Storied Sounds: Ten Ox Herding Scenes & Thunderstorm (8 Hr)

And now a bedtime reading of commentary on the Zen classic,

The Ten Ox-Herding Pictures,

Followed by a fictional story based upon each of the ten scenes.

All sentient beings possess within themselves from birth the true source by which each develops into a Buddha.

Through confusion,

They get admired in the three realms.

Through awakening,

They escape at once from the four births.

In this way,

They come forth as Buddhas,

Or they come forth as sentient beings.

For these reasons,

The original sage in his compassion made many paths across a broad field.

In doctrine,

He put forth both the partial and the complete.

In teachings,

He expounded both the sudden and the gradual.

He included both the rough and the fine,

Encompassed both the shallow and the profound.

Towards the end of his life,

He cast a look with his lotus eyes and drew forth the smile from the ascetic.

With this act,

The repository of the true Dharma-I was transmitted to all heaven and earth,

To all our mundane and every other world.

To grasp the principle of the Dharma is to transcend sect and overcome doctrine just as a bird in flight leaves no traces.

But to grasp at particulars is to quibble over phrasing,

To be misled by words and be no better than the fabled turtle that swept away its tracks with its tail.

In recent times,

A priest,

Seigo Zenji,

Has appeared who takes into consideration the basic condition of his followers and then,

Like a doctor matching treatment to ailment,

Uses pictures of an ox to adapt his teaching to their individual capacities.

At first,

He shows stages of not yet realized ability as gradations of whiteness.

Then he displays the root potential slowly ripening into the attainment of pure truth.

There,

At a stage where both person and ox have disappeared from sight,

He shows the extinguishing of both mind and things.

But here,

Though the principle underlying the pictures has reached its logical conclusion,

His method of expression still leaves a kind of shroud.

Because of this,

Those whose practice is still shallow of root will have doubts and those of limited ability will be thrown into confusion.

They may even fall into nihilism or plunge into eternalism.

Now,

When we look at Sako Zenji,

Though he models his pictures after those of his talented predecessors,

He nevertheless expresses his own mind.

His ten verses are so well composed,

They illuminate each other with their brilliance.

From the very first being lost to the final return to the source,

His skillful ministering to the abilities of his followers is comparable to feeding the starving and bringing water to the thirsty.

In turn,

I,

Gion,

Have used these pictures to seek and understand the mystery and meaning of the Dharma,

To touch and grasp its profound subtleness,

Just as the eyeless jellyfish uses the shrimp as its eyes in its search for food.

So also,

I have used these pictures as my eyes.

Yet from the first searching for the ox to the final re-entry into the marketplace,

I have willfully stirred up waves and attached horns sideways onto the ox's head.

Furthermore,

Since fundamentally there is no heart-mind to be sought after,

Why then should there be any need to search for an ox?

Just who is that devil that at the end enters the marketplace?

And what is worse,

When an ancestor's tomb is not completed,

Then misfortune strikes the descendants?

Thus,

Recognizing that it may all be nonsense,

I present this commentary.

Picture 1.

Searching for the Ox.

Preface.

Till now,

The ox has never been lost.

Why then do you need to search for it?

Turning away from your own awakening,

You became estranged from it.

Then enclosed by dust,

In the end,

You lost it.

The hills of home recede farther and farther away.

You're lost as soon as the paths divide.

Winning and losing consume you like flames.

Right and wrong rise round you like blades.

Verse.

Beating about the endless wild grass,

You seek and search.

The rivers broaden,

The mountains stretch on and the trails go ever deeper.

Your strength exhausted and spirit wearied.

No place allows you refuge.

The only sound.

Evening cicadas shrill in the maples.

Japanese poem version.

Searching.

The deep hills.

No sight of the ox.

Just the empty.

Shrilling of the cicadas.

Lecture insight.

Today we begin the first talk on the ten ox-herding pictures.

The first step is to go out in search of the ox.

We are at the stage of Hotsubo Daishin.

A rousing bodhi mind.

The desire for enlightenment.

This is the moment where each person affirms the vow to seek the Buddha Dharma.

In Zen,

We say that the original vow is ours.

It belongs to oneself.

When you first affirm the vow to attain enlightenment,

At that moment,

There is already a splendid enlightenment.

Picture two.

Seeing the traces.

Preface.

With the aid of the sutras,

You gain understanding.

Through study of the teachings,

You find traces.

You see clearly the many vessels are all one metal,

And the ten thousand things are all yourself.

But if you do not distinguish correct from incorrect,

How will you recognize true from false?

Since you have yet to pass through that gate,

Only tentatively have you seen the traces.

Verse.

By the water and under the trees,

Tracks thick and fast.

In the sweet grasses,

Thick with growth.

Did you see it,

Or did you not?

But even in the depths of the deepest mountains,

How could it hide from others,

Its snout turned to the sky?

Japanese poem.

Version.

Determination deep in the mountains.

Your efforts bear fruit.

Tracks.

How gratifying to see a sign.

Lecture insight.

The second picture is seeing the traces.

This is the stage where,

After searching for the ox deep in the mountains,

You finally come across its tracks.

First,

We must study the satras and ponder the records left by the teachers of the past in order to determine where our own nature is.

