea pressing to be made visible. Every
so often she pauses, steps back to look. A moment dawns
when the image seems to “come alive.” She can meet its
emerging presence and, if she remains open, willing to gaze
and to contemplate, the image may give back to her some-
thing more than she had imagined. It will lead her under-
standing in ways she couldn’t foresee and didn’t expect.
In the West ever since the Renaissance, we tend to reg-
ard the artist’s imagination as unique and individual, the
source of a highly prized originality. But that hasn’t been
the view in all times and places. A traditional painter of
Tibetan thangkas, for example, would approach his art
quite differently.
He too stretches a cotton cloth, pulling it taut to a wooden

SPRING 2009 | 103

 frame. He primes the cloth with animal
glue and gesso, and polishes the surface
with a smooth stone. Sitting simply on
the floor, he too faces the pristine, blank
expanse, its wooden frame propped
between his lap and a wall. Yet the
image he will paint does not come from
his own unique imagination. To him,
rooted deeply in Tibetan Buddhist tradi-
tion, it comes from the vast mind of
wisdom itself.
According to long established canons,
he begins by drawing a grid for the
sacred figure he will paint—a Buddha,
bodhisattva, or one of many other beings
in the visionary abundance of Tibetan
art. This iconometric grid ensures all
parts of the figure will be in proportion,
guiding even the symmetry of the face.
But once the artist has drawn the entire
figure with a brush, in fine and flowing
lines, he will rub the grid away.1
Then he is ready to paint. Traditionally
his pigments are minerals—azurite for
blue sky, malechite for green earth—
ground by hand on a stone mortar. He
mixes the powder in a small bowl with a
liquid binder of hide glue, to a consisten-
cy like buttermilk. He paints the base
colors of sky, earth, clouds, lotus throne,
body, and halo of the figure. Later he
will add shading in thinner layers of
color. In fine detail he will paint the gar-
ments, hands, feet, and face of the deity,
leaving the eyes for last. Only when
everything else is complete will he paint
the iris and pupils, and “open the eyes.”
A few decades ago, it was rare to see
much Tibetan art here in the West. But
affordable reproductions began to
appear, and one early poster of White
Tara still hangs above my desk. She sits in
the full lotus posture of meditation, a
flower lush as a peony beside her tilted
face. The eyes are peaceful, and more
104 | PARABOLA
than two, with one in her brow, one in
the palm of each hand, one in the sole
of each foot, seven eyes in all. Clearly
her image was made with symbolic
intent and evokes the mystery of an all-
seeing wisdom.
It is said that Tara was born from the
tears of Avalokiteshvara, the bodhisattva
of infinite compassion.2 Overcome by the
vast ocean of suffering that seems with-
out end, he broke down and wept for all
beings. As the tears ran down his face,
White Tara arose from one drop, Green
Tara arose from another, to help in the
liberation of all who suffer.
She appears in many variations—twen-
ty-one are named in her litany of praises.
But it is Green Tara our Tibetan artist
has chosen to paint. She sits with her
right foot extended, ready to step into
action. Her right hand reaches out in the
gesture of giving, and at heart level, her
left thumb and ring finger touch in the
gesture of refuge. Green Tara has two
eyes. And when the artist has “opened”
the eyes, she gazes directly at him with a
gentle smile.
When the painting is finished, rather
than the artist signing his name on the
back, a lama will write three syllables cor-
responding to the body, speech, and
mind blessings of a deity: Om Ah Hung.
The painting is cut free from the wooden
frame and sewn into a frame of brocade,
with rods so it can be rolled up like a
scroll. Thangkas are easy to move from
one temple or one nomad tent to anoth-
er. Or farther even, into another country
and culture.
Here in the West, of all the deities now
seen in a wealth of Tibetan art, Green
Tara is one we see most often. We may
feel drawn to her image even if we’re not
familiar with the long tradition that
brings her to us from Tibet, from earlier
 A BOUNDARY DISSOLVES BETWEEN WHAT WE THINK OF AS REAL AND
WHAT WE THINK OF AS ONLY IMAGINED.
roots in India, and ultimately from a
timeless source. But a few stories of Tara
have also made their way here. And a
story too paints an image in the mind,
one we can easily enter.3
THE PAINTING
There was an old woman who had to beg
for alms. She went from one door to the
next, and one day she came to the humble
hut of a scholar.
“My daughter is of an age to be mar-
ried,” she said, “but I am so poor, she has
nothing! Can you help us?”
The scholar saw the shadows of hunger
in the old woman’s face, and he wanted to
help. But he had little himself, only the
robe he wore and the one book he was
studying, a sutra on the Perfection of
Wisdom.
“I have nothing to give you,” he said
sadly. “But…wait here a moment.”
He turned and began to murmur,
speaking softly as if to someone close to
him inside the hut. The old woman stood
at the door looking in. She saw no one
else there, but on the wall was an image of
Tara. In her own hard life, the old woman
had never seen anyone like this lady, seated
upon a painted lotus rising from a painted
lake. Her body was the radiant green of
forests and fresh leaves. She wore all the
adornments of a sublime being. In the
light from the doorway, her painted gold
and jewels shone. Even her scarves seemed
to shimmer in a warm wind.
The scholar went on murmuring to
Tara,“Om Tare Tu Tare Ture Soha, Om
Tare Tu Tare Ture Soha…” and strangely,
his hut did not seem so small anymore.
Tara held in her hand the curving stem of
a lotus, its petals blue as the painted sky.
The old woman thought she could see
the flower shift and change, blooming
before her eyes. Then, the painting came
to life.
The Lady Tara lifted her hands and
took the crown of jewels and flowers
from her head. Smiling, she removed her
golden earrings, her necklaces of many
gems. They tinkled and rang like bells.
She took off her golden armlets, even the
jewels upon her feet. She unwound her
flowing scarves, and took off her silken
garments of many colors. All these she
gave to the scholar.
The scholar turned around and gave
them to the old woman.
Overcome with wonder, the old
woman felt the weight of the gold and
jewels in her hands, the soft silks, and her
eyes flooded with tears. This gift would
