Geof Nanto

I like and use these centering techniques too. However, in retrospect, it's also been important for me to explore life at its extremes to find my personal upper and lower limits. I say 'in retrospect' because I never set out to do so. I found and exceeded my lower limit decades ago with heroin addiction; and more recently I found and exceeded my upper limit with a failed attempt at energy healing a person near and dear to me who suffers a serious chronic illness. The attempt ended badly for both of us. Both these experiences were emotionally painful to say the least. However, they've both, in very different ways, formed the basis of the two greatest learning experiences of my life. Now, many years on, I've found a measure of contentment such as I've never experienced before, though when it comes to this great mystery we call life, I'm still very much a beginner. BTW While I think finding personal upper and lower limits can be beneficial for anyone, I certainly don't recommend exceeding them like I have done. I've also found exploring desire to be useful, in fact that's the method I've used to gain insight into its nature. However that's a subject for another time.

Yes, that's a good observation. Macrobiotics has gained a bad reputation due to extreme adherents. What tends to happen is that people are so impressed by the health results of a specific (sometimes extreme) diet designed to redress chronic imbalance that they're reluctant to drop it once the imbalance has been rectified. Hence they create a new imbalance in the opposite direction. For everyone, over the longer term a suitable balanced diet must be found that suits the individual constitution, lifestyle etc..

This response seems a tad extreme to me, but everyone has their own truth. Personally, I don't ascribe to any particular dietary system. I eat what suits me. However, I have studied in the past under a teacher versed in Macrobiotics and seen first hand the excellent results he achieved in helping people overcome chronic illness. But yes, people do become obsessive about diet.

The Five-Element Theory The five stages of transformation of energy also reflect the energy functions related to two major cycles & twelve meridians as well as our senses, environment, food, organs and so on. The Five Elements: • Fire corresponds with expansive energy, sadness and joy, the heart and small intestine, and bitter foods such as green kale. • Earth corresponds with downward energy, worry and fulfillment, the spleen and stomach, and sweet foods such as squash. • Metal corresponds with contracted energy, grief and hope, the lungs and large intestine, and pungent foods such as garlic. • Water corresponds with floating energy, fear and will, the kidney and bladder, and salty foods such as seaweed. • Tree corresponds with upward energy, anger and kindness, the liver and gall bladder, and sour foods such as lemons. Because each element nourishes a specific part of the body, if you experience problems in a particular area (e.g., the stomach), you must consume more foods of the corresponding element (in this case, earth foods) in order to restore balance and health. Example of Five Macrobiotic Food Tastes and Flavours Sour: sauerkraut, pickles, brown rice vinegar, umeboshi plums, shiso leaves, lemon rinds, or lime rinds. Bitter: gomashio, tekka, green nori, parsley, wakame powder, dandelion, or walnuts; Sweet: miso, applesauce, barley malt, brown rice syrup, mirin, or raisins. Pungent: scallions, watercress, onions, chives, grated daikon, gingerroot, garlic, mustard, or horseradish. Salty: gomashio, shio kombu, wakame powder, umeboshi plums or paste, miso, or shoyu (From http://www.macrobiotics.co.uk/five.htm)