If you have no understanding of Buddhism,

No knowledge of the words of the Dharma,

It does not matter how many years you sit.

Your zazen will all be futile.

Picture three.

Seeing the ox.

Preface.

Through sound,

You gain entry.

By sight,

You face your source.

The six senses are none different.

In each daily deed,

Plainly there.

Like salt and water,

Or glue and paint.

Raise your eyebrows.

It is nothing other.

Verse.

In the trees nightingales sing and sing again.

Sun warms the soft wind.

Green willows line the bank.

Here,

There's nowhere left for it to hide.

Its majestic head and horns no artist could draw.

Japanese poem.

Version.

In spring sun,

In the green willow strands,

See its timeless form.

Lecture.

Insight.

In search of the ox,

We started out on the path of practice and finally came across the tracks of the ox.

The third picture,

Seeing the ox,

Shows the stage where we actually catch sight of the ox.

In other words,

It is the stage of kensho,

Of satori.

By listening carefully to the call of the ox,

We open the gate of the ideal and are able,

For the first time,

To encounter it in our heart-mind.

Picture four.

Catching the ox.

Preface.

Today you've chanced upon it,

So long hidden in the wilds,

But you can't keep up with its high spirit,

And it won't give up its love of sweet grass.

Even more willful,

As wild as ever,

If you want to tame it,

You must lay on the whip.

With your last ounce of strength,

You take it,

But stubborn and strong,

It won't be broken.

Now it suddenly climbs to high ground,

Then it descends to vanish deep into mist.

Japanese.

Poem version.

Thinking only,

Ox,

Ox,

Don't let go.

Just this is the real feather.

Lecture insight.

Just catching sight of the ox is not enough.

You must get a tight rope on it,

Tame it,

And make it your own.

From the very day of our birth right up to this very moment,

Each of us has been endowed with Buddha nature,

But none of us has been aware of where that ox has been.

Now that you've caught it,

You see that the spirit of this ox is exceedingly refined.

Picture five.

Taming the ox.

Preface.

Once one little thought arises,

Another follows.

Adhere to awakening,

And all becomes truth.

Reside in ignorance,

And all is unreal.

This happens not because of the world,

But only because of your mind.

Keep a firm grip on that rope,

And do not waver.

Verse.

Not for a moment put down whip or rein,

Lest the ox wander back to dust and desire.

Pull again and again till it's tame and gentle.

Of itself,

It will follow without bridle or chain.

Japanese poem.

Version.

Days pass,

Even the wild ox comes to hand and becomes a shadow to my body.

How gratifying.

Lecture.

Insight.

Well now,

You have finally caught the ox,

But this ox will not do what you want it to do.

That's why you have to train it and make it your own.

That's what we mean by taming the ox.

This is what is otherwise called post-satori practice.

We ourselves must each tame and train our own ox.

Picture six.

Riding home on the ox.

Preface.

Shields and spears are gone,

Winning and losing are nothing again.

You sing woodsman's village songs and play children's country tunes.

Stretched out on back of your ox,

You gaze at the sky.

We call you,

But you won't turn around.

Catch at you,

But you won't be tied down.

Verse.

Riding high on your ox,

Leisurely you head for home.

Trilling on a nomad's flute,

You leave in the evening mist.

In each beat and verse,

You're boundless feeling to a close companion.

What need to move your lips?

Japanese poem.

Version.

Lowing at mind.

Limpid and soaring.

Sky.

White clouds are coming back to the peaks.

Lecture insight.

Riding home on the ox.

This is the stage where having tamed the ox and having made it your own,

You ride it back to your own home.

All acts are impermanent.

All things move.

To be right in the very middle of ceaselessly churning daily life.

Just this is the pure land of serenity and nirvana.

Picture seven.

The ox forgotten.

The self remains.

Preface.

The dharma is not dual.

The ox just points to our subject.

As rabbit and snare differ in name,

So fish and net are not the same.

As gold comes forth from dross,

So the moon emerges from clouds.

A shaft of its icy light,

Ancient even in the age of aeon.

Verse.

Astride your ox,

You've reached the hills of home.

With ox put away,

You too are at ease.

The sun's risen three poles high,

Yet still you're dreaming.

Your whip and line hang idle under the thatched eaves.

Japanese poem version,

Hard to take.

People who fret over good and bad,

Knowing nothing of Naniwa reeds.

Lecture insight.

At the sixth stage,

You tame the ox completely,

Made it your own,

And then rode that ox back to your original home.

This was a way of talking about attaining Satori.

After long arduous practice and self-discipline,

You finally attained Kensho.

That is why,

When you have attained Satori,

You must forget about Satori.

Fundamentals there is no knowing anything and no gaining anything.

Picture eight.

Forget both self and ox.

Preface.

Shedding worldly feelings,

Erasing holy thoughts.

You do not linger where the Buddha is.

You dash right past where the Buddha is not.

Don't cling to duality,

Or the Thousand-Eyed One will soon find you.

If birds were to bring you flowers,

What a disgraceful scene.

Verse.

Whip and line and you and the ox,

All gone to emptiness,

Into a blue sky for words too vast.

Can a snowflake survive the fire of a flame pit?

Attain this.

Truly be one with the masters of the past.

