The Tao of Pooh

  "Here's Rabbit again," said Pooh. "And Eeyore."

  "Oh—Rabbit," I said.

  "And Eeyore," said Eeyore.

  "I asked Eeyore ——," said Rabbit.

  "That's me," said Eeyore. "Eeyore."

  "Yes, I remember," I said. "I saw you just last year, out in the Swamp somewhere."

  "Swamp?" said Eeyore indignantly. "It's not a Swamp. It's a Bog."

  "Swamp, Bog . . . . "

  "What's a Bog?" asked Pooh.

  "If your ankles get wet, that's a Bog," said Eeyore.

  "I see," said Pooh.

  "Whereas," continued Eeyore, "if you sink in up to your neck, that's a Swamp.

  "Swamp, indeed," he added bitterly. "Ha!"

  "Anyway, I asked Eeyore," said Rabbit, "and he said he didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about."

  "It appears that I'm not alone in that," put in Eeyore. "You don't have the slightest idea, either. Obviously."

  "Just what is the Uncarved Block?" asked Rabbit.

  "It's me," said Pooh.

  "You?" said Eeyore. "I came all the way over here—— "

  "From the Swamp," I added helpfully.

  "—from the Bog, to see Pooh?"

  "Why not?" asked Pooh.

  "Anything for Rabbit to keep busy over," said Eeyore sarcastically. "Anything at all, apparently."

  Now, one thing that seems rather odd to us is that the Bisy Backson Society, which practically worships youthful energy, appearance, and attitudes, has developed no effective methods of retaining them, a lack testified to by an ever-increasing reliance on the unnatural False Front approach of cosmetics and plastic surgery. Instead, it has developed countless ways of breaking youthfulness down and destroying it. Those damaging activities that are not part of the search for the Great Reward seem to accumulate under the general heading of Saving Time.

  For an example of the latter, let's take a classic monument to the Bisy Backson: the Hamburger Stand.

  In China, there is the Teahouse. In France, there is the Sidewalk Cafe. Practically every civilized country in the world has some sort of equivalent—a place where people can go to eat, relax, and talk things over without worrying about what time it is, and without having to leave as soon as the food is eaten. In China, for example, the Teahouse is a real social institution. Throughout the day, families, neighbors, and friends drop in for tea and light food. They stay as long as they like. Discussions may last for hours. It would be a bit strange to call the Teahouse the nonexclusive neighborhood social club; such terms are too Western. But that can roughly describe part of the function, at least from our rather compartmentalized point of view. "You're important. Relax and enjoy yourself." That's the message of the Teahouse.

  What's the message of the Hamburger Stand? Quite obviously, it's: "You don't count; hurry up."

  Not only that, but as everyone knows by now, the horrible Hamburger Stand is an insult to the customer's health as well. Unfortunately, this is not the only example supported by the Saving Time mentality. We could also list the Supermarket, the Microwave Oven, the Nuclear Power Plant, the Poisonous Chemicals . . .

  Practically speaking, if timesaving devices really saved time, there would be more time available to us now than ever before in history. But, strangely enough, we seem to have less time than even a few years ago. It's really great fun to go someplace where there are no timesaving devices because, when you do, you find that you have lots of time. Elsewhere, you're too busy working to pay for machines to save you time so you won't have to work so hard.

  The main problem with this great obsession for Saving Time is very simple: you can't save time. You can only spend it. But you can spend it wisely or foolishly. The Bisy Backson has practically no time at all, because he's too busy wasting it by trying to save it. And by trying to save every bit of it, he ends up wasting the whole thing.

  Henry David Thoreau put it this way, in Walden:

  Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life? We are determined to be starved before we are hungry. Men say that a stitch in time saves nine, and so they take a thousand stitches to-day to save nine tomorrow.

  For colorful contrast with the youth-destroying Bisy Backson Society, let's get back to Taoism for a moment. One of the most intriguing things about Taoism is that it not only contains respect for the old and wise, but also for the figure known as the Youthful Immortal. The Taoist tradition is filled with fascinating stories (fiction) and accounts (fact, embellished or otherwise) of those who, while still young, discovered the Secrets of Life. However the discoveries were made, the result in each case was the same: a long life of youthful appearance, outlook, and energy.

  For that matter, Taoist Immortals of all age levels have traditionally been known for their young attitudes, appearances, and energies. These were hardly accidental, but resulted from Taoist practices. For centuries in China, the general life expectancy was not much more than forty years, and hardworking farmers and dissipated aristocrats often died even younger than that. Yet countless Taoists lived into their eighties and nineties, and many lived considerably longer. The following is one of our favorite examples.