set her daughter free from poverty.
From that day on, the painting in the
scholar’s hut remained as it was. Tara’s
hand was still open. Her body of bliss,
green as forests and fresh leaves, was
empty of all adornments. She wore noth-
ing.
The scholar wrote poems to her. He
strung his praises together like garlands
of pearls. Still she remained naked. And
when he looked up from the pages of his
sutra, he found the Perfection of Wisdom
herself in the image upon his wall.
Originally this story was told of a man
named Chandragomin who lived in
SPRING 2009 | 107
 ON AN ULTIMATE LEVEL, TARA IS THE PERFECTION OF WISDOM,
OR PRAJNAPARAMITA.
seventh-century India. He was a
Buddhist lay master, a well-respected
scholar, and a devotee of Avalokiteshvara
and of the Savioress, Tara. Thus he had a
painting of Tara in the hut where he
lived. He favored the Mind-Only school
of Mahayana Buddhism and studied the
PRAJNAPARAMITA or PERFECTION OF WISDOM scrip-
tures. He also wrote many praises.
In the story, he reflects for us a quality
of knowledge that is both learned and
compassionate. He responds to the old
woman in her need. Though he has
nothing material to give her, he does
have a heart and mind devoted to wis-
dom and he knows the deity, Tara. So he
turns to her image on the old woman’s
behalf, just as the old woman has come
to him, begging on behalf of her daugh-
ter. There is no selfishness here.
Meanwhile, the artist who made the
scholar’s painting remains invisible. He
is almost irrelevant, as in other stories
from both East and West where a statue
or a painting comes to life and speaks,
weeps, or even bleeds. The miracle is
never due to the art itself. What matters
is that the image has become a vessel,
and through it a living mystery and
power beyond the image, beyond both
artist and viewer, can make its presence
directly felt and known.
Calling on a boundless compassion to
manifest in any way that is needed, using
the mantra of Tara, is not something
108 | PARABOLA
only a scholar would do. The sacred
syllables of Om Tare Tu Tare Ture Soha
are as known and loved among all
Tibetans as Om Mani Peme Hung, the
mantra of Avalokiteshvara.4 Tara’s nature
is equally boundless, and without delay
she responds.
In fact, the green hue of her body in
the painting expresses an active quality
of wisdom. As one prayer says, she made
a vow “to fulfill the activity of the all the
Buddhas without exception.” In the
mandala of the Five Buddha Families,
there are five qualities of wisdom, each
with its color and element. Green
belongs to the Karma family, all-accom-
plishing wisdom, whose element is air.
Thus in her green form Tara embodies
an awakened wisdom that is free to move
anywhere, swiftly, like the wind.
Her dynamic energy moves through
the painting in the story, and a boundary
dissolves between what we think of as
real and what we think of as only imag-
ined. Tara reaches out through a surface
of pigments applied to a piece of cotton
cloth, and gives all her gold and jewels
away. Something of great value passes
from the envisioned, symbolic realm into
the hands of an ordinary human reality.
The old woman waiting at the door
could be one of the beatitude’s “poor in
spirit,” one who is so surrendered in
need she is utterly open, ready to receive.
And so she is blessed. She receives what
the scholar conveys to her, not an arm-
load of concepts but tangible symbols
of sublime beauty and worth. If the
gift now laid in her hands will relieve
her material poverty and allow her
daughter’s future to blossom, that would
be generosity enough. But Tara gives
even more, for in Buddhist art the jewels
worn by such a deity express the splen-
dor of enlightenment.
Thus the painter would mix a fine
powder of gold—the supreme metal—
with his liquid binder of hide glue. With
this he would paint the crown, earrings,
and necklaces, as well as the fine rays that
stream from Tara’s body outward to
all beings. Then he would burnish the
gold to a shine that catches the light.
Symbolically adorned this way, a deity
is shown in the form of Sambhogakaya,
or Body of Bliss. This is the luminous
clarity and exaltation of wisdom. Tara
has no hesitation in the story. She freely
offers her own radiance. What could be
of greater value? As we know also in the
West, “Wisdom is more precious than
pearls, and nothing else is so worthy
of desire.”5
Along the path of our own awakening,
a thangka is considered a support. In
every detail its beauty is meant to nour-
ish the process, as are all the forms we
see in Tibetan art and spiritual practice.
Not all the meditation methods rely on
visualization, but many do. And a paint-
ing helps us to get acquainted with a
deity whose image we will generate in
our inner vision—the body color, pos-
ture, symbolic gestures, and objects.
Lamas advise us not to see the inner
image as if made of material substance,
like pigments on a cloth, but as translu-
cent, made of colored light. In this sense
it is insubstantial, like a rainbow. Yet nei-
ther is the image to be seen as “only
imagined.” Instead, it is a display of wis-
dom’s awareness within our own mind.
In TARA: THE FEMININE DIVINE, Bokar
Rinpoche writes, “Deities, as we see
them, are not essentially superior individ-
uals living in faraway worlds that some-
times come to the rescue of human
beings, even if their manifestations
may give that impression.” He says if
we were to meet such a deity in a dream,
we would feel joy and devotion, but
we’d also feel very sure of our own sepa-
rate existence. “However, in truth, the
person perceiving the deity and the
deity would both be manifestations
from the same inexpressible essence,
the mind itself.”6
He goes on to say, “From an absolute
point of view, because of her nature itself
as an awakened deity, Tara could not be
other than the nature of our own mind.”
This nature of mind is beyond concepts,
“the domain of awareness itself.” And
“This awareness, inherent in everyone
beyond any mental elaborations, also is
Tara in the ultimate domain.”7
In the smaller realm of the story, the
old woman has none of the scholar’s
knowledge and understanding. For her
there is only a painting. But the painting
is a sacred mirror. And through it, Tara’s
generosity pours out to her from a wis-
dom free of duality. The gift pours out
to us also, to any of us who stand with
the old woman on the packed dirt of
the threshold, looking in. We might
have come begging ourselves, in our
own spiritual poverty, our lack and long-
ing, our need for sustenance and sup-
port. Like the old woman, we may never