Japanese poem.

Version.

No clouds,

Or moon,

Or cassia tree.

Swept clean,

Lost in the sky.

Lecture insight.

In this,

The eighth picture titled Forget both self and ox,

There is no satori or awakening,

No dharma to be awakened to,

And no self awakened.

Here Buddha nature stands completely and totally revealed.

This is the culmination of practice and the completion of discipline.

It is,

In other words,

The perfect circle.

Picture nine.

Return to the origin,

Back to the source.

Preface.

Originally immaculate,

Without a speck of dust.

Watching appearances come and go,

You reside in the serenity of non-doing.

But this is not the same as illusion,

So why cling to it?

The rivers are blue,

The mountains green.

Sit and watch them rise and pass away.

Verse.

You return to the origin,

Went back to the source,

Such wasted effort.

How much better to just be blind and deaf?

From inside your hut,

You don't see outside your hut.

Let the streams just flow on,

The flowers just bloom red.

Japanese poem.

Version.

The dharma way,

No traces on the original mountain.

The pines are green,

The flowers glint with dew.

Lecture.

Insight.

In this,

The ninth picture,

We return to the origin,

Go back to the source.

What we consider the fundamental nature of the universe is a major life problem.

For us,

What is fundamental is that place where the mind,

Without things,

Dissolves into the world.

That place where time and space have been transcended.

Where self and the world have become one.

That is what is fundamental.

Picture ten.

Entering the marketplace with extended hands.

Preface.

Alone behind a brushwood door,

Not even a thousand sages are aware.

Hiding your light,

You shun the tracks of sages of the past.

Dangling your gourd,

You come into town.

Thumping your staff,

You return to your hut.

Visiting bars and fish stalls,

You turn all into Buddhas.

Verse.

With bare chest and feet,

You come to the market.

Under dirt and ash,

Your face breaks into a laugh.

With no display of magic powers,

Slash,

You make withered trees burst into flower.

Japanese poem.

Version.

Hands extended,

Feet planted in the sky.

Otoko-yama.

On a withered branch,

Perches a bird.

Lecture insight.

At last,

We have come to the final stage in the ten exerting pictures.

Now,

We are at the tenth stage.

Entering the marketplace with extended hands.

Here.

Marketplace means village or town.

So this chapter is about entering the town with extended hands to engage in saving all sentient beings.

The ox herd who first set out in search of the ox entered the absolute realm of both ox and self-forgotten.

But then when he re-emerges,

He comes back as a completely different person.

As Hotei Osho.

And now a set of fictional stories based upon each of the ten scenes.

Scene 1.

Seeking the Ox.

There was once a herder who lived at the edge of a wide and quiet land.

Nothing was wrong with his life in any obvious way.

He had food.

He had shelter.

He knew the paths near his home.

The days came and went as days always do.

And yet,

There was a feeling he could not ignore.

Something was missing.

It was not a sharp pain.

Not a dramatic loss.

It was more like a constant background sense of absence.

Like realizing something important is no longer where it used to be.

But not remembering when it disappeared.

The herder would wake each morning with this same quiet feeling.

He would step outside and look across the land.

As if something might be waiting for him just beyond the hills.

He could not explain it.

Only that he felt the need to look.

So one morning,

Without urgency,

Without fear,

He decided to go searching.

He did not rush.

He did not pack much.

He simply began walking.

The path beneath his feet was familiar at first.

He followed trails he had walked many times before.

The ground felt solid.

The air felt cool and clear.

As he walked,

His thoughts moved with him.

Sometimes they wandered into the past.

Sometimes they drifted toward the future.

Sometimes they simply repeated the same questions.

What am I looking for?

When did it leave?

Why does it feel so important?

The herder did not try to answer.

He kept walking.

As the day went on,

The paths began to change.

Some narrowed.

Some split in two.

Others faded into tall grass.

The farther he went,

The less certain he felt.

Still,

He continued.

By afternoon,

The sun was warm on his back.

Dust clung to his clothes.

His steps grew slower.

The land felt larger now,

Less familiar.

The herder noticed how often he stopped and turned around,

As if checking whether he had gone too far.

Home already felt distant.

He wondered if turning back would be easier.

But something within him urged him forward.

So he walked on.

As evening approached,

The world softened.

Shadows grew longer.

The air cooled.

Sounds carried farther.

The herder reached a river and stopped.

The water moved steadily,

Without concern for his searching.

It flowed as it always had.

He stood there,

Quietly,

Listening.

And then he noticed something near the edge of the shore.

Marks in the earth.

They were faint.

Easy to miss.

He pressed gently into the damp ground,

Where the water met the land.

He knelt down to look more closely.

They were footprints.

Not clear enough to follow easily.

Not obvious enough to be certain.

But they were there.

The herder felt a small shift inside himself.

Not excitement.

Not relief.

Just recognition.

Something had passed this way.

He stayed there for a long time,

Breathing slowly,

Letting the moment settle.

Then he stood up and followed the direction of the tracks.

He did not hurry.

Sometimes the tracks disappeared completely.

When that happened,

The herder stopped.

He waited.

He looked around.

Often,

After some time,

He would notice them again a little farther on.

The journey became slower now.

More patient.

The herder learned to pause when he felt uncertain.