  In 1933, newspapers around the world announced the death of a man named Li Chung Yun. As officially and irrefutably recorded by the Chinese government, and as verified by a thorough independent investigation, Li had been born in 1677. When over the age of two hundred, he had given a series of twenty-eight, three-hour-long talks on longevity at a Chinese university. Those who saw him at that time claimed that he looked like a man in his fifties, standing straight and tall, with strong teeth and a full head of hair. When he died, he was two hundred fifty-six years old.

  When Li was a child, he left home to follow some wandering herbalists. In the mountains of China, he learned from them some of the secrets of the earth's medicine. In addition to using various rejuvenative herbs daily, he practiced Taoist exercises, believing that exercise which strains and tires the mind and body shortens life. His favorite way of traveling was what he called "walking lightly." Young men who went for walks with him when he was in his later years could not match his pace, which he maintained for miles. He advised those who wanted strong health to "sit like a turtle, walk like a pigeon, and sleep like a dog." When asked for his major secret, though, he would reply, "inner quiet."

  Speaking of that sort of thing, let's return to The House at Pooh Corner. Christopher Robin has just asked Pooh a question:

  "What do you like doing best in the world, Pooh?"

  "Well," said Pooh, "what I like best -" and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn't know what it was called.

  The honey doesn't taste so good once it is being eaten; the goal doesn't mean so much once it is reached; the reward is not so rewarding once it has been given. If we add up all the rewards in our lives, we won't have very much. But if we add up the spaces between the rewards, we'll come up with quite a bit. And if we add up the rewards and the spaces, then we'll have everything—every minute of the time that we spent. What if we could enjoy it?

  The Christmas presents once opened are Not So Much Fun as they were while we were in the process of examining, lifting, shaking, thinking about, and opening them. Three hundred sixty-five days later, we try again and find that the same thing has happened. Each time the goal is reached, it be comes Not So Much Fun, and we're off to reach the next one, then the next one, then the next.

  That doesn't mean that the goals we have don't count. They do, mostly because they cause us to go through the process, and it's the process that makes us wise, happy, or whatever. If we do things in the wrong sort of way, it makes us miserable, angry, confused, and things like that. The goal has to be right for us, and it has to be beneficial, in order to ensure a beneficial process. But aside from that, it's really the process that's important. Enjoyment of the process is the secret that
erases the myths of the Great Reward and Saving Time. Perhaps this can help to explain the everyday significance of the word Tao, the Way.

  What could we call that moment before we begin to eat the honey? Some would call it anticipation, but we think it's more than that. We would call it awareness. It's when we become happy and realize it, if only for an instant. By Enjoying the Process, we can stretch that awareness out so that it's no longer only a moment, but covers the whole thing. Then we can have a lot of fun. Just like Pooh.

  And then he thought that being with Christopher Robin was a very good thing to do, and having Piglet near was a very friendly thing to have; and so, when he had thought it all out, he said, "What I like best in the whole world is Me and Piglet going to see You, and You saying 'What about a little something?' and Me saying, 'Well, I shouldn't mind a little something, should you, Piglet,' and it being a hummy sort of day outside, and birds singing."

  When we take the time to enjoy our surroundings and appreciate being alive, we find that we have no time to be Bisy Backsons anymore. But that's all right, because being Bisy Backsons is a tremendous waste of time. As the poet Lu Yu wrote:

  The clouds above us join and separate,

  The breeze in the courtyard leaves and returns.

  Life is like that, so why not relax?

  Who can stop us from celebrating?

  THAT

  SORT OF

  BEAR

  We were discussing the "Ode to Joy," the choral finale to Beethoven's Ninth Symphony.

  "It's one of my favorites," said Pooh.

  "Same here," I said.

  "My favorite part," said Pooh, "is where they go: Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear!"

  "But ——"

  "Sing Ho! for a Bear! Sing Ho! for a Pooh!"

  "But they don't——"

  "Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear!"

  "My favorite part," he added.

  "But they don't sing, 'Sing Ho! for the life of a Bear!' in the 'Ode to Joy,'" I said.

  "They don't?"

  "No, they don't."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, because they hadn't thought of it, I guess."

  "They what?"

  "Neither Ludwig van Beethoven nor the man who wrote the words of the 'Ode to Joy' put any thing in it about Bears."

  "Oh. I must have been thinking of Ludwig van Bearthoven."

  "Pooh, there is no Ludwig van Bearthoven. You wrote that song yourself."

  "I did?"

  "That's right."