have imagined receiving a gift of such
value, nor that its worth somehow
affirms our own.
One can imagine the story goes on to
tell us:
SPRING 2009 | 109
 It wasn’t long before the old woman
came to the scholar’s door again. The
shadows of hunger had left her face, and
she greeted him with an invitation.
“My daughter is to be married today.
Please come to the wedding!”
Gladly the scholar went. He saw the
young bride adorned in a silken garment
of many colors, flowers and jewels in
hair, as radiant in her joy as a living Tara.
And he went home, happy.
As we know from the original story,
the painting in his hut remained as it was
after Tara gave all her gold and jewels
away. From Chandragomin’s time, this
miraculous painting was known as “The
Tara Without Ornaments,” and “Naked
Tara, Bestower of Gifts.” Others are said
to have seen it even centuries later.
Chances are we won’t see one like it
today, the image was so unusual, perhaps
never seen before or since in Tara’s tradi-
tional iconography.
Yet we can see it with contemplative
eyes. For the scholar and for us too,
there is a further gift in the painting’s
nakedness. On an ultimate level, Tara is
the perfection of wisdom, or prajna-
paramita. This is the emptiness of the
Dharmakaya, or Absolute Body, the
body of ultimate truth. How can this
possibly be portrayed? A naked image is
one symbol, like the primordial Buddha
we sometimes see in Tibetan art, clothed
only in the deep blue of his body, high in
the sky above everything else. As Bokar
Rinpoche explains, this is not a mere
nothingness. “The nature of mind, per-
fection of knowledge, and emptiness are,
in fact, equivalent terms. All past bud-
dhas have attained buddhahood by real-
izing emptiness (or realizing the nature
of the mind). It is the same for present
buddhas and will be the same for future
110 | PARABOLA
buddhas. Thus, Tara—the Tara beyond
time, space, and all concepts—is the
mother of all buddhas.”8
At the end of a meditation, having
visualized a deity with devoted concen-
tration, one will then dissolve the image.
One lets it go, into emptiness. When an
artist rinses her brush in a jar, clouds of
pigment will stain the water, but this col-
ored light dissolves in the open space of
the mind, leaving it clear. We rest there
awhile, in the non-conceptual clarity of
our own being.
We have within us the same pristine
expanse where all images and realities
arise, to dissolve, and arise, again and
again. This emptiness is not the void we
tend to dread—a dark deprivation, a final
absence of value. Rather, it is a mysteri-
ous source of abundance. It remains
beyond images, even when they arise
from its essence and glow with its nature,
as noble Tara does. May the gold of her
compassion flow through us and all
beings, until we are fully awake.
1 A grid drawn in charcoal is easy to erase while
painted lines remain. Traditional techniques are
described in TIBETAN THANGKA PAINTING: METHODS AND
MATERIALS, by David and Janice Jackson (Snow
Lion Publications, 1984, new edition 2006).
2 Avalokiteshvara is the Sanskrit name for the bod-
hisattva known as Kuan Yin in Chinese, Chenrezig
in Tibetan.
3 The story appears here in my own retelling. I
found the source story told by Martin Willson in IN
PRAISE OF TARA, SONGS TO THE SAVIORESS (Wisdom
Publications, 1986), p. 223; and by Surya Das in
THE SNOW LION’S TURQUOISE MANE: WISDOM TALES FROM
TIBET (Harper San Francisco, 1992) p. 109.
4 The famous great compassion mantra, Om mani
padme hum, is pronounced by Tibetans Om mani
peme hung.
5 From the Old Testament, Proverbs 8:11.
6 Bokar Rinpoche, TARA: THE FEMININE DIVINE,
English translation by Christiane Buchet
(ClearPoint Press, 1999) pp. 9 and 10.
7 Ibid., p. 18.
8 Ibid., pp. 18–19.
 BOOK REVIEWS
REINVENTING THE SACRED: A New View of
Science, Reason and Religion
BY STUART A. KAUFFMAN. BASIC BOOKS (WWW.BASIC-
BOOKS.COM), 2008. PP. 320. $27
REVIEWED BY JAMES GEORGE
In this time of rapid change and deep
questioning, when even the word mean-
ing seems meaningless to many, we sure-
ly need to hold on to the conviction that
we are all part of “the great chain of
being,” to put it in traditional terms, and
that there is something real that is higher
than human beings in the scale of being
or consciousness. However, most main-
stream scientists are still looking exclu-
sively downward for all explanations, as
physicist Steven Weinberg puts it, down
to the vibrating particles of physics at the
bottom of the ontological and epistemo-
logical scales. So it is refreshing to find a
respected scientist, Stuart Kauffman,
challenging this reductionism and
affirming his awe and reverence for the
unpredictable creativity of life, which he
dares to call sacred.
Have religion and spirituality got a
monopoly on the sacred? Newton,
Einstein—and now Kauffman—don’t
agree. For Kauffman as for most scien-
tists today, there is plenty within the
purview of science to justify feelings of
reverence and wonder without having to
invoke a Creator God as the source of all
that we call sacred.
Indeed, the reinvention of the sacred
in the more secular terms that scientists
might be able to accept is, for Kauffman
(as for the Kiowa American poet, Scott
Momaday, who gave him the idea), the
most important task confronting human-
ity. Even the Dalai Lama is now calling
for a more secular spirituality, acknowl-
edging that any tenet of Tibetan
Buddhism that science clearly proves
wrong would have to be modified. So
there is some movement from both sides,
SPRING 2009 | 111
 so to speak, towards common ground,
towards a global ethic for our time that
both science and the traditional religions
could live with. Kauffman’s REINVENTING THE
SACRED is an inspiring and courageous con-
tribution to such an inclusive global ethic
from the scientific perspective.
Since Kauffman is now primarily a biol-
ogist, his focus is naturally on life. He is
adamant in reasoning that biology can-
not be reduced to or derived from
physics. Life is amazingly creative and
surprising. The laws of science can never
predict the emergence of life, but emerge
it does—in his view—without benefit of
either a Creator God or all the unscien-
tific arguments for intelligent design that
Kauffman sees as fundamentalism in a
more marketable disguise.
Many scientists now favor the term
“emergence,” but I cannot help wonder-
ing whether this word does not betray a
reductionist bias, since I have a hard time
visualizing anything emerging from
above. Is this just another example of the
difficulty most scientists have with any
