Side Story: The Soul-Heart Lamp & The Rhinoceros Beetle

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[The Soul Lamp]

Commentary on the Soul:

It refers to the spiritual vitality within a person. In ancient times, the soul was believed to be yang energy, which formed human thought and intelligence. The corporeal soul was coarse, heavy, and turbid yin energy, which formed sensation and the physical body. When soul and corporeal soul—yin and yang—were in harmony, the body was healthy. When a person died, the soul, or yang energy, returned to Heaven; the spirit separated from the corporeal soul, or physical form, while the flesh and bones, or yin energy, returned to the earth.

There is also the saying that a person possesses three souls and seven corporeal spirits.

The three souls are the Heavenly Soul, which is yang; the Earthly Soul, which is yin; and the Life Soul, which is yang.

The seven corporeal spirits are the Heaven-Rushing Spirit and the Spirit of Divine Wisdom, which belong to the heavenly corporeal spirits; the Essence Spirit and the Heroic Spirit, which belong to the earthly corporeal spirits; and the Vital Spirit, the Strength Spirit, and the Central Spirit, which belong to the human corporeal spirits.

Within the Hall of Soul Suppression, a heart lamp was enshrined. Within the hall, it was known as the Soul Lamp. The lamp had appeared at the dawn of chaos, emerging from the void. Above it were inscribed three maxims:

First Maxim: The Myriad Teachings do not exist in this realm, yet the Daoist arts lie hidden within it.

Second Maxim: Reincarnation has fallen into disorder; this realm shall mend it.

Third Maxim: The Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning—our Tathagata.

When the world had first taken shape, a certain mage arrived bearing the heart lamp. He was stooped and bald, with a mark of discipline upon his crown, while his eyes seemed to burn like flames. He said, “I am not of this realm. I came here because fate brought me, and when fate departs, I shall depart with it. I ask only that the heart lamp be tempered: let my own body be its first fuel, and the ghosts beneath Heaven its crucible, until the flame of destiny is forged.”

Afterward, later generations built a lofty tower, hexagonal and so tall that no one knew its height. Yet later still, they came to understand the meaning of soul and corporeal soul. Thus they built another tower. The first became the Soul Pagoda, and the second the Corporeal Pagoda. From them, the Hall of Soul Suppression was born.

Only the Lord of Souls and the Lord of Corporeal Spirits knew the heart lamp’s purpose. Three years ago, however, its oil ran dry. Its flame began to fade, and the Lord of Souls offered his own soul-force as fuel. Thus, the Lord of Souls gradually weakened.

The Lord of Corporeal Spirits dwelled at the bottom of the Corporeal Pagoda, bound to himself by thousands upon thousands of chains lest he run amok. But now the Lord of Souls was unstable, and the heart lamp was about to go out. Without the Lord of Souls to guide him, the Lord of Corporeal Spirits could scarcely control the lamp. Thus, soul and corporeal spirit fell out of balance.

Three years passed. The heart lamp was nearing extinction. Then, on that day, a hundred ghosts roamed the night, and strange happenings spread throughout the land. Only then did the people realize that the great edifice of the Hall of Soul Suppression was about to collapse.

“When neither gods nor ghosts remain, the people of the world will sleep forever—yet there will always come a time when they awaken!” declared the Lord of Souls.

Within the Hall of Soul Suppression, however, the two factions had already split apart. The Soul Faction and the Corporeal Faction could not reconcile, and a third faction arose in their wake. Break everything, then rebuild it anew: such was the belief of the third faction. Its representative, the Soul Tamer Dong Yunpo, was one of them.

[The Rhinoceros Beetle]

Once upon a time, and forever and ever, there lived a rhinoceros beetle. It loved most of all to fly among the flowers. Yet it was neither butterfly nor bee. It loved the fragrance of blossoms and loathed its own ugly appearance.

Those vivid petals belonged to its dreams. And yet they clashed so utterly with its own black, bony body.

No one knew how long it had circled among the flowers before someone discovered that it had always been traveling its own cycle of reincarnation. In the end, it saw through that cycle—but it was only the cycle shared by itself and those flowers.

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Flowers bloomed and withered; spring snow fell, summer cicadas sang, autumn mists drifted, and winter frost formed. The rings of the years turned through their own cycle as well. At last, the rhinoceros beetle reached old age, until it stood at the very edge of being unable to fly.

It had lived for more than a decade—a miracle among miracles. Yet no one ever noticed that miracle, and it had never wished to be noticed. Its life consisted of watching the flowers bloom and wither.