Here is some basic food theory from a Macrobiotic perspective....... Food is a fundamental link between us and our living environment, and hence the cosmos. It not only provides us with gross energy and substances for our structure but also nourishes the more subtle plains of our existence with its Qi. Modern nutrition equates nourishment solely with a food's vitamins, minerals and kilojoules; there is no notion of Qi. For this we pay dearly in terms of our health. We are lead to believe that processed packaged food is of similar nutritional value to fresh wholefoods providing the same quantities of chemicals are present. But food lives and contains life-force. Plant a grain of rice and it will grow, it is a storehouse of life. The more a food is processed and refined the further it is from whole life Qi. The energy of refined food supports only limited aspects of life and skews our behaviour accordingly. Everyone acknowledges that the over consumption of heavily refined substances such as alcohol and drugs lead us out of the stream of life, but few appreciate the more subtle and gradual long term effects of ordinary food stuffs. Natural wholefoods nourish a more whole experience of life because their Qi is a microcosm of universal Qi. In the Orient the use of herbs, acupuncture, homoeopathic preparations, and related techniques was not the first or main way used to treat illness. Daily diet was always considered to be the basis of good health. Zen Shiatsu practitioners understand this and use food as medicine based on what has become known as macrobiotics but perhaps it is best understood as traditional food. Most traditional diets are macrobiotic because they comprise locally grown natural foods centred around whole grains and vegetables. We all have the ability within us to know exactly what to eat. Developing it helps all aspects of our lives by grounding us in our intuition. Here are some macrobiotic guide-lines. Most importantly eat by taste and chew well. Try chewing each mouthful at least 20 times and mix food with saliva. This connects you with what you're eating, and commences and strengthens the digestive process. With diet it is best to proceed gradually by eating what you feel like and experiencing the effects. Instead of thinking about food in terms of vitamins and calories try to feel its life force (Qi). For example, root vegetables mission in life is to develop by growing downward into the earth. They have downward grounding Qi and are hard and compact. Eating root vegetables helps us feel more grounded. Fruits, on the other hand, tend to be soft and fleshy. They grow in the air and expand and ripen in the sun. Thus they have light upwards expansive Qi. They are great to balance the effects of highly contracted foods such as meat and cheese but tend to cause Qi to rise in the body and fuel excessive mental activity. Their expanded Qi can also weaken the digestive system. Diet is about balance. Foods are not "good" or "bad" in themselves but rather appropriate or inappropriate for your condition. There is no such thing as universal miracle foods. The perfect food for you may be like poison for someone else. As your life-style moves more in harmony with the cosmos your diet will probably naturally centre on whole grains or whole grain products (complex carbohydrates in chemical jargon). Note the range and balance in your diet. If one food type or cooking style predominates then your being will reflect its Qi. Now determine whether your current underlying Qi is expanded (yin), or contracted (yang). Over contraction is characterised by tension, and over expansion by fatigue. Our normal foods and cooking styles contribute to this. As a general guide people on meat based diets are prone to becoming overly contracted, and long term vegetarians (especially vegans) tend toward over expanded Qi states. Expansive foods feed mental, emotional and spiritual activity by promoting relaxation and openness. Typical examples of are sugar, honey, spices, butter, oil, fruit, tofu, upward growing vegetables like leafy greens, and raw foods. However extremely expansive foods such as sugar, chocolate, alcohol, and tropical fruit weaken the digestion and can result in symptoms such as bloating, candida, depression, emotional over-dependence and fatigue. (Over-eating also creates expansion.) Contracted foods fuel physical activity and purposefulness by supporting focus and healthy tension. Examples are meat, whole grains, sourdough bread, vegetables that grow downwards, miso and sea salt. But too much salt, meat, cheese or eggs result in a stiff, tense mind and body, with limited flexibility in both movement and temperament. Cooking styles are also very relevant. Baked and slow simmered food is more contracted, steamed is more expanded, and stir fried is in between. (Microwave, frozen and juiced are the most expansive.) The body has a natural urge for balance so foods of one extreme will create craving for the opposite extreme. For example, if you eat lots of meat you will probably crave sugar and alcohol. (If not your lifestyle may be very aggressive.) However a steady diet of extreme foods is stressful and can lead to serious illness. Healthy balanced diets, on the other hand, are based on more centred foods, namely whole grains with some vegetables and smaller amounts of legumes. If you eat no animal products then cooking with sea salt is essential to maintain balance because it creates contraction and provides essential minerals. To practice perceiving the world in terms of its Qi, there's no better way to start than with your food. Touch it, feel its energy, and cook it with love because it becomes a part of you and you become a bit like it. With food and all life experience, have what you feel like without guilt and note the results, but allow time for chewing and digestion. When experience is digested intuition grows to wisdom and life becomes a pleasure. Enjoy it! Summer Cooking Styles. Summer is a time of joy, creativity and lightness so use more expansive cooking methods to help harmonise with the season. Centre your meals on whole grains such as long grain brown rice, hulled millet, corn, or good quality whole grain noodles. Steam, stir-fry or quick boil vegetables and leafy greens, or make salads. Enhance your cooking with fresh ginger, vinegar, lemon, fresh herbs, and use less sea salt. Serve food warm or at room temperature. Winter Cooking Styles. During winter try more contractive cooking methods for warmth, comfort and strength. Bake, pressure-cook, or slow simmer foods and serve them hot. Eat lots of genuine sour-dough bread and short grain brown rice. Choose more hearty compact vegetables and downward growing roots. Eat more beans, especially chick peas, adzuki beans, black soy beans and buckwheat. Add more sea salt, miso or tamari, and use less herbs and spices. If you are a person with more contracted Qi (tension) tend towards more expansive cooking methods all year round, but more so in summer. Conversely for people with more expanded Qi (fatigue).

As VonKrankenhaus states, this classification comes from Macrobiotics and he gives an excellent overview of the subject. I'll be interested to read your more detailed post.

Yes, too many teachings can be a real challenge / obstacle. Here's an image of a hapless spiritual seeker adrift in the straits of 1000 lighthouses........ (Excessive browsing of this forum has a similar effect on me.)

I'm very familiar with this usage from years of attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings when I was much younger and recovering from heroin addiction. So, although it changes the context above into something somewhat more favourable, my fundamental reservations still remain. Edit: If this thread was started in the Buddhist section, I would never question it. However, as it's under Daoist discussion I think it's relevant to critique it from a Daoist perspective.

Despite, or perhaps because of living in Zen centres in years long gone by, I confess to some significant aversion to these words from Zen masters. Where my aversion comes from I'm not sure, because my time in these places was friendly and productive. I suspect I rebel against the certainty of their words; words that to me sound clever but really say nothing at all. As an example, what does this mean in practice? "Thus the body-mind after all does not exist; we are fundamentally free from skin, flesh, bones, and marrow. Therefore his disease disappeared and his original mind appeared." Is he saying embodied life is a disease? I prefer the Daoist emphasis on embodiment and affirmation that every experience has its reality. It all exists - existence has multiple levels, multiple perspectives - or the word 'existence' has no meaning. I know others find these words inspiring, and I’m not writing to offend or oppose; I’m simply presenting my personal perspective. I suspect that all these teachings from different traditions are like medicines to redress specific personal imbalances, and these words are obviously not the right medicine for me. Hence they are only of relative truth; they have relevance only as a counterbalance to opposing tendencies within a practitioner. Yet the teachers preach them as if they are absolute truths, and I suspect that's what I rebel against. Personally, I’m much more comfortable with the open ended ramblings of someone like Zhuang Zhou. For him, all our so called 'truths' are only relative. And I'm even more comfortable alone in environments where the de of the natural environment is strong, and the teachings are silent. Yet I like words and ideas too; it's all real and necessary for me.