He learned to rest when he was tired.

He learned that searching did not always mean moving.

As days passed,

The land changed around him.

Open fields gave way to forests.

Forests opened again into wide valleys.

The herder noticed how his breathing changed with the terrain.

How his body adjusted without effort.

Sometimes he felt hopeful.

Sometimes discouraged.

Often,

Simply quiet.

The feeling of missing something remained.

But it no longer felt urgent.

It felt honest.

One morning,

After sleeping beneath the open sky,

The herder woke before sunrise.

The world was still and gray.

Mist lay low across the ground.

He sat up slowly.

For a moment,

He forgot why he was there.

Then the familiar sense of searching returned.

He stood and continued on.

As the light grew,

He felt a subtle presence around him.

Not something he could see or hear.

Just a feeling that the land was no longer empty.

Then,

Through the trees,

He caught a glimpse of movement.

He stopped.

He waited.

And there it was.

The ox.

Standing quietly,

Strong and real.

Partly hidden by branches and shadow.

The herder did not move closer.

He did not call out.

He simply stood there,

Breathing.

Letting his body adjust to what he was seeing.

The ox did not seem disturbed.

It also did not approach.

After some time,

It turned and walked away.

The herder followed at a distance.

This part of the journey was different.

The ox was not lost.

It was not hiding.

It was simply moving as it pleased.

Sometimes it stayed near.

Sometimes it wandered farther away.

The herder noticed how often he wanted to hurry now.

Afraid of losing sight of it again.

But each time he rushed,

The ox moved farther away.

So he slowed down.

He learned to match his pace to the ox's movement.

To stay present,

Rather than chasing.

The days passed like this.

Walking,

Stopping,

Waiting,

Following.

The herder grew tired in a deeper way now.

Not exhausted,

But worn thin by the effort of seeking.

One evening,

He sat down beneath a tree and rested his back against the trunk.

He felt the weight of his body sink into the ground.

He breathed.

And for the first time since beginning his search,

He allowed himself to admit something.

He did not know what he was doing.

He did not know where this journey would lead.

He did not know if searching would ever end.

And admitting this brought a surprising sense of ease.

The herder stayed there until sleep came naturally.

From that night on,

The journey softened.

The searching continued,

But without tension.

The herder followed the ox when it appeared.

He rested when it disappeared.

He no longer measured progress.

He simply stayed.

And as this story continues now,

You may notice something similar happening within yourself.

A softening.

A release of needing to know.

You do not have to follow every word.

You do not have to picture everything clearly.

You can let the story move around you.

The herder keeps walking.

The land keeps changing.

The search continues,

But gently.

And you are allowed to rest.

There is nothing you need to find tonight.

Nothing you need to solve.

Just the sound of this story moving slowly forward.

Just your breath,

Coming and going.

Just your body,

Settling a little more with each moment.

The herder walks on,

And you can sleep.

Scene two.

Seeing the traces.

The herder had been walking for some time now,

Moving forward when it felt right,

And stopping when it didn't.

A sense of searching was still there,

But it had changed.

It was quieter,

Less sharp,

More like a gentle awareness than a problem to solve.

One morning,

As light filtered softly across the land,

The herder noticed something familiar near the path,

Marks in the ground.

They were clearer this time,

Still subtle,

But easier to recognize.

The earth had been pressed down in places,

Bent just enough to show that something had passed through.

The herder knelt and looked closely.

Yes,

These were traces.

He did not feel excitement.

He felt calm,

The kind of calm that comes when something finally makes sense,

Even if it is not fully understood.

The herder stood and followed the direction of the traces.

He walked slowly.

Sometimes the marks were easy to see.

Other times they faded,

Scattered,

Or vanished entirely.

When that happened,

The herder stopped.

He did not force himself to move.

He waited.

He noticed the land around him,

The sound of wind,

The way light touched leaves and stones,

The feel of the ground beneath his feet.

Often,

When he stopped trying so hard,

The traces appeared again,

Not always where he expected.

Sometimes they curved gently to the side.

Sometimes they doubled back slightly before continuing on.

The herder learned not to assume he knew the way.

He followed what was actually there.

As days passed,

The herder became more comfortable with this rhythm.

Walk,

Pause,

Notice,

Continue.

He no longer felt lost in the same way.

Even when the path was unclear,

There was a sense that he was moving in the right direction.

The land felt different now,

Less distant,

More familiar.

He began to notice small details he might have missed before,

The sound of birds in the early morning,

The way grass moved when something passed through it,

The quiet patterns left behind by animals,

Water,

And wind.

Everything seemed to leave traces of itself.

The herder thought about this as he walked.

How nothing really moved through the world without leaving some sign behind.

How even the smallest thing shifted the ground a little,

Changed the air a little.

This thought felt grounding.

One afternoon,

The herder followed the traces to a wide,

Open field.

The grass was tall and moved gently in the breeze.

At first,

He could not see the marks at all.

He stopped.

He breathed.

Then he noticed how the grass leaned slightly in one direction,

How certain blades were bent lower than others.

The traces were there,

Just not in the way he had expected.

He smiled softly to himself,

Not with pride,

But with sublime understanding.

From then on,

The herder paid less attention to looking for obvious signs.

