Koan Collection #1
I recently discovered the existence of “Zen Koans”, ancient to recent short stories that are often paradoxical in nature and don’t have a “point” to them. If you try to “get” or “understand” them, you ultimately miss the point of them, as they are meant to gauge the reaction and interpretation of the audience as well as measure their understanding of Zen in the process.
This fascinated me, as we are so accustomed to there being morals or some degree of significance in our storytelling, while koans seem to break this convention.
In study, I have written three koans to improve my knowledge of them, and to have a little fun with the concept as well. These stories exist in the lore and universe of Astralheim, the fictional world in which my “Starlight Symphony” novels take place. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I did writing them!
Three men were sailing upon a small boat where the waters were choppy and the winds unfavourable. Though land was in sight, the chances of landing swiftly, were nigh impossible.
The first man sat at the stern of the boat and stared at the water below, complaining of the weak winds and angry waves.
The second man sat at the bow of the boat and looked to the skies, assuring the others that the waters would soon calm, and the winds would soon change.
The third man adjusted the sails.
An aspiring spellcaster of Tsurugi University heard legend of a separate sect of Kodoku Monks who were so disciplined in the designs of magic, that some could even jump across clouds, a power known only as “striding”.
The spellcaster questioned the validity of this illustrious power and sought an audience with the leader of the sect.
‘Even with the great limits and reaches that magic can achieve-’, started the spellcaster, ‘-I refuse to believe that we as mere mortals can somehow master the ability of flight without wings of an animal, nor the help of beast nor machine nor any other aid. I find this ridiculous and do not believe it. It is simply impossible for us humans to fly unaided even with the depths of magic in our hands”.
The master replied. ‘We also cannot breathe underwater, for we have not gills, And for true, we cannot fly, for we have no wings. But do we question the fish for how it breathes water, or the bird for how it flies? We can never reach the height of mountains, but do we question their size and grandeur?
‘And we certainly do not question the iridescent and scintillating beauty of the Aurora in the North, for we cannot ever be like these celestial bodies’.
‘But all of those things can be proven with raw science alone’, refuted the spellcaster. ‘Magic proves no part in the existence of any of those. It’s not even magic at all’.
‘What I am trying to tell you’, the master finished, ‘is that it is…’.
A young druid in training ventured through a jungle to meet with a Kakarikai residing in the shade of a willow tree.
Cautiously approaching so as to not anger the spirit, the druid laid forth a book, with blank pages of paper and a quill.
‘Teach me the ways of Floramancy and the magiks of life and all its walks’, the druid humbly asked, knowing full well these powerful, mouthless spirits would not accept just any human as their student. The book was an offering of communication, the Kakarikai would write in, and it seemed to be so when the spirit held it in its fingers of wood and vine.
To the druid’s utter shock, the leaves of the book turned brown and black, the leather cover staining and flaking apart. The quill wilted and shriveled up. Eventually, the entire journal decayed and rotted into ash and mulch, disintegrating and flying into the passing winds.
The spirit, with a blank and empty countenance, shook the remains away and placed a firm finger upon the druid’s forehead.
Inside his mind, the druid heard a broken and creaky voice say;
‘ThAt waS yOur fiRsT LEssOn…’.
Thank you for reading and have a beautiful day!
Daniel