vertical categorization of higher and
lower levels, especially levels of con-
sciousness? Yet without levels how can
values and meaning—including the
sacred—be attributed to anything?
Thankfully, Kauffman’s science is not
value-free. For him, the reinvention of
112 | PARABOLA
the sacred involves the reinvention (or I
would say the rediscovery) of the values
that make us human.
This brings us, for Kauffman as for
Plato, to the True, the Beautiful, and the
Good. One of his most compelling essays
is about the creativity of life expressed
through the arts. “I find Mozart’s REQUIEM
sublime. It is death, God, loss, glory,
agony. But these are as much a part of
our lives as are statements about galax-
ies…. This is not a matter of logic at all.
The experience of the REQUIEM is part of
our full humanity, our being in the
world. Being in the world is not merely
cognitive, but is the full integration of all
our humanity, imagination, invention,
thinking, feeling, intuition, sensation,
our full emotional selves, and whatever
else we bring to bear.” Only with this
kind of integration can a global civiliza-
tion be stabilized, Kauffman believes,
with a truly global ethic emerging as the
basis for its laws and customs.
So what is the new vision of the real
world and our place in it that could per-
mit science and religion, working togeth-
er, to reinvent the sacred for our time? If
even the new science, as represented by
Kauffman, finds it unnecessary to postu-
late a Creator God, can the new spiritual-
ity accept the stunning and partially law-
less creativity of life as enough of a God
SPRING 2009 | 112
SPRING 2009 | 113
 to call it sacred? “God is our name for
the creativity in nature,” he says; but at
the end of the book Kauffman broadens
his sense of God to include “all of
nature, law governed and partially
beyond natural law.” Is that “enough of
a God?” Or is there a Source of nature
and of life in all its wholeness, manifested
and unmanifested? After four centuries
of science believing that natural law is
the fully sufficient explanation of every-
thing in the universe, perhaps it is
enough for now to hope that mainstream
science can accept, as Kauffman advo-
cates, that this “partial lawlessness is not
an abyss, but unparalleled freedom,
unparalleled creativity?” For if the mind
itself is not also, as he maintains, partially
lawless, there is no room for free will,
creativity, and moral responsibility. Without
these qualities we are not human.
Though unsatisfactory to the tradition-
114 | PARABOLA
al theist, Kauffman’s position is a huge
step beyond the current reductionism of
science. However, if science and spiritu-
ality are to find common ground, both
sides will have to abandon some long-
cherished positions. For the time being,
in the face of the question of our very
survival now posed by global warming,
perhaps the best that we can hope for is
that both acknowledge the awesome
intelligence and creativity of life as
sacred, and mute their strident militancy
for and against the God that is in any
case, for all of us, the Unknown.
James George is a retired Canadian
ambassador, living in Toronto, and author
of ASKING FOR THE EARTH: WAKING UP TO THE
SPIRITUAL/ECOLOGICAL CRISIS , for which the
Dalai Lama wrote a foreword. His latest
book is THE LITTLE GREEN BOOK ON AWAKENING, pub-
lished by Station Hill Press, Barrytown, NY.
SPRING 2009 | 115
 BEADS OF FAITH: Pathways to Meditation
and Spirituality Using Rosaries, Prayer
Beads and Sacred Words
BY GRAY HENRY AND SUSANNAH MARRIOTT. FONS VITAE
(WWW.FONSVITAE.COM), 2008. PP. 120. INCLUDES DVD.
$29.95
REVIEWED BY SAMUEL BENDECK SOTILLOS
The Name pronounced even once is a benefit,
whether one is aware of it or not. Prayer is not
verbal, it is from the heart. To merge into the
heart is prayer.
RAMANA MAHARSHI
This new book BEADS OF FAITH , which comes
with a DVD of the documentary film
that was previously released under the
same title, examines both the “outer”
and “inner” meanings of the use and
function of prayer beads that have been
116 | PARABOLA
instrumental in prayer, recitation, invoca-
tion, and meditation found throughout
all of the world religions. The book
begins by confirming that prayer beads
have their origin in the divine, and simul-
taneously acknowledges the uses of
prayer beads across spiritual traditions:
“The use of prayer beads is not a practice
recently invented or introduced, but is
archetypal in nature, and common to
every great faith tradition.” It will inter-
est readers to learn that the etymology of
the word “bead” reinforces the transcen-
dent function of prayer beads, taken
from the Sanskrit buddh, which means
“to awaken,” referring to the Buddha or
“The Awakened One,” and simultane-
ously connected to the Saxon verb bid-
den—“to pray.”
This work acknowledges the universal
and perennial uses of prayer beads and
guides the seeker into the sacred dimen-
sions of varied faiths by introducing the
spiritual methods employed with prayer
beads. The allegory of terrestrial exis-
tence is likened to “a rope thrown by
God to a drowning man,” much like this
“rope” of prayer beads comes from the
spiritual domain and offers a spiritual
method acting as a sacred funiculus
umbilicalis or umbilical cord connecting
the practitioner to the divine via revela-
tion—“from Himself to Himself”—that
is from the Divine to the Divine. The
myriad practitioners are said to be as
diverse as the paths leading up a moun-
tain or points around the circumference
of a circle traveling like radii to the cen-
ter, yet they all converge at the summit
or the center, confirming the true pur-
pose of sapiential existence—union with
the Self or the Divine.
This “summit,” which is transcendent,
is analogous to the “center” that is
immanent, described in the text as it
pertains to prayer beads “…the very
act of pausing on a bead brings you
back to the centre of where you are
and who you are.” Both the book and
the DVD are filled with beautiful and
contemplative imagery depicting the
diverse ways that prayer beads are
employed by spiritual practitioners of
all traditions. The comparative approach
of both mediums assists the reader in
understanding each tradition via the
wisdom found in the other.
The book begins with “The Universal
Rosary” and then continues to explore
the different uses of prayer beads through
the world religions: “Catholic Rosaries,”
“Orthodox Rosaries,” “The Jewish
Tefillin.” “Hindu Malas,” “Buddhist
Malas.” “The Muslim Tasbih,” “Native
American Beads.” And “Amulets and
Meditation.”