  "Oh, so that's where I heard it," he said.

  But anyway, that brings us to what we're going to discuss here—enjoying life and being Special. Everyone is Special, you know.

  "It is hard to be brave," said Piglet, sniffing slightly, "when you're only a Very Small Animal."

  Rabbit, who had begun to write very busily, looked up and said:

  "It is because you are a very small animal that you will be Useful in the adventure before us."

  Piglet was so excited at the idea of being Useful that he forgot to be frightened any more, and when Rabbit went on to say that Kangas were only Fierce during the winter months, being at other times of an Affectionate Disposition, he could hardly sit still, he was so eager to begin being useful at once.

  "What about me?" said Pooh sadly. "I suppose I shan't be useful?"

  "Never mind, Pooh," said Piglet comfortingly.

  "Another time perhaps."

  "Without Pooh," said Rabbit solemnly as he sharpened his pencil, "the adventure would be impossible."

  "Oh!" said Piglet, and tried not to look disappointed. But Pooh went into a corner of the room and said proudly to himself, "Impossible without Me! That sort of Bear."

  No matter how Useful we may be, sometimes it takes us a while to recognize our own value. This can be illustrated by the Chinese story of The Stonecutter:

  There was once a stonecutter, who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life.

  One day, he passed a wealthy merchant's house, and through the open gateway, saw many fine possessions and important visitors. "How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stonecutter. He became very envious, and wished that he could be like the merchant. Then he would no longer have to live the life of a mere stonecutter.

  To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever dreamed of, envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. But soon a high official passed by, carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants, and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession. "How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!"

  Then he became the high official, carried every where in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around, who had to bow down before him as he passed. It was a hot summer day, and the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence. "How powerful the sun is!" he thought "I wish that I could be the sun!"

  Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below. "How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!"

  Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind. "How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!"

  Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, hated and feared by all below him. But after a while, he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it—a huge, towering stone. "How powerful that stone is!" he thought. I wish that I could be a stone!"

  Then he became the stone, more powerful than anything else on earth. But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the solid rock, and felt himself being changed. "What could be more powerful than I, the stone?" he thought. He looked down and saw far below him the figure of a stonecutter.

  Ah, here's the mail. "Oh, look—something for you, Pooh."

  "For me?" said Pooh.

  "For Mister Pooh Bear."

  "Mister Pooh Bear?"

  "That's what it says."

  "Mister . . . Pooh . . . Bear," said Pooh in an awed sort of voice. "What's it say?" he asked, climbing onto the writing table and looking over my shoulder.

  "It's from Finchley's. 'Announcing our third annual shoe sale. All styles, all sizes.' Pooh, you don't need this."

  "What's that say at the bottom?" asked Pooh.

  "'Free Coffee.' One more reason to stay away."

  "Let me examine this more carefully," said Pooh, taking it over by the window.

  In order to take control of our lives and accomplish something of lasting value, sooner or later we need to learn to Believe. We don't need to shift our responsibilities onto the shoulders of some deified Spiritual Superman, or sit around and wait for Fate to come knocking at the door. We simply need to believe in the power that's within us, and use it. When we do that, and stop imitating others and competing against them, things begin to work for us.

  Let's take a couple of examples:

  In 1927, a thirty-two-year-old man stood on the edge of the lake in Chicago's Lincoln Park, planning to drop beneath the dark waters and drown. His daughter had died, his company had gone bankrupt, his reputation had been ruined, and he was becoming an alcoholic. Looking into the lake, he asked himself what one small man in his position could possibly do. Then an answer came to him: he was now free to take risks, to initiate action on his own, and, by doing so, to help other people. He returned home and committed himself to the work that he believed the universe wanted him to do, instead of what he had been taught to do. He watched the laws of
the natural world and altered his own living patterns accordingly, eventually changing his life completely. Those laws were to inspire and support him in his greatest achievements. But without his believing and taking a chance, his contributions to humanity would never have been made, and no one would have come to respect the name of Buckminster Fuller.

  In 1854, a boy was withdrawn from school in Port Huron, Michigan, for "causing trouble." He had been there for three months. That was to be the only formal education of his life. He later worked as a laboratory assistant. The job ended when he blew up the laboratory. His employer picked him up and threw him out into the dust, saying that he would never amount to anything. But he had a plan, and he wasn't going to let a little problem or two stop him. He wanted to learn the mechanical applications of natural laws. He eventually became the foremost inventor in American history, with over thirteen hundred domestic and foreign patents registered in his name, a name synonymous with problem-solving genius, the name of Thomas Edison.