The LAdy Doji
It was long ago, when the first kami of the clans had fallen from the heavens, and the world was still new-forged…
…The seven stood upon the hilltop, their kimonos barely touched by the fierce winds which blew from an angry sea. They looked upon the world with new eyes, without knowledge of the path ahead.
“The land is at war with itself,” one of them said to the others, her voice as soft as silks. “It must be taught civilization. We must find a way to live with the people of this land, and with each other.”
“It is not at all what I had expected.” A gruff voice from a large man to one side. “It is an untamed world, one which needs dominance and force to guide it.”
“No, brother – it is but a child, in need of teaching and wisdom to flourish.” This from a slender man with gentle hands, stroking the beard upon his chin thoughtfully.
“It is need of a leader.” The final voice, from a man with waving golden hair and firelit eyes. “We must give it a reason to grow.”
Upon the hillside by the tossing waves, the seven engaged in contests of skill and strength, with only one man standing aside, apart from the rest. A silent watcher, who already knew the ultimate outcome of the trials. It was there that the first Emperor was chosen, and the First Hantei claimed his right to rule. The others slowly scattered to the winds, building their domain upon the land and gathering the people of the realm to serve them and form the Empire.
Of them, only two remained on that hilltop when the snows came. Those two were Hantei and his sister, Lady Doji. The first city had been raised upon that hill, and a great palace was being built – a palace that would one day be known as Otosan Uchi, the city of the Emperor. The winter blew its harsh breath over the land, coating it with white frost and thick snow. One day, Lady Doji stood at her window in the high towers of Otosan Uchi and looked down upon the budding city below.
On the road outside of the palace she saw a thin beggar man, sitting outside the warm houses of the city. His cloak was ragged, and his weathered staff lay by his side with his begging bowl. There were no travelers on that road, only the company of bitter wind and freezing snow.
Lady Doji called to her samurai guards, instructing them to tell the beggar to com e inside the palace, that a small room would be found for him. But when the guards returned, they said that the beggar refused their request, and would not listen to what they said.
So, Lady Doji called to her maidservants, and gave them a bowl of steaming rice and fish, and told them to go to the beggar. They wen tout into the cold winter wind, but although the beggar gratefully accepted the food, he again refused the shelter than offered. Puzzled by his strange behavior, Doji went to her window again, but the old man had not moved. He simply sat by the road, calmly accepting the cold winter day around him.
At last, despite the pleas of her maids, the Lady Doji left the palace and walked down the road away from Otosan Uchi. Bearing only a blanket woven of thick wool, she stood in the thick snow near the little man. “They tell me,” she said softly, “that you will not come inside. Will you not at least take this warm blanket?”
“Why would I want to do that?” The beggar’s voice was rough, uncultured, but not disrespectful.
“So that you can live. The day grows darker, and the night will bring fierce storms, and snow. Do you wish to freeze and die?”
The wizened beggar looked up at the lady, her face as white as the snow which lightly crusted the ground. “Die?” he chuckled. “You say that word with dread, my Lady.” His thin eyes pinched shut as he calmly took a bite of fish from the warmed bowl.
“Are you not afraid of death?”
“Rather, my Lady, I am not afraid to live.” Doji stared at the man, a faintly puzzled look on her perfect features. “Look around you, Lady. What do you see?”
“Doji gazed a the land around her, from palatial walls of the new construction in Otosan Uchi, down to the rolling ocean on the rocks below. “I see…the world.”
“That is all you see? You do not look right in front of your face.” The little man chuckled, and Doji flushed with mild anger. “Gentle Lady Doji, I do not mean to insult you. Tell me…” He reached down and scooped up a handful of the snow at her feet. “Do you not see the snow?”
“The snow?” she said. “Of course I see the snow. There is snow everywhere.”
“Ah, but do you see the snow?” As Doji looked at him perplexedly, he pointed at a large flake which fell near her face. “That one. What do you see there?”
She looked at the tiny flake of snow as it fell lazily past her face, through her fingers, and landed on the ground at her feet. After a moment, she said, “It has seven spires, from a single point.”
“And that one?”
“Three spires – it looks like a dove in flight.” She paused, “I had never noticed.”
“In all the thousands of snowflakes of all the thousands of snowfalls, there are no two which are alike.” The little man chuckled gleefully. “No two in all eternity. If I were to go inside with you now, I would never see that snowflake. Its pattern would never occur again.” He pointed a wizened finger at a slowly falling splinter of ice.
“It is only a piece of water.” Doji watched in fascination as the beggar peered at another snowflake.
“And life is only a single day, one upon the other, until years have passed and you have grown old, and then you say, “Where have all the days gone?” He chuckled again. “Ah! Six spires – like the wheel of a wagon.” He paused, and the snow fell silently between them. After a moment, the beggar continued, “How did you spend this morning, Lady?”
“This morning?” The curious question surprised her, and she murmured, “I was weaving – a new kimono for my brother Hantei.”
“Four blocks and a single spire!...” The beggar chortled, pounding his feet upon the ground as he pointed at another flake of snow. After a moment, he continued. “Do you remember each silken string that you wove into the pattern of your brother’s kimono?”
“Why, no, of course not!”
“Why not?”
“There are hundreds of fibers in the pattern – thousands of strands in all. How can I remember each one?”
“Yet, I suppose you remember every mistake you made, and the hours it took to correct them.”
Doji flushed. “Of course.”
“Perhaps if you had taken a moment to see every strand, to understand each fiber, you would never had made those mistakes, neh? Like you did not see the snowflake, you ignore what is around you – you ignore the days of life, to see only the years.” He snorted. “You cannot change the passing of years. But you can change the passing of hours – and what you choose to do as that time passes. Will it be something you will remember, or will your days pass you by as if they were nothing but a fog of snow?”
The lady stared at the little man, her vision blurring as the snow began to fall faster, the wind rippling through her hair. “You are more than a beggar, little man.” A tear slid down her pale cheek and vanished into the snow – another lost piece of ice, among the millions.
“But are you more than just one life among many?” His voice was soft, but it cut through the wind and rising storm like a scythe. “And when you die, will you be remembered, or will you be another strand in the tapestry – uncounted, and irretrievable? The snow will melt, Lady Doji, in a few days it will be gone and forgotten forever. Who will remember it?” He paused, and turned form her face to look at the swiftly falling snow. “Who will remember you?”
After a moment, Lady Doji knelt beside the thin monk, and together they sat by the side of the road as the silent snow fell, piece by piece, onto the plains around them