SPRING 2009 | 117

 Prayer beads known as rosaries have
been integral to the act of prayer within
the Christian West or the Roman Catholic
Church since the Middle Ages. Some
possible origins of the Catholic rosary,
from the Latin rosarium or “rose gar-
den,” date back to the twelfth century
during the Holy Crusades or in Moorish
Spain and stem from Islamic uses of
prayer beads. Another origin is thought
to be connected to St. Dominic. who
received the Holy Rosary from the
Blessed Virgin Mary, as affirmed by Pope
Leo XIII. It was during the sixteenth
century that rosaries took their current
form that they are known today by. The
rosary allows the practitioner to pray
throughout the day no matter what
activity is being engaged in, thus creating
a divine precinct within the heart. St.
Augustine writes, “Do thou all within.
And if perchance thou seekest some
high place, some holy place, make thee
a temple for God within.” The text
also explains the recitation of Hail Mary
(Latin: Ave Maria), meditating on
the Mysteries of the Rosary, and other
key prayers.
The rosary within the Christian East
known as the Eastern Orthodox Church
is a woolen rope of knots that is used to
recite the Jesus Prayer or the Prayer of
the Heart. Quintessential to the Prayer
118 | PARABOLA
of the Heart is the command of St. Paul,
“Pray without ceasing” (I Thessalonians
5:17). The text also describes how to
enact the Jesus Prayer—“Lord Jesus
Christ, Son of God, have mercy on
me.”—which is continuously repeated
while integrating the breath and can also
incorporate prostrations that resemble
yogic postures or asanas. In the film,
one can observe a monk of Mount Athos
performing this practice of the Prayer of
the Heart.
The Jewish tradition uses prayer straps
known as the tefillin, rather than prayer
beads, which are worn on the head and
the arm. The tefillin contain passages
from the Torah that when worn on the
forehead and the arm closest to the heart
sublimate the desires of the heart, body,
and mind as mandated by King Solomon,
“Bind them upon thy fingers, write
them upon the table of thine heart”
(Proverbs 7:3). The text also explains
the methods of praying with the tefillin
in order to bind the words of God
to man.
In Hinduism (sanatana dharma)
prayer beads are known as malas, and
are used to repeat a mantra or Divine
names, which is a devotional practice
known as japa mala. The purpose of
repeating the Divine names is articulated
by Swami Ramdas, “Om tunes the entire
SPRING 2009 | 119
120 | PARABOLA
human being with the eternal music
of the Divine, bringing the soul in
direct contact with the in-dwelling
and all-pervading Reality.” The book
elucidates the spiritual method of japa
mala as used by three spiritual masters
of the Vedanta: Ramakrishna (1836–86),
Swami Ramdas (1884–1963), and
Ramana Maharshi (1879–1950). The
DVD takes one into the presence of
some of the great spiritual masters and
sannyasin of India, including the sounds
of that world.
The book describes how prayer beads
or malas and chanting are used by the
different schools of Buddhism known
as the three “vehicles” or yanas—
Theravada, Mahayana, Vajrayana. The
text provides details on how one of the
most widely used invocations is prac-
ticed: Om Mani Padme Hum—“O, thou
Jewel in the Lotus, Hail”—and how con-
stant repetition of this invocation offered
to the bodhisattva Avalokitesvara or
Chenrezig can release the practitioner
from the clenches of samsara—the cycles
of birth and death leading to liberation.
There is also an introduction to Jain
Malas at the end of the section. Some of
the exquisite footage in the DVD takes
us on a visit to Burma—to Pagan, a city
of temples, and to the great stupa of
Shwedagon Pagoda in Rangoon, and it
also invites the viewer to enter the world
of a Burmese Buddhist master, among
other sacred sites.
The Islamic tradition as well as Sufism,
its mystical expression, refers to prayer
beads as the tasbih, which is reaffirmed
in the prophetic traditions, “Repeat the
Tasbih a hundred times, and a thousand
virtues shall be recorded by God for you,
ten virtuous deeds for each repetition.”
In Sufism this process of remembrance
or dhikr allows the seeker of truth to
reside with God whenever and wherever
SPRING 2009 | 121