He let his attention soften.

He trusted himself to notice what needed to be noticed.

The journey became quieter.

There were still moments of doubt,

Moments when the traces disappeared for a long time,

Moments when the herder wondered if he had imagined them altogether.

But now,

When that happened,

He did not panic.

He rested.

He waited.

He allowed the land to show him what it could.

Sometimes the herder sat for a long time,

Leaning against a tree or resting near water.

During these pauses,

His thoughts slowed.

The questions that once circled endlessly began to lose their grip.

He did not need to know everything.

He only needed to stay.

One evening,

As the sun lowered and the sky softened,

The herder noticed how calm he felt.

The sense of missing something was still there,

But it no longer felt like a wound.

It felt like an invitation.

He followed the traces into a shaded valley.

The air was cool.

The ground was soft beneath his feet.

Here,

The signs were everywhere.

Pressed earth.

Bent branches.

Paths formed by repeated passage.

The herder did not feel overwhelmed by this.

He felt supported,

As if the journey itself was gently guiding him.

That night,

He slept deeply.

When he woke,

He felt rested in a way he had not felt before.

The traces were still there when he opened his eyes.

He followed them again.

And again.

Days passed.

The herder noticed that he no longer felt separate from the search.

The act of following traces had become natural,

Almost effortless.

He did not think of it as searching anymore.

He thought of it as paying attention.

Sometimes he lost the trail completely.

When that happened,

He no longer felt afraid.

He trusted that stopping was also part of the way.

The herder learned that clarity often came when he was still.

And as this story continues now,

You may notice the same quiet shift within yourself.

A sense that you do not need to push.

A sense that noticing is enough.

You do not have to hold on to every detail of this story.

You do not have to follow it closely.

You can let it move in the background.

The herder keeps walking.

The traces come and go.

And you can rest.

Your breath moves on its own.

Your body knows how to settle.

There is nothing you need to decide tonight.

Nothing you need to find.

Just the feeling of being gently guided,

Even when you do not know how.

The herder follows the traces.

And you can drift.

The herder continued on his way.

By now,

Walking had become natural.

He no longer thought much about where he was going or how far he had come.

Each step followed the one before it without effort.

The land felt familiar again,

Even though he had never been here before.

The traces were still present.

Sometimes clear.

Sometimes faint.

Sometimes gone altogether.

But the herder no longer worried when they disappeared.

He had learned that they always returned.

One morning,

As the sun rose gently into the sky,

The herder noticed how quiet his thoughts had become.

They still appeared from time to time,

But they did not pull him along as strongly as before.

He walked.

He breathed.

He noticed.

The sense of searching was still there,

But it had softened into something else.

It felt less like looking for something lost and more like being open to what might appear.

As the day unfolded,

The herder felt a subtle change in the air.

The world felt closer somehow.

Sounds were clearer.

Colors felt warmer.

He slowed his pace without deciding to.

And then,

Without warning,

He saw the ox.

It was standing near a stream,

Drinking calmly.

Its body was solid and real.

Its presence filled the space without effort.

The herder stopped.

He did not move closer.

He did not speak.

He simply stood and looked.

This was different from before.

The ox was not hidden.

It was not half seen or glimpsed through trees.

It was fully there.

And strangely,

The herder did not feel excited.

He felt steady,

As if this moment had been waiting for him all along.

The ox lifted its head and looked in his direction.

Its eyes were calm.

There was no fear in them,

No challenge,

Just quiet awareness.

The herder felt his breath slow.

He noticed how his body felt grounded,

Balanced,

At ease.

The ox did not move away.

It also did not approach.

The two remained where they were,

Facing one another,

Separated by only a small distance.

The herder realized that nothing needed to happen.

This was enough.

After some time,

The ox turned slightly and continued drinking.

The herder remained where he was,

Letting the moment settle.

Eventually,

He took a few steps closer.

The ox stayed.

From that day on,

The ox appeared more often,

Sometimes near water,

Sometimes in open fields,

Sometimes resting beneath trees.

The herder no longer followed traces as carefully.

He did not need to.

The ox was simply there.

At times it wandered out of sight,

But the herder no longer felt anxious when that happened.

He trusted it would return.

The relationship between them felt quiet and natural.

The herder noticed how everything around him seemed to reflect the same calm presence.

The sound of birds,

The movement of clouds,

The feel of the ground beneath his feet.

Nothing felt separate anymore.

Walking no longer felt like effort.

Even resting did not feel like stopping.

The herder spent long stretches of time simply being where he was.

Sitting.

Standing.

Watching the light change.

The ox would come and go,

And each time it appeared,

The herder felt the same quiet recognition.

Not surprise.

Not relief.

Just a sense of familiarity.

As days passed,

The herder noticed something else.

His senses felt clearer.

He heard sounds without strain.

He saw without searching.

He felt without resisting.

Even his thoughts seemed to arise and fade more gently.

They no longer demanded his attention.

He did not need to follow them.

One afternoon,

The herder walked beside the ox as it moved through a wide valley.

They were close now,

Though not touching.

Their pace matched naturally.

The herder realized that he was no longer trying to understand the journey.

He was no longer asking questions about where it would lead.

He was simply present for it.

That night,

He slept deeply.