Also phrased as "The Way is without beginning, without end; without past, without future". I like this too...."The Dao in an infinite sphere of which the center is everywhere and the circumference is nowhere." However, without 'two' can consciousness exist? We find ourselves on different sides Of a line nobody drew Though it all may be one in the higher eye Down here where we live it is two (Leonard Cohen)

One can connect the classical Daoist notions of ziran and pu to other terms related to one's core being. In some classical Daoist texts, the view that one's own being is the Dao becomes expressed through the use of the terms "innate nature" (xing) and "life-destiny" (ming), with the latter also translated as "fate." In a classical sense, these terms are often employed synonymously, as a kind of endowed capacity or ontological givenness. This stands in contrast to their more nuanced and technical use in the later tradition, especially in internal alchemy lineages, wherein xing is associated the heart-mind, spirit as well as divine capacities, while ming is associated with the kidneys, vital essence as well as foundational vitality and corporeality. For members of the classical inner cultivation lineages, xing and ming designate the ground of one's being, the Dao manifesting in/as/through one's own embodied existence. On some level, they are "fate" in the sense of one's innate and personal capacities, and what one must do in order to have meaning, purpose, and fulfillment. On another level, they must be actualized or expressed as embodied being in the world. They are both given and actualized. From The Daoist Tradition, Louis Kompathy