God is remembered. A common recita-
tion is: la ilaha il-Allah, “There is no
divinity but the Divinity,” illuminating
the quintessential Sufi doctrine of the
“Unity of Being” (wahdat al-wujud).
Found at the end of the section are use-
ful pointers for praying with the tasbih.
The DVD takes us into the world of
remembrance (dhikr), sound, and
imagery of some of the great Sufi saints
as well.
The uses of beads have a primordial
origin for the indigenous peoples of the
Americas. The Huichol Indians of
Mexico, the Ojibwin of Canada, and the
Iroquois of North America (Turtle
Island) use beads as a spiritual vocation,
which is similar to the use of the rosary.
Beading allows the artist to experience
the “heartbeat of creation” while simul-
taneously participating in the craft or
sacred art that connects the individual
122 | PARABOLA
with the spiritual realm. The various
forms of traditional prayer are described,
such as: the sweat lodge (Inipi), the
vision quest (Hanblecheyapi), and
the act of praying with the sacred pipe
(Chanupa).
The last section devoted to amulets
and meditation draws attention to the
ancient uses of beads not only as a form
of religious devotion, but as a way of
centering and quieting the mind to assist
with worldly concerns and dispel fear.
The film concludes with a demonstra-
tion showing step by step how to make a
rosary from rose petals by Brother Paul
Quenon, a monk from the Abbey of
Gethsemani in Trappist, Kentucky, who
was a novice under Thomas Merton.
We welcome BEADS OF FAITH as an addition
to other works dedicated to inter-religious
dialogue in order to better understand
the world’s religions in an age where
diverse traditions are asked to peacefully
coexist. It is through the “transcendent
unity of religions” that an authentic
understanding and mutual respect for
different spiritual traditions can take
place, which this book acknowledges.
Samuel Bendeck Sotillos received an M.A.
in Integrative Education from Norwich
University and an M.A. in Transpersonal
Psychology from the Institute of Transpersonal
Psychology. He has gained extensive train-
ing in both transpersonal and humanistic
approaches in psychology. He has travelled
throughout the world to visit sacred sites,
and had contact with noted spiritual
authorities. He currently works as a men-
tal health clinician in California.
SPRING 2009 | 123
 ACEDIA & ME: A Marriage, Monks, and A
Writer’s Life
BY KATHLEEN NORRIS. RIVERHEAD (WWW.RIVERHEAD-
BOOKS.COM), 2008. PP. 334. $25.95
REVIEWED BY BILL WILLIAMS
Kathleen Norris has spent much of her
life coping with acedia, an ill-defined
malaise distinguished from clinical
depression. In this new memoir, she
attempts, with only partial success, to
pin down a condition that has bedeviled
philosophers, writers, and theologians
who have long debated whether it is a
sin or a sickness. Norris leans toward sin
as an explanation.
Acedia has been equated with sloth,
apathy, boredom, torpor, mental confu-
sion, melancholy, ennui, and spiritual
emptiness, yet these words fail to capture
its full meaning. The condition, Norris
writes, can lead to a “complete loss of
hope and capacity for trust in God.”
Critics have lauded Norris for her pre-
vious bestselling memoirs such as THE
CLOISTER WALK . In this new book, she strug-
gles to understand acedia’s impact on her
marriage, spiritual journey, and writing
life—a tricky assignment because the
concept of acedia, which was popular
among monks centuries ago, hardly reg-
isters in public awareness today.
Norris conceived this book twenty
years ago, and in the course of her
research she seems to have digested the
wisdom of scores of writers, from
Thomas Aquinas to modern novelists,
who have offered opinions about acedia.
She even includes a forty-three-page
appendix of quotes from writers on the
subject. But in citing so many sources,
she risks leaving readers more confused
than informed.
At times her prose sings, as when she
124 | PARABOLA
describes her spiritual and writing highs
and lows by noting, “I can often ride
out the periods of drought that follow
a drenching rain of creativity and pur-
pose.” Or in describing an episode of
intense anxiety, “One day during my
lunchtime reverie, a thought slithered
into my Eden, pulling a string of
thoughts, each one worse than the
one before.”
But her writing can also be confusing,
repetitious and overblown. She sees
modern life as “increasingly unstable,
marked by a lack of constancy and trust.”
The statement is vague enough to be
meaningless.
She calls acedia “a primary characteris-
tic of our time.” She even finds evidence
of acedia “when we prefer buying things
to witnessing the beauty of nature.”