The ox rested nearby.

There was no need to keep watch.

When the herder woke,

The world felt clear and simple.

Nothing had changed.

And yet,

Everything felt different.

The ox stood quietly in the morning light.

The herder felt no urge to move.

He stayed where he was,

Breathing slowly.

The sense of searching had almost completely faded now.

In its place was a quiet knowing.

And as this story continues now,

You may notice something similar happening within yourself.

A settling.

A sense that nothing needs to be forced.

You do not have to imagine every detail.

You do not have to hold on to the story.

You can let it flow past you.

The herder walks with the ox.

The land moves gently around them.

Everything feels steady.

Your breath slows.

Your body rests more fully.

There is nothing you need to do now.

Nothing you need to find.

The ox is here,

And you can sleep.

The herder and the ox were often nearer one another now.

Sometimes they walked side by side.

Sometimes the ox moved ahead.

Sometimes it lingered behind.

The herder noticed that,

Even though the ox was familiar,

It was still strong and independent.

It followed its own rhythms.

It did not move according to the herder's wishes.

At times,

When the herder stepped closer,

The ox wandered away.

At other times,

It stayed.

The herder began to understand that finding the ox had not been the end of the journey.

There was still something to learn here.

One morning,

As the air felt cool and clear,

The herder noticed the ox moving towards distant fields where the grass looked especially rich.

Without thinking,

The herder followed more quickly than usual.

The ox pulled away.

The herder felt a moment of tension in his body.

His steps quickened.

His breathing shortened.

And the ox moved farther away.

The herder stopped.

He noticed what had happened.

He stood still until his breath slowed again.

When he resumed walking,

He did so calmly.

The ox slowed as well.

Over time,

The herder began to carry a rope,

Not to control the ox but to stay connected.

Sometimes the rope felt loose in his hands.

Other times,

It grew tight.

When the rope tightened,

The herder did not pull harder.

He waited.

He adjusted his stance.

He softened his grip.

He paid attention to his own balance.

Slowly,

The tension eased.

The ox responded to this steadiness.

There were days when the ox resisted strongly.

It pulled toward old paths,

Toward familiar places,

Toward what felt comfortable and easy.

On those days,

The herder stayed patient.

He did not scold the ox.

He did not give up.

He stayed.

The land around them seemed to reflect this effort.

Hills rose and fell.

Mist gathered in low places.

Paths were sometimes clear,

Sometimes steep.

The herder learned that staying present was more important than making progress.

Some days felt smooth.

Others felt difficult.

Both were part of the journey.

As time passed,

The herder noticed that his own reactions had begun to change.

When the ox pulled away,

He no longer felt alarmed.

When the rope tightened,

He no longer panicked.

He trusted the process.

He trusted himself.

He trusted the ox.

One evening,

After a long day of walking,

The herder sat down to rest.

The ox stood nearby,

Breathing slowly.

The herder noticed how tired his body felt.

Not exhausted,

But deeply used.

Like a tiredness that comes from steady effort rather than struggle.

He leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them,

The ox was still there.

The rope lay loosely between them.

Nothing needed to be adjusted.

The herder felt a quiet sense of gratitude.

Not toward anything in particular.

Just a general feeling of appreciation for being here.

For staying.

For not giving up.

From that day on,

The rope was needed less often.

The ox still wandered at times,

But it returned more easily.

The herder learned when to guide and when to allow.

He learned that forcing only created resistance.

Gentle persistence brought connection.

As the story continues now,

You may notice a similar feeling within yourself.

A sense that effort does not have to feel tense.

A sense that staying with something can be calm.

You do not need to control your thoughts.

You do not need to force yourself to relax.

You can simply stay.

The herder continues walking with the ox.

The rope hangs loosely.

The land moves slowly around them.

Your breath continues on its own.

Your body settles more deeply.

There is nothing you need to fix.

Nothing you need to hold tightly.

Just this steady moment.

Just this quiet presence.

And you can rest.

Scene 5 Taming the Ox By now,

The herder and the ox moved together more easily.

There was still a rope,

Still a sense of guidance,

But the tension that once filled those moments had softened.

The ox no longer pulled away as often.

When it did,

The herder noticed it sooner and responded more calmly.

Their steps began to match.

Not perfectly.

Not all the time.

But often enough to feel natural.

The herder noticed that his own movements had changed.

He walked more slowly.

He paused more often.

He listened to his body in a way he had not before.

The ox seemed to notice this too.

When the herder was calm,

The ox stayed close.

When the herder grew distracted,

The ox wandered.

This was not a problem.

It was simply information.

Each day followed a similar pattern now.

They walked.

They rested.

They drank water.

They stood quietly and watched the light change.

There was no rush to get anywhere.

The herder learned to tend to the ox with steady attention,

Not watching closely,

Just being aware.

When the ox moved toward something that would lead them astray,

The herder gently guided it back.

When the ox stayed on course,

The herder let it be.

The rope was rarely tight.

Most of the time,

It rested loosely in the herder's hand.

The land around them felt calmer now as well.

Paths felt smoother.

Hills less steep.

Even the air felt softer.

The herder noticed that he no longer thought much about the past or the future.

His thoughts stayed closer to what was happening right now.

Step.