Until one day, a little girl found it.

By then, it had reached the end of its life: its great black-armored body and its tenacious broken horn would soon leave behind nothing but empty shells.

The little girl had a dream. In it, she became a rhinoceros beetle. Yet within the dream, she could never tell whether she was the one dreaming.

She remembered that patch of grass. She searched from the distant east to the west, from the south to the north, but never found the flower field from her dream. Still, she knew that the rhinoceros beetle was waiting for her.

At the very end of the dream, the rhinoceros beetle saw a little girl. The girl awoke—but could not remember what happened next. From the moment she opened her eyes, she became a girl in pursuit of the rhinoceros beetle.

Yet the key to the story lay neither with the rhinoceros beetle nor with the girl.

It lay in whether the flower field could be found.

The little girl, however, did not understand this.

She did not know that someone had been searching for her all along.

In the end, the rhinoceros beetle collapsed beneath the flowers. In its final moments, it saw a little girl picking up petal after petal and scattering them over its body.

Because the rhinoceros beetle—this rhinoceros beetle—had never once possessed the courage to touch those beautiful petals.

The flowers scattered. At last, the little girl awoke. Only then did she discover that this had been a complete dream. The corners of her eyes were wet, and petals lay scattered beside her. She was still at home.

If the world contains shells, then where does the soul that drives those shells reside?

In the mind?

On the back?

In the heart?

Or have shell and soul already become impossible to separate?

The rhinoceros beetle’s shell was hard on the outside, but its heart was truly soft. Its black carapace was not so much armor as a shackle that restrained it. The girl finally understood this.

She began raising rhinoceros beetles. She grew gradually older, and built their home beside clusters of flowers. She raised the beetles herself and planted the flowers herself. Perhaps this was to be her entire life.

Until one day, an old man came there.

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He carried a peachwood sword and wore Daoist robes. Though his cultivation was not profound, he seemed like a beam of light. The old woman raised her head. The rhinoceros beetle circled the flowers, then finally settled upon the peachwood sword.

The old Daoist was astonished. “How did you manage to raise all these rhinoceros beetles?”

“I know that they like flowers.” The old woman’s voice was gentle. “That is all.”

Thus, the old Daoist built another thatched hut beside the old woman’s. The two became neighbors. Every day, they rose to the crowing of the roosters, planted flowers and tended the grass, persisted in their cultivation, and tempered their hearts.

Or perhaps they simply lived at ease beneath Heaven and Earth, within that valley.

Whenever they thought back on the events of their early years, they felt a little regret. They had once been lectured by a child—and that had also been the happiest time of their lives. For in remembering it, they remembered their beginning: they had come to the valley, planted flowers and grass, and raised rhinoceros beetles.

And yet, no matter how they looked at it, this ought to have been the rhinoceros beetle’s story.

The rhinoceros beetle, however, did not seem as happy as the old woman and the old Daoist. The beetle could not find its way and dared not settle upon the flowers, while the old woman and the old Daoist had found their direction. And so they continued living.

There seemed to be a man as well. Had he been forgotten in some corner?

No, no. What that man wanted was to defeat others and achieve something. Thus, he alone set out upon the road in pursuit of his goal.

As the years passed, the man did accomplish a number of things. Whether he was satisfied or not, however, even he did not know. Perhaps his achievements were the greatest of all. Yet he possessed no tranquil heart. Still, he had found his own direction, and in the end, he always wished to find the old woman and the old Daoist once more.

When he reached the final moments of his life, he returned to the valley where the three of them had first met. Only he remained.

He began caring for the rhinoceros beetles, only to discover that caring for them required flowers, flowers required soil, and soil required moisture. Fortunately, all of these things could be provided.

Much, much later, whenever someone discovered that place, they felt an urge to weep. It was a sorrow that came from the rhinoceros beetle.

The rhinoceros beetle was still there, but the old woman was gone.

The rhinoceros beetle was still there, but the old Daoist was gone.

The rhinoceros beetle was still there, but the man was gone as well.

The place became a valley of rhinoceros beetles and flowers.

Those who discovered it never told anyone that such a beautiful and sorrowful valley existed. In time, they too gradually forgot it. Yet that sorrow remained impossible to forget.

Ah, rhinoceros beetle—once, by accident, one fell upon a flower. But then it discovered that it could neither give the flower anything nor help it in any way.

Then let it go on flying.

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