Is the conventional interpretation of the Zhuang Zhou’s Butterfly Dream really a misinterpretation? Hans-Georg Moeller certainly thinks so……… THE DREAM OF THE BUTTERFLY—OR: EVERYTHING IS REAL Herbert A. Giles's translation of the famous allegory of the but­terfly dream in the Zhuangzi is beautiful, but unfortunately, as I believe, entirely wrong: Once upon a time, I, Zhuangzi, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was con­scious only of following my fancies as a butterfly, and was unconscious of my individuality as a man. Suddenly, I awaked, and there I lay, myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dream­ing I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a barrier. The transition is called Metempsychosis. I quote this translation because of its great influence on the Western perception of Daoist philosophy, especially among Western intellectuals and philoso­phers. Giles's translation of the Zhuangzi and, in particular, his rendering of this allegory is representative of the general under­standing of Daoist philosophy in his generation while, on the other hand, it quite obviously contradicts a traditional interpretation of the text in China. Giles's translation of the butterfly dream has little to do with the original. It is rather an interesting transformation of the text into the patterns of "standard" Western philosophy. Perhaps the butterfly allegory became so popular in the West just because of this "Westernization." When one first reads Giles's version, it surely sounds very Chinese—if only because of the Chinese names and the quite "oriental" butterfly. But upon taking a closer look, it turns out to be an exotic disguise of thoroughly Western ideas. Giles's translation can be compared to the food of many Chinese restaurants in Western countries: it looks Chinese, but the cook has, nevertheless, made it wonderfully palatable to eaters accus­tomed to the local tastes. Giles's version is based on Zhuangzi's recollection of his dream after he wakes up. Philosophically speaking, the story revolves around a central act of consciousness. Once the philosopher wakes, he remembers his dream of the butterfly, and once he starts remembering this dream, he begins to doubt and reflect on his being and on the problems of truth and appearance. In Giles's rendering, Zhuangzi gains an insight into the continuity of the soul within the chain of existence: he understands that he is part of the great cycle of Metempsychosis or the transmigration of the soul. The act of remembering is at the core of this philosoph­ical realization of the truth. It seems to be the point of departure on the path towards the discovery of the truth about the world and one's soul. Giles's butterfly dream story is an interesting blend of motifs from the Western philosophical tradition. It bears a certain resem­blance to the final book of Plato's Republic in which Socrates tells the myth of Er, a person who was allowed to visit the underworld. In the underworld, Er witnessed what happens to the souls there: after their lives on earth, they are judged and sent either to a heaven or to a hell. Having spent a certain amount of time in the underworld, the souls return to earth after choosing a new body for their next life. Before the souls re-enter the world, they have to cross the plains of Lethe—or: Forgetfulness. By this crossing, they lose all their memory of the underworld and go on to live without knowledge of the metempsychosis they have undergone. According to this story, it is only through the act of remembrance—through mentally reaching back before the plains of forgetfulness—that human beings can actually realize their true being and fate: the transmigration of souls. Since Plato, remembrance has been a central motif within Western conceptions of wisdom and knowledge, of thinking and of truth. In Plato's Meno, Socrates tries to prove that all knowledge comes from memory by conducting an "experiment" with an une­ducated slave: Just by asking the slave simple yes-or-no questions, Socrates helps him "discover" some basic geometrical rules. He concludes that the slave already had an innate geometrical knowl­edge and only needed some help to actually remember it. In mod­ern philosophy, G. W. F. Hegel depicted recollection as the way that leads to absolute knowledge in the course of his Phenomenology of Spirit. Old-European philosophers indeed often "thought back" to find the truth. In a similar way, Herbert A. Giles's Zhuangzi has to think back and re-member his dream in order to have the re-flection which leads him to re-cognize what is true and what only seems to be. A second core motif of Giles's butterfly dream story deeply rooted in the Western philosophical tradition is expressed by the most often used term in his translation: I. This I and the related question of what this I truly is make up the philosophical thread that runs through the story. Zhuangzi tells a story about himself, he tells how his I in his dream is the I of a butterfly. Then he awakes and Zhuangzi is, as he says, " myself again. " This very I then starts thinking—and what does it think about? About itself and about what it is! Giles's text is from beginning to end about the I and its reflection on its own being. It is an ironic fact, I believe, that in the history of Western philosophy, there are few texts that treat so exclusively and comprehensively the issue of human sub­jectivity! A third core motif of Giles's butterfly dream story is doubt. As soon as Zhuangzi remembers his dream, he begins doubting. And again, these doubts are rather existential since they are in regard to his inner self. Did Zhuangzi dream about being a butterfly or is he now a butterfly dreaming he is Zhuangzi? The motif of philo­sophical doubt is of great importance within the history of Western philosophy. Although Rene Descartes' famous Meditations are usually summarized by the "motto" cogito ergo sum or "I think, therefore I am," one might as well use the motto "I doubt, there­fore I am." At least after Descartes, Western philosophers are often seen as experts in doubting, as depicted in Auguste Rodin's sculp­ture The Thinker. The tradition of Western philosophy has com­bined these three motifs—remembrance, the being of the "I," and doubt—in various ways. One could very well write a history of (modern) Western philosophy by following the development of these notions. In Giles's translation, Zhuangzi appears to be a par­adigmatic Western philosopher in an ancient Chinese robe! A fourth Old-European motif which appears in Giles's butter­fly dream comes into play at the end of the story: the motif of the transition of a barrier or transcendence. Once Zhuangzi has real­ized that there is a border between man and butterfly, he also real­izes that he himself as a philosopher can have knowledge of this border and thus that he can philosophically go beyond it. Zhuangzi, by his reflection, can overstep the border between dreaming and being awake, between appearance and truth. This motif alludes to the Western—and especially Judaeo-Christian - distinction between immanence and transcendence. A “meditating” philosopher in the West can mentally reach beyond the barriers of worldly immanence and merely apparent reality. In this way, he or she can move to the higher realm of an infinite, divine, and true world, just like the freed prisoner in Plato's alle­gory of the cave. A fifth Old-European motif in Giles's butterfly dream is closely connected to the previous one—it is the motif of the unreality or at least the relativity of the world of experience. From the perspec­tive of the "awakened" philosopher, Zhuangzi sees through the unreality of his dreams. What he believed to be true while he was asleep, his then this-worldly and temporally limited existence as a butterfly, is finally unmasked as mere appearance, as a realm of only partial reality. Once the barrier is overcome, then what only seemed to be true is seen as it is. The awakened philosopher looks down on his earlier "unenlightened" experience. Only his mental reflection can elevate him to the realm of truth and free himself from the illusions of dreamlike sensual and temporal experience. In Giles's version, Zhuangzi seems to live through the process of a philosophical transition from the dreamlike phenomenal world to the enlightened realm of the noumenal. The most wonderful transformation of the butterfly dream is, in my view, not the one of Zhuangzi in the story, but rather those performed by Herbert A. Giles. Giles's rendering keeps the ori­ental surface of the story alive, but completely converts the philo­sophical content into motifs of the Western philosophical tradition. Giles's magical transformation of the story has been overlooked by many of its Western readers who do not have access to the original texts. If one, however, takes a look at what the text literally says (or rather at what it does not say), and at how its ancient Chinese editor Guo Xiang (252-312) explains its mean­ing, one will see no evidence of the five motifs discussed above. In the Chinese original, the decisive turning point of the story is not remembering but forgetting. And this forgetting also includes the I and its being—it turns out that there is literally no I and no being in the story. Where Giles introduced doubts in the story, there is doubtlessness in the original, and where he advises the philosopher to transcend barriers, the original advises one to accept borders. Finally, while Giles's story seems to indicate the rel­ativity of the dream world of temporal phenomena, the original text highlights the equivalent reality of all experience. If one reads the butterfly dream story along with Guo Xiang's commentary, one sees the text in a Daoist light. The Crucial difference between the plot of this allegory in Giles's translation and in Guo Xiang's edition is Zhuangzl's reac­tion when he awakes from his dream. While Giles implies that Zhuangzi remembers his dream, no such remembrance is men­tioned in the text, and Guo Xiang's commentary makes it perfectly clear that Zhuangzi does not remember the dream—he has, rather, completely forgotten it. Once Zhuangzi—or as he is called in the story: Zhuang Zhou—awakes, Guo Xiang inserts the following commentary: Now Zhuang Zhou is just as ignorant about the butterfly as the but­terfly was ignorant about Zhuang Zhou during the dream. When Zhuang Zhou awakes, he is as unaware of his earlier dream existence as the butterfly in the dream was unaware of Zhuang Zhou's earlier waking existence. Since the plot is completely dif­ferent, the story has to be read in another manner. This being so, I present my own translation based on the Chinese original and Guo Xiang's commentary: Once Zhuang Zhou dreamt—and then he was a butterfly, a fluttering butterfly, self-content and in accord with its intentions. The butterfly did not know about Zhou. Suddenly it awoke—and then it was fully and completely Zhou. One does not know whether there is a Zhou becoming a butterfly in a dream or whether there is a butterfly becoming a Zhou in a dream. There is a Zhou and there is a butter­fly, so there is necessarily a distinction between them. This is called: the changing of things. As opposed to Giles's translation, the original is based upon the mutual ignorance of Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly. The text indicates that because of this mutual ignorance, because of the for­getting of previous dreams while being awake and because of the forgetting of previous periods of being awake while dreaming, there are no grounds for devaluating one phase of existence. Both phases are equally authentic or real because each does not remem­ber the other. Because the butterfly does not know about Zhou, it is "self-content." Because Zhou does not remember his dream he is "fully and completely Zhou"—and without any doubts! Since Zhou and the butterfly do not remember each other, because the barrier between them is not crossed, the change between them is seamless, spontaneous, and natural! The harmonious "changing of things" is dependent upon the acceptance of the distinction and not on its transcendence. In the original version of the text the core philosophical motif of the allegory is not remembering but forgetting. Zhuang Zhou's "state of consciousness" is not one of reflection or theoretical rea­soning, but rather one of a man who has been emptied of mental reflection. It is quite noteworthy that the word that most frequently occurs in Giles's rendering—the "I," which is used ten times in those few lines, without counting words like "my" and "myself'— does not appear in the original! With this "I," Giles has Zhuang Zhou narrate the story—which is simply wrong, because it is not told from this perspective. Moreover, the "I" becomes, against tex­tual evidence, the necessary subject of the act of remembrance. In Giles's story Zhuang Zhou becomes "myself again"—there is nothing like this in the Chinese text. While Zhuang Zhou emerges as the "subject" of change in Giles's version—he is first a man, then a butterfly, and then once more a man, there is no continuous subject mentioned in the text. The original text rather implies that instead of an "I" and its "indi­viduality," which undergo change (another invention by Giles), there is a kind of "autonomy" for both the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou. There is, strictly speaking, no substantial "I" that is first awake, then asleep, and then awake again. It is exactly because there is no such single, individual—which literally means in-divis­ible—I connecting them that both the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou can each be so fully real. They are real because they are divisible, not because they are in-divisible! During the dream, the butterfly is fully the