Music of Man, Earth
or Heaven!
“Once Tsech'i of Nankuo sat leaning on a low table. Gazing
up to heaven, he sighed and looked as though he was lost to the world.
Yench'eng Tseyu, who was standing by him, asked, ‘What are you thinking about that your body should become thus like dead wood, your mind like burnt-out cinders? Surely the man now leaning on the table is not he who was here just now.’
‘My friend,’ replied Tsech'i, ‘your question is apposite. Today I have lost my Self.... Do you understand? ... Perhaps you only know the music of man, and not that of Earth. Or even if you have heard the music of Earth, perhaps you have not heard the music of Heaven.’
‘Pray explain,’" said Tseyu.
‘The breath of the universe,’ continued Tsech'i, ‘is called wind. At times, it is inactive. But when active, all crevices resound to its blast. Have you never listened to its deafening roar? Caves and dells of hill and forest, hollows in huge trees of many a span in girth -- some are like nostrils, and some like mouths, and others like ears, beam-sockets, goblets, mortars, or like pools and puddles. And the wind goes rushing through them, like swirling torrents or singing arrows, bellowing, sousing, trilling, wailing, roaring, purling, whistling in front and echoing behind, now soft with the cool blow, now shrill with the whirlwind, until the tempest is past and silence reigns supreme.
Yench'eng Tseyu, who was standing by him, asked, ‘What are you thinking about that your body should become thus like dead wood, your mind like burnt-out cinders? Surely the man now leaning on the table is not he who was here just now.’
‘My friend,’ replied Tsech'i, ‘your question is apposite. Today I have lost my Self.... Do you understand? ... Perhaps you only know the music of man, and not that of Earth. Or even if you have heard the music of Earth, perhaps you have not heard the music of Heaven.’
‘Pray explain,’" said Tseyu.
‘The breath of the universe,’ continued Tsech'i, ‘is called wind. At times, it is inactive. But when active, all crevices resound to its blast. Have you never listened to its deafening roar? Caves and dells of hill and forest, hollows in huge trees of many a span in girth -- some are like nostrils, and some like mouths, and others like ears, beam-sockets, goblets, mortars, or like pools and puddles. And the wind goes rushing through them, like swirling torrents or singing arrows, bellowing, sousing, trilling, wailing, roaring, purling, whistling in front and echoing behind, now soft with the cool blow, now shrill with the whirlwind, until the tempest is past and silence reigns supreme.
Have you never witnessed how the trees and objects shake and
quake, and twist and twirl?’
‘Well, then,’ inquired Tseyu, ‘since the music of Earth consists of hollows and apertures, and the music of man of pipes and flutes, of what consists the music of Heaven?’
‘Well, then,’ inquired Tseyu, ‘since the music of Earth consists of hollows and apertures, and the music of man of pipes and flutes, of what consists the music of Heaven?’
"The effect of the wind upon these various apertures,’ replied
Tsech'i, ‘"is not uniform, but the sounds are produced according to their
individual capacities. Who is it that agitates their breasts?’ “
Chuang Tzu 
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