Breath.

Pause.

Sometimes the herder felt tired in a quiet way,

Not worn down,

Just ready to rest.

When that happened,

He rested.

He did not push through.

The ox would stop with him,

Standing patiently until they were ready to move again.

This rhythm became familiar.

Comforting.

Safe.

Present.

As days passed,

The herder realized that the ox no longer needed much guidance.

It seemed to know the way.

It followed without resistance,

Without hesitation.

The herder felt a sense of trust growing between them.

Not trust built on control.

Trust built on time.

On staying.

On not leaving when things felt slow or dull.

There were moments when the herder wondered if this was all there was.

Just walking.

Just tending.

Just being here.

And the thought did not bother him.

It felt enough.

One afternoon,

They reached a wide meadow.

The grass was short and even.

The ox grazed calmly.

The herder sat down and watched the clouds move slowly across the sky.

He felt settled.

The rope lay beside him,

Unused.

The ox lifted its head occasionally,

Then returned to grazing.

There was nothing to manage.

The herder stayed there for a long time,

Breathing quietly.

As evening came,

The light softened.

The sounds of the day grew fewer.

The herder stood and continued on,

The ox following easily.

They moved as one now,

Without effort.

And as this story continues,

You may notice a similar steadiness within yourself.

A sense that things do not need to change.

A sense that staying with the moment is enough.

You do not need to guide your thoughts.

You do not need to improve anything.

You can let your body rest into its own rhythm.

The herder walks calmly.

The ox follows.

Your breath moves slowly.

Your body feels heavy and supported.

Nothing needs to be done.

Just this gentle rhythm.

Just this quiet movement toward rest.

And you can sleep.

Scene 6.

Riding the Ox Home.

The herder no longer walked beside the ox.

Now he rode quietly on its back.

There had been no moment when this changed.

No clear decision.

One day it simply felt natural.

The ox lowered itself slightly and the herder climbed on without thinking.

From there,

The journey felt different.

The ox moved steadily beneath him,

Strong,

Calm,

Certain of its direction.

The herder did not guide.

He did not watch closely.

He trusted the movement.

As they traveled,

The land opened up around them.

The path was wide and familiar,

Though the herder could not remember having walked it before.

The sky stretched gently overhead.

Clouds drifted without hurry.

The herder felt light.

He noticed how his body rested easily against the ox's back.

How his breathing matched the slow rhythm of its steps.

There was no effort in staying balanced.

No effort in paying attention.

The ox carried him without strain.

Sometimes the herder hummed quietly,

Not because he felt especially happy,

But because the sound felt natural.

Simple sounds without meaning.

The ox continued on.

Fields passed by.

Trees passed by.

Streams reflected the sky.

The herder watched without needing to focus.

Time felt different here.

Moments did not rush forward.

They did not drag behind.

They simply unfolded.

The herder realized that the sense of gain and loss that once guided him was gone.

There was nothing to gain.

Nothing to lose.

Home was not something to reach.

It was already happening.

As the ox walked,

The herder remembered the long search,

The wandering paths,

The effort of following traces,

The tension of holding the rope.

These memories felt distant now.

Not painful.

Just quiet.

The ox turned gently along the path.

The herder felt no need to look ahead.

The ox knew where it was going.

The journey felt safe.

When they passed through villages,

The herder noticed ordinary life unfolding around them.

People moved about their days.

Sounds rose and fell.

Nothing felt separate.

The herder did not feel the need to stop.

He did not feel the need to hurry.

The ox continued at the same steady pace.

At times,

The herder closed his eyes.

Even with his eyes closed,

He felt no fear.

The movement continued.

The ox did not stumble.

When the herder opened his eyes again,

The world was still there.

Unchanged.

As evening approached,

The light grew softer.

The sky deepened in color.

The air cooled.

The ox moved on.

The herder felt a deep sense of comfort spread through his body,

Like being carried home after a long day.

Eventually,

They reached a place that felt like home.

The ox slowed,

And the herder climbed down easily.

There was no sense of arrival.

No sense of ending.

It simply felt right to be here.

The ox stood quietly for a moment,

Then wandered off without concern.

The herder did not watch it go.

He sat down and rested.

The world around him felt complete.

There was no task waiting,

No responsibility calling.

The herder felt a gentle warmth in his chest,

A quiet ease that required no explanation.

As night settled,

The herder lay down and rested his head on the ground.

The stars appeared one by one.

He breathed slowly.

There was nothing left to do.

And as this story continues,

You may notice that same feeling within yourself.

A sense of being carried,

Or a sense that you do not need to manage anything.

Your body knows how to rest.

Your breath knows how to slow.

You can let yourself be supported.

The ox carries the herder home,

And you can drift into sleep.

Scene 7.

The Ox Forgotten The herder woke one morning and noticed something quietly different.

The ox was not nearby.

At first,

This did not matter.

The herder sat and breathed,

Letting the morning settle around him.

The air was cool.

The ground felt solid beneath him.

Only after some time did he realize that he had not seen the ox since the night before.

He looked around calmly.

There was no concern,

No urgency.

The ox had done what it needed to do.

The herder felt no need to search.

He stood and walked a little,

Then stopped.

The land looked the same as it always had.

The path stretched gently ahead.