butterfly, and when awake, Zhuang Zhou is fully Zhou. In the original text the change is complete: In one's dream one turns into another full reality and thus one is no longer what one was before. One is no longer "oneself' when change takes place. Change turns one I into another. While in Giles's story there is one I that takes on different bodies (like the soul in the course of metempsychosis), there are three phases in the original text, first Zhuang Zhou awake, then the butterfly in the dream, and then, strictly speaking, another Zhuang Zhou after the dream. There is no continuous I that acts as a bridge between these three phases. This is the reason that all three stages can be equally real. The third motif in Giles's story, the moment of, doubt, also has no equivalent in the Chinese text. Since Zhuang Zhou does not remember his dream, he is totally ignorant about the existence of the butterfly, and so has no reason to doubt his existence. Once awake, Zhuang Zhou is, as the text says, "fully and completely" Zhuang Zhou and does not seem to doubt this fact by asking him­self strange philosophical questions. He is not "thinking back," but rather as solidly assured of himself as the butterfly was of itself in the dream. Unlike Giles's version ("Now I do not know whether . . ."), there is no question raised by Zhuang Zhou in the original. In its place the conclusion is made by a "neutral" observer: Given the fact that the butterfly during the dream is as assured of its existence as Zhuang Zhou is of his reality when he is awake, there is no hierarchy of reality for an external observer. There is a reality to the perspective of each phase, so the neutral perspective cannot say that one phase is more authentic than another or that the butterfly is merely a dream. This being so, there can be no doubt that both phases, dreaming and being awake, are in-differently valid. Both phases are indifferent to each other and thus are not differently real. Both phases prove each other's real­ity. In the Chinese text the reader is left with no doubt about this. The fourth motif in Giles's story finds its reverse in the original Chinese text. Here, it is not the crossing of boundaries that gives rise to "true" reality, but rather the affirmation and acceptance of them. Only if the one who is awake does not "think back" to his or her dreams and only if the dreamer does not "think back" to what he or she was when awake, can they both be "fully real." If, in a dream, one knew that it was a dream, one's dream would no longer be experienced as real. There is no word for "transition" in the Chinese text at all! It is an addition by the translator, just as the ten "I"s are! The reality of both states are dependent on not trans­gressing the borders of their segments of existence. Just as one is no longer really asleep when one realizes that one is dreaming, one is no longer really awake when one starts "living in a dream world." If one revitalizes earlier phases, for instance by way of rec­ollection, one cannot but give up one's presence, which diminishes the fullness of the "here and now." Total presence and the authen­ticity of the here and now is necessarily based on the nonviolation of "natural" barriers. Transitions of these barriers will not bring about a higher reality but, on the contrary, take away from reality. As the text says, the changing of things goes along necessarily with distinctions. The Chinese character for "distinction" contains as its main semantic element the character for "knife." Clear-cut distinc­tions and divisibility guarantee well-proportioned change. It is dangerous to disregard them. In his commentary, Guo Xiang interprets the butterfly story as an allegory about life and death. Guo Xiang explains that just as one should not see dreaming as less real than being awake, one should not see death as less real than life. According to Guo Xiang, life and death are two equally valid phases of being or segments of change. This being so, one should not be anxious about death. If one just lives while being alive without worrying about death, then one can be as "fully and completely" alive as Zhuang Zhou was awake when he did not worry about his dreams. Likewise, when dead, one will not remember life, and therefore the dead can be as self-content and pleased as the butterfly was during the dream. Guo Xiang writes: Well, the course of time does not stop for a moment, and today does not persist in what follows. Thus yesterday's dream changes into a today. How could it be different with the change between life and death!? Why should one let one's heart be made heavy by being moved back and forth between them? Being one, there is no knowl­edge of the other. Being a butterfly while dreaming is genuine. Relating this to human beings: when alive one does not know whether one may later actually have beautiful concubines. Only the stupid think they really know that life is something delightful and death is something to be sad about. That is what is called "never hav­ing heard of the changing of things." It seems that Herbert A. Giles had not "heard of the changing of things." In his version of the story the reader is left with the nonauthenticity of dreams and asked to be ready for a transition of the immanence of life and death. This is not what the ancient Daoist Guo Xiang believed. To him, life and death were equally genuine and no realm of experience was to be devaluated. This contradicts the fifth motif of Giles's version of the story. From a Daoist point of view, the change of something into its opposite is the condition for complete, seamless, and permanent change in general. It is decisive that there are no "bridges of rec­ollection" in this process connecting the phases of change so that each phase can be fully present. This concept of change is illus­trated quite drastically by another Daoist parable found in the Huainanzi. This story parallels the butterfly dream, and it goes like this: Once Duke Niuai was suffering from the illness of change. After seven days the change took place and he turned into a tiger. When his elder brother who looked after him came into his chamber to cover the corpse, the tiger caught the elder brother and killed him. A cultivated person had become a predator, claws and teeth transformed. Emotions and the heart had changed. Spirit and form had changed. The one who is now a tiger knows nothing about the one who earlier was a man. And the one who earlier was a man knew nothing about the one who now is a tiger. The two have replaced each other and changed into an opposite. Both were enjoying completeness of form. The transformation of Duke Niuai into a tiger corresponds to Zhuang Zhou's transformation into a butterfly. In both transfor­mations there is total mutual ignorance of the respective phases of existence. Just as the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou were totally ignorant of each other, so too are Duke Nivai and the tiger. This ignorance marks the barrier between the segments of change that is not to be transgressed. Only in this way can all phases enjoy their respective "completeness of form." The opposite nature of human beings and tigers highlights this idea: As a man, Duke Nivai is cul­tivated, while the tiger, as a predator, is wild. The transformation is total, it includes the "emotions and the heart," and "spirit and form." The phases of change oppose each other like day and night, and therefore they perfectly complement one another and establish an ongoing process. The butterfly dream allegory and the parable of Duke Nivai's "illness of change" both illustrate how an inces­sant process of change entails complete "forgetfulness." Both sto­ries ask the reader to accept the completeness of change in which there is no continuous "transmigrating" substance. The allegory of the butterfly dream is not about metempsychosis, it is about the Daoist teaching of change. However, if a core ele­ment of this Daoist teaching is to forget about previous and future phases of change in order to fully exhaust the authenticity of the one present phase—why does the butterfly dream allegory (as well as the story of Duke Nivai) cover several phases of change? Who can actually tell these stories. What is the perspective of the narra­tor if neither Zhuang Zhou nor the butterfly have the slightest knowledge of each other? Giles "solved" this problem by invent­ing the "I" that is not in the Chinese original—and thereby com­pletely transformed the story. In order to correctly answer this important question one has to take a closer look at the first sen­tence of the original text and the particular way personal names are used in the allegory. The butterfly allegory (as well as the story of Duke Nivai) begins with the word "once" (xi). If the story is told from the per­spective of a narrator, this narrator obviously talks about events that happened in the past. The personal names used in the story indicate a similar time relation* between the narrator and the plot: The text is supposedly written by Zhuang-zi, that is by Master Zhuang, the honorific designation of someone who has become a sage. This designation indicates a change in personality—it indi­cates that someone has changed into someone else. Master Zhuang tells a story about Zhuang Zhou, about a person that was alive before there was Master Zhuang. Zhuang Zhou changed into Master Zhuang, and Master Zhuang tells us a story about events that happened when once there was a Zhuang Zhou. Master Zhuang tells the story about a "Zhou" whom he no longer iden­tifies with. The story is told from the perspective of someone who is neither Zhuang Zhou nor the butterfly, but who is equally "close" to both. From the perspective of the narrator there is no difference in reality or authenticity between the butterfly and Zhuang Zhou. Before there was Master Zhuang, there once was a Zhuang Zhou, and there once was a butterfly. Now, when the story is told by Master Zhuang, he is no longer either of the two. The story is told by someone who does not identify with either Zhuang Zhou or the butterfly, but who affirms both equally. The perspective of Zhuang-zi or Master Zhuang, the narrator, is the perspective of the Daoist sage. The Daoist sage is in the midst of Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly, in the midst of dreaming and being awake, in the midst of life and death. Zhuangzi's per­spective is, so to speak, the "zero-perspective." He tells the story out of the empty center of the process of change, out of the axis or the "pivot of Dao" (dao shu) as the same chapter of the Zhuangzi puts it. The Daoist sage dwells unchanged at the cen­ter of the process of change. The story is told from this neutral and empty position, not from the position of a continuous I that undergoes change. It is told from the perspective of Zhuangzi, not from the perspective of either Zhuang Zhou or the butterfly. The narrator of the butterfly dream story is a Daoist sage, and this sage, at the "pivot of the Dao" occupies the same position as the hub within a wheel. The butterfly dream allegory in the Zhuangzi is structured parallel to the image of the wheel in chap­ter 11 of the Daodejing. The image and the allegory both illustrate a perfect process of change. The spokes of the wheel, switching positions in the course of time, correspond to Zhuang Zhou and the butterfly. Just as what is on top changes into what is below, so a Zhuang Zhou changes into a butterfly, a dreamer turns into someone awake, and a Duke Nivai turns into a tiger. Within the process of change each phase is always distinct. The process runs smoothly as long as there is no transgression of barriers, as long as everything does not transcend its respective presence. To the sage at the center of the process of change the segments of change are not only "relatively" authentic—each is fully and completely real. The position of the sage does not introduce a sort of "relativism"; it rather guarantees the full authenticity and com­pleteness of the process of change. Master Zhuang does not take anything away from the reality of either Zhuang Zhou or the but­terfly for he affirms and founds their complete reality. Likewise, the Daoist sage does not represent an insight into the "relativity" of life and death, but rather the affirmation of their complete reality. With the Daoist sage, life and death come to their equal and full authenticity. The butterfly dream allegory speaks to both the sage and the nonsage: For those who are not sages, it is appropriate to be fully content with one's reality—to be fully alive without doubting one's "being" or reflecting on one's I. If one is fully awake while being awake and fully asleep while being asleep, one will always be fully present. Like in a political or physical organism, one should just naturally live up to one's position within an ongoing process. If one has become a sage (and the Buddhists will later call this step the attaining of "enlightenment" or wu), if one is no longer either asleep or awake, either alive or dead, one has lost all identifications. One is then equally close to all phases, but never present in any, and nonpresent in the midst of a changing presence. From the zero perspective one observes the spinning of the circle – like Zhuangzi observes the change from Zhuang Zhou to the butter­fly. While everything else is what it is, the sage lets it be. In this way the sage can be identified with the whole process of change, just as the hub can be identified with the whole wheel, or the heart with the whole body, or the sage ruler with the whole state. In the midst of changes, the sage is no longer a distinct phase, but the core of the whole process of Dao. From Daoism Explained: From the Dream of the Butterfly to the Fishnet Allegory by Hans-Georg Moeller pp 44-55