Meaning, one presumes, that if we go
to the mall rather than the woods, we’re
suffering from acedia—which sounds like
a stretch.
Perhaps the most affecting parts of the
book involve the author’s intimate bond
with her husband, David Dwyer, who
struggled with alcohol abuse, depression,
and low self-esteem before he died of
cancer and pneumonia at age fifty-seven.
Norris and Dwyer each were poets who
honed their craft while living in a remote
area of South Dakota. Norris poignantly
conveys her deep love for David and her
intense pain at losing him. During his
hospitalization she read aloud poetry
and one night slept on a windowsill in
his room.
“The grieving person undergoes a kind
of death,” she writes, “and on many days
my grief has readily attached itself to my
propensity to acedia, making me feel as if
I were barely living.”
In her thirties, Norris tried to reconcile
her vocation as a writer with “a life of
faith,” something she had been taught
could not be done. Friends cautioned
her about the “dangers of mixing reli-
gious faith with the poetic muse.” Yet
she found herself drawn to Christianity
and began visiting monasteries, where
she befriended monks and found solace
in their daily prayer routines. The Old
Testament psalms, in particular, spoke
to her.
Norris says the boundaries between
depression and acedia “are notoriously
fluid.” Depression is an illness treatable
by counseling and medication, while ace-
dia is “a vice…best countered by spiritual
practice and the discipline of prayer.” On
occasion, she has taken medications for
acedia, but “I have found them less help-
ful than my lifeline of prayers, psalms and
monastic spirituality.” She adds, “I have
learned that nothing will erase my sus-
ceptibility to acedia, for it is a part of
who I am.”
That conclusion likely will puzzle read-
ers because it comes after Norris has
spent much of the book saying acedia is
more sin than sickness, which would lead
people to conclude they have choice
whether to succumb to it.
Norris is a fine writer, and there is
much to like about ACEDIA & ME . But in the
end she fails to make a convincing case
that acedia is a serious affliction more
problematic than garden-variety malaise.
Bill Williams is a freelance writer and for-
mer religion book reviewer for the HARTFORD
[CONNECTICUT] COURANT . He is a member of the
National Book Critics Circle.
SPRING 2009 | 125
 CREDITS
COVER Ann Ronan Picture Library, London, Great Britain, photo © HIP, Art Resource, NY
P.6 © Stephen J Krasemann, www.krasemannart.com
P.6 © J D Challenger, www.jdchallenger.com.
P.12 “Malibu Creek Tree,” © M. A. Faugno 2008
P.15 “Malibu Creek Waterside,” © M. A. Faugno 2008
P.17 © Werner Forman, Art Resource, NY
P.20 Image courtesy of the author
P.23 From the collection of the Klau Library, Cincinnati, Hebrew Union College, Jewish Institute of
Religion
P.24 Israel Museum, Jerusalem, Israel, Photo © Erich Lessing, Art Resource, NY
P.28 © Yevgenia Nayberg, www.nayberg.org
PP.30, 31 Wipkipedia.org
P.32 British Museum, London, Great Britain © Erich Lessing, Art Resource, NY
PP.34, 36 Photograph of Sierra Leone fabric by Renee Shedivy, fabric artist, www.reneeshedivy.com
P.39 Fresco, Poggi Palazzo, Bologna, Italy, © Scala, Art Resource, NY
P.45, 47, 48 © Rebecca Carter, 2008
P.53, 57 Illustrated Bible by Gustave Doré, www.creationism.org/images
P.60, 65 © Yevgenia Nayberg, www.nayberg.org
P.67 © Barbara Paxson, 2008
P.69, 72 © www.chinaposters.com
PP.76, 79 © Aboriginal Artists Agency Limited. Jennifer Steele, Art Resource, NY
PP.82, 85 Drawings by Rev. Fa Lian Shakya, Greece Courtesy of artist and Chuan Zhi, The Zen
Buddhist Order of Hsu Yun, www.hsuyun.org
PP.86 Painted clay, collection of Penjor Dorji, Bhutan © Erich Lessing, Art Resource, NY
P.88 From The Holy Bible, New King James Version. Copyright © 1984 by Thomas Nelson, Inc.,
Nashville, Tennessee. Reprinted by permission.
P.89 From The Knot Book (p. 267, Figure 10.4) by C. C. Adams. Originally published by W. H.
Freeman and Company. Copyright © 1994, 2001 and reprinted with corrections in 2004 by the
American Mathematical Society, Providence, Rhode Island. Reprinted by permission.
PP.93, 94, 101, 102 Images courtesy of the author
P.104 The Paradise of Cyamatara, Green Tara, thanka, nineteenth century Rubin Museum,
www.wikapedia.org
P.106 Green Tara (sGrol ma), the deity of compassion, born from the tears of Avalokiteshvara who
cries over the sins of mankind. Penjor Dorji collection, Bhutan Photo: Michel Urtado, Musée des
Arts Asiatiques-Guimet, Paris, France © Réunion des Musées Nationaux, Art Resource, NY
P.126 Hopetoun Falls, Wikimedia.org
P.128 Wikimedia.org