The sky moved slowly above.

The herder noticed something else.

He did not feel alone.

Even without the ox,

There was a sense of steadiness within him.

The strength that once came from following the ox now felt like it was already here.

The herder walked on.

He did not look for traces.

He did not call out.

He simply walked.

The journey felt lighter now.

Not because something was missing,

But because nothing needed to be carried.

The herder noticed how natural it felt to move without guidance.

His steps found the path on their own.

As the day unfolded,

The herder stopped often.

He sat.

He rested.

He watched the world move.

The sense of searching that once defined him was gone.

There was nothing to find.

Nothing to manage.

The herder noticed that his thoughts had grown quieter still.

They appeared occasionally,

Like distant sounds.

But they did not stay long.

He did not follow them.

He did not push them away.

They came and went on their own.

The herder felt at ease with this.

He felt no need to hold on to any particular experience.

The rope and the tools he once carried lay unused.

He had not brought them with him.

There was no reason to.

The herder reached a place that felt like home,

Though he could not say why.

He sat beneath a simple shelter and rested.

The sun rose higher in the sky.

Time passed without notice.

The herder lay down and slept lightly.

When he woke,

The world was still there.

Unchanged.

The herder smiled softly.

Not because he felt joy,

But because everything felt complete.

There was no ox.

There was no path to follow.

There was only this.

As this story continues,

You may notice your own sense of effort beginning to fade.

You do not need to hold on to anything.

You do not need to remember the story.

You can let go of following.

Your body rests on its own.

Your breath moves naturally.

There is nothing to do.

The herder continues his quiet day.

And you can sleep.

There was no longer a herder.

There was no longer an ox.

Nothing had ended and nothing had disappeared.

There was simply nothing to hold on to.

The land remained and so remained the sky.

But no one was standing apart from it.

There was no searching.

There was no following.

There wasn't even remembering.

The world felt open and quiet.

Like a wide,

Empty field under a soft sky.

Time moved,

But without urgency.

Moments came and went without needing to be noticed.

There was no need to name anything.

No need to explain what was happening.

The ground was solid and the air was still.

Everything rested in its place.

There was no inside and no outside.

No before and no after.

Just this open stillness.

Thoughts no longer formed in the usual way.

When they appeared,

They faded quickly.

Like ripples on water that smoothed themselves out.

Breathing continued,

Slow and steady.

There was no effort in it.

The body rested deeply,

Supported by the ground.

Nothing needed to be adjusted nor improved.

There was no need to understand this.

Understanding was not required.

The story itself grew quiet now.

Words became softer.

More spaced.

Less important somehow.

Silence held everything gently.

If a sound appeared,

It passed.

If a sensation appeared,

It passed.

Nothing stayed long enough to matter.

This was not a place.

Not a belief.

Not something to reach.

It was simply what remained when nothing was being held.

The world did not disappear.

It simply did not require attention.

Light came.

Light went.

The body rested and the breath flowed.

There was no one here to notice.

And that was fine.

As this story continues,

You may find that even listening becomes unnecessary.

You do not need to stay with the words.

You do not need to follow the story.

You can let it fade into the background.

Your body knows how to sleep.

Your mind can rest.

Nothing is required of you now.

Nothing is missing.

Nothing needs to happen.

Just this quiet.

Just this rest.

And sleep can come as it wishes.

Scene 9.

Return to the Source.

The world was still here.

Nothing had vanished.

The sky continued to open above the land.

The ground remained firm and steady below.

There was no need to return from anywhere.

Nothing had been left behind.

The world simply appeared again as it always had.

Mountains were mountains.

Water flowed as water.

Everything moved in its own way.

There was no need to watch closely.

No need to step back or step forward.

Things unfolded naturally.

The land felt familiar in a simple way.

Not because it was remembered,

But because nothing about it needed explanation.

Grass grew.

Rivers moved and light shifted across the ground.

There was no effort in any of this.

The world did not ask to be understood.

It only continued.

The sense of being separate did not return.

And yet,

Everything was clear.

The air was cool.

The body was at rest.

The breath moved quietly.

There was no story attached to any of it.

Just the gentle presence of what is.

The thought appeared.

It faded on its own.

If a sound appeared,

It passed.

Nothing lingered.

Nothing needed to be held.

Time did not feel heavy here.

Moments rose and fell without meaning.

The world felt settled,

Like returning to a place that had never been left.

The source was not something hidden.

It was not behind or beneath anything.

It was simply the way things were.

The body rested easily.

The mind did not need to follow anything.

There was no need to name this feeling.

No need to describe it further.

As this story continues,

You may notice how natural it feels to let go of effort.

You do not need to keep listening.

You do not need to stay aware.

Sleep can come quietly.

The world continues,

And you can rest.

Scene 10 Entering the Marketplace The day began like any other.

The world was already awake.

Sounds moved through the air.

Light touched the ground.

Life was happening everywhere.

There was no sense of return.

Nothing.

The marketplace was simply where life unfolded.

People walked by,

Each absorbed in their own small tasks.

Some moved quickly.

Some moved slowly.

Voices rose and fell.

Nothing stood out.

Nothing,

Just a person moving through the day.

Hands were open.

Empty.

Not holding anything.