I’ve heard Jung referred to as a Gnostic, alchemist, mystic and shaman but never a Buddhist. As to reincarnation, he states that he’s “not in a position to assert a definite opinion”. For the record here is some brief background info on Jung from Sonu Shamdasani, a research fellow at the Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine. “Jung tried to provide a psychological understanding of the processes of personality transformation underlying religious, hermetic, gnostic and alchemical practices. He developed this at a time when such subjects were simply dismissed out of hand by the positivist and behaviourist practitioners dominant in psychology. For many, Jung's non-derisive attention to such subjects was enough to brand him as an occultist, a charge which he persistently denied. Nor were such statements only made from a negative perspective; many proponents of hermeticism, gnosticism, alchemy and magic were quick to claim Jung as one of their own and used his name to lend credibility to their ideas. Hence the widespread presence of works on Jungian psychology in occult bookshops, amid the amulets, crystals and New Age music. Jung claimed that all the patients coming to him in the second half of their lives suffered principally from having lost a religious or spiritual faith. His work on psychology and religion not only drew the scorn of secular critics, it also evoked much controversy among religious communities. Some saw Jung's work as representing the unwelcome encroachment of psychology on to sacred terrain. Others viewed him as someone who wanted to turn psychology into a religion. Jung often affirmed his Protestant identity and denied that he had founded a religion, a charge which he described as defamatory. Rather, he claimed that his psychology could revive existing religious traditions. It was towards the revitalisation of Christianity in particular that Jung dedicated much of his later work.” Yeah, I know that; you've made that very clear. I like it that's there's plenty of room on Dao Bums for the expression of a great diversity of beliefs; with Daoism providing a very loose common thread. It makes for an interesting ecosystem of interactions so that hopefully "the result is favorable for all parties involved, because honest and sincere introspection leads to both acknowledgement of flaws and fallacies, as well as course corrections and adjustments." I know my perspective has been broadened and deepened by participation in discussions here. Of course, holding a fixed position has its place too in that it anchors discussion.