126 | PARABOLA
 PROFILES
ISHMAEL BEAH was born in Sierra Leone, West Africa. He is the author of A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of A
Child Soldier. A UNICEF Youth Ambassador, he is the adopted son of storyteller Laura Simms.

BARBARA HELEN BERGER is an artist and author who has been a student of Tibetan Buddhism for many
years. The influence of Tibetan art is evident in her picture book for children, All the Way to Lhasa: A
Tale from Tibet. Currently she is exploring Lady Wisdom through stories from both East and West.
Her work has appeared previously in Parabola.

BARBARA BLUESTONE has translated numerous scholarly and popular works from Danish into English and
worked as editor and children’s publishing executive. She lives in New York and is writing her second
novel.

TRACY COCHRAN is editor-at-large at Parabola.

GEOFFREY DENNIS is a congregational rabbi and university teacher. He is the author of The Encyclopedia of
Jewish Myth, Magic, and Mysticism.

JEAN HOUSTON is a leading figure in the cross-cultural study of spirituality and ritual processes, and a
founder of the Human Potential Movement. Among her many books are The Possible Human and The
Search for the Beloved. Since 2003 she has been working with the United Nations Development
Program, training leaders in developing countries throughout the world in the new field of social
artistry.

RICHARD JAGACINSKI is a professor in the Department of Psychology, Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio.
PATRICK LAUDE is a professor at Georgetown University. His latest book,Unveiling and Inner Islam:
Massignon, Corbin, Guénon and Schuon, is forthcoming in 2009 with the State University of New York
Press.

MARGO MCLOUGHLIN is Epicycles Editor at Parabola.

JIM POULTER, married with four children, is a social worker who still lives in the local area of Australia
where his forebears settled in 1840 and established friendly relationships with local Aboriginal people.
This friendship has persisted through the generations and Jim has had privy to indigenous cultural
knowledge that few white people have ever achieved. His Aboriginal theme books have accordingly
been strongly endorsed by tribal elders.

DORJI PENJORE is a researcher at the Centre for Bhutan Studies and author of several scholarly articles on
the folklore of Bhutan. He has compiled and edited two volumes of Bhutanese folktales.

STEPHAN A. SCHWARTZ is a Research Associate of the Cognitive Sciences Laboratory of the Laboratories for
Fundamental Research, and a contributing editor and columnist for the peer-reviewed journal Explore.
He is a founder and former president of the Society for the Anthropology of Consciousness of the
American Anthropological Association, and for thirty-five years has been a researcher both ethno-his-
torically and experimentally doing studies on the nature of consciousness. His latest book is Opening to
the Infinite.

THOMAS K. SHOR is a writer and photographer and the author of Windblown Clouds. Born in Boston and
educated in Vermont, he lives in the Himalayas where he collects and writes stories, some of which—
along with his photographs—can be found at www.ThomasShor.com.

LAURA SIMMS, storyteller, writer, and activist, performs and teaches throughout the world. Her next
book will be Under the Currant Leaves: Essays on Storytelling, due out in 2009 from Codhill Press. She
is the codirector of the Life Force Project, using storytelling for healing for women and children affect-
ed by war. For more information, please see www.laurasimms.com.

CHRISTIAN WERTENBAKER, M. D., a senior editor at Parabola, is a neuro-opthalmologist and a musician.

His interest in the nature of human consciousness and its role in the universe led him to study both the
spiritual traditions and the sciences, particularly neuroscience, via formal training in neurophysiology,
neurology, and neuro-opthalmology.

DIANE WOLKSTEIN, storyteller, writer, and teacher, is the author of twenty-three books and the subject of
the recent DVD A Storyteller’s Story. For more information, please visit www.dianewolkstein.com.

WINTER 2008 | 127

 ENDPOINT

DEVOTIONAL POSTER, INDIA, C. 1925–1935. SRI DURGA AS MAHISHASURA MARDINI (SLAYER OF

THE BUFFALO DEMON), FLANKED BY LAKSHMI AND SARASWATI, AND (HER SONS) GANAPATI/
GANESH AND KARTIKKEYA/SKANDA, WITH SHIVA AND THE TEN MAHAVIDYAS OVERHEAD.

Hinduism is an imaginative, an “image-making,” religious tradition in which

the sacred is seen as present in the visible world—the world we see in multiple
images and deities, in sacred places, and in people…. For most ordinary Hindus,
the idea of the divine as “invisible” would be foreign indeed.
DIANA L. ECK, DARSAN

Imagination is the Divine Body in Every Man.

WILLIAM BLAKE