One of my surprises – and learning experiences – that has come out of reading the various posts in this discussion is the reincarnation interpretation of the Butterfly analogy. Such a reading had never occurred to me and at first I dismissed it. However, on reading in The Daoist Tradition that the majority of contemporary mainland Chinese believe in reincarnation, I now see how the need for such a reading has arisen. Whilst I can’t accept simplistic beliefs on the subject, to my mind it’s an area of great mystery and as such I prefer to leave it as an unknown. Here are some words from C. G. Jung on the subject……. ON LIFE AFTER DEATH What I have to tell about the hereafter, and about life after death, consists entirely of memories, of images in which I have lived and of thoughts which have buffeted me. These memories in a way also underlie my works; for the latter are fundamentally nothing but attempts, ever renewed, to give an answer to the question of the interplay between the "here” and the "hereafter." Yet I have never written expressly about a life after death; for then I would have had to document my ideas, and I have no way of doing that. Be that as it may I would like to state my ideas now. Even now I can do no more than tell stories — "mythologise.” Perhaps one has to be close to death to acquire the necessary freedom to talk about it. It is not that I wish we had a life after death. In fact, I would prefer not to foster such ideas. Still, I must state, to give reality its due, that, without my wishing and without my doing anything about it, thoughts of this nature move about within me. I can't say whether these thoughts are true or false, but I do know they are there, and can be given utterance, if I do not repress them out of some prejudice. Prejudice cripples and injures the full phenomenon of psychic life. And I know too little about psychic life to feel that I can set it right out of superior knowledge. Critical rationalism has apparently eliminated, along with so many other mythic conceptions, the idea of life after death. This could only have happened because nowadays most people identify themselves almost exclusively with their consciousness, and imagine that they are only what they know about themselves. Yet anyone with even a smattering of psychology can see how limited this knowledge is. Rationalism and doctrinarism are the diseases of our time; they pretend In have all the answers. But a great deal will yet be discovered which our present limited view would have ruled out as impossible. Our concepts of space and time have only approximate validity, and there is therefore a wide field for minor and major deviations. In-view of all this, I lend an attentive ear to the strange myths of the psyche, and take a careful look at the varied events that come my way, regardless of whether or not they fit in with my theoretical postulates. Unfortunately, the mythic side of man is given short shrift nowadays. He can no longer create fables. As a result, a great deal escapes him; for it is important and salutary to speak also of incomprehensible things. Such talk is like the telling of a good ghost story, as we sit by the fireside and smoke a pipe. What the myths or stories about a life after death really mean, or what kind of reality lies behind them, we certainly do not know. We cannot tell whether they possess any validity beyond their indubitable value as anthropomorphic projections. Rather, we must hold clearly in mind that there is no possible way for us to attain certainty concerning things which pass our understanding. We cannot visualise another world ruled by quite other laws, the reason being that we live in a specific world which has helped to shape our minds and establish our basic psychic conditions. We are strictly limited by our innate structure and therefore bound by our whole being and thinking to this world of ours. Mythic man, to be sure, demands a "going beyond all that," but scientific man cannot permit this. To the intellect, all my mythologising is futile speculation. To the emotions, however, it is a healing and valid activity; it gives existence a glamour which we would not like to do without. Nor is there any good reason why we should……

Stosh, when I joined Dao Bums and saw your avatar it reminded me of an Australian slang term ‘stoush’. Reading some of your comments has only served to reinforce this image...... Stoush (Definition from the OED) Australian /NZ informal Pronunciation: /staʊʃ/ Verb: Hit; fight with: get out of that car while I stoush you Noun: A brawl or other fight: (Example sentences) It's been a year of predictable stoushes and controversies that seem to have come out of nowhere. The stoush between the timber industry, the conservation movement and governments, which went on for decades, was supposed to be all sorted out by now.

Rara, I can't agree with advice to forget about a dream like that. At the very least talking about it like you have done is surely wise. I didn't read it as a physical suicide wish at all. My immediate reaction on reading of your dream was to interpret it as an inner conflict between a desire to extinguish the self as a separate ego, and the ego's desire to live and stay in charge. This extinction is a goal of Daoist cultivation, but when the reality of such a surrender actually hits home it's extremely emotionally confronting. But such a 'death' is a vital stage for inner growth and allows the birth of a new expanded self. You were partly aware of this possibility with your dream thought, Then I kept thinking to myself, I hope there is another life coming...

For me Daoist cultivation, as natural process, is something that happens to us of itself if we allow it. Sure, there's effort involved in removing physical, emotional and mental blockages, for which teachings and practice are extremely helpful, if not essential. But aside from this, growth cannot be forced or taught any more than we can teach a plant to grow. Each of us has our own way of unfolding as individuals, and that must be found individually; for me, it's meant much trial and error. I've found the solitude and powerful 'silence' of immersion in nature to be essential. I like the saying that "Life is the best practise, and nature is the best teacher." To which I'd add "If you're not making mistakes, you're not learning."

It's a topic I've thought about in the past. I considered starting such a place for Daoist practice many years ago when I first moved onto an acreage in semi-wilderness country in Australia. I've since dropped the idea for many reasons; mostly personal but also based on the manifold problems such specialist communities I’ve lived in (mainly Buddhist) seem to invariably encounter. However that doesn't mean it’s not a worthwhile goal. From my experience, I’d emphasise the importance of a gifted teacher at the centre of the community. According to Louis Komjathy in The Daoist Tradition...."pre-modern Daoism has tended to emphasize aesthetics, community, embodiment, place, and so forth. Such values and commitments challenge most modernist and postmodernist mentalities. This does not mean that Daoism is solely archaic and primitive. Rather, it suggests that Daoists and Daoist communities tend to be rooted in meaning systems and social realities that seem radically different when juxtaposed with the systems and processes of modern life. The question thus arises as to the fate of Daoism in the modern world.”

No, I can't agree with this. To my mind both Stosh's and Dustybeijing's dreams are of significant symbolic significance. I concur with Jung's advice that "One would do well to treat every [impressive] dream as though it were a totally unknown object. Look at it from all sides, take it in your hand, carry it about with you, let your imagination play round it, and talk about it with other people." I'm no expert on dream interpretation but water especially the ocean is a common symbol for the unconscious. In Stosh's dream we have people fishing in shallow water in a city environment......In fact every aspect of his dream as recounted is rich in symbolic significance.

In The Daoist Tradition, Louis Komjathy delineates Daoist theology as follow…. Before examining Daoist theology, it is also helpful to understand the various types of theology, with some modifications in order to make space for non-theistic views in a comparative framework. We may identify at least the following theologies: animistic, atheistic, monistic, monotheistic, panenhenic, pantheistic, panentheistic, and polytheistic. Animisitic theologies hold that nature is populated by personal gods and/or spiritual entities. Such deities and spirits tend to be place-specific. Although resistant to such designations, atheistic theology, which is technically anti-theological, denies the existence of gods, especially the Abrahamic god ("God"). Monistic theologies hold that there is one impersonal Reality. Monotheistic theologies hold that there is one supreme, personal god, usually with conventional attributes of personhood and agency (e.g. God the Creator, God the Father). Panenhenic theology holds that Nature as a whole is sacred. Pantheistic theology claims that the sacred is in the world, that the world is a manifestation of the sacred. Because this creates certain theological problems, such as the diminishment of the sacred through extinction, some theological discourse tends towards panentheism, that is, that the sacred is in and beyond the world. Under this view, there is both an immanent (world-affirming) and transcendent (world-negating) aspect. Finally, polytheistic theology is belief in many gods. These various theologies may not be mutually exclusive or necessarily irreconcilable. The primary Daoist theology is monistic, panenhenic, and panentheistic. Daoist theology is secondarily animistic and polytheistic. Daoist theology centers, first and foremost, on the Dao (Tao). The Dao is the sacred and ultimate concern of Daoists. This is a continuation of the discussion from here…. http://thedaobums.com/topic/21345-chuang-tzu-chapter-4-section-b/page-5 And here... http://thedaobums.co...ching/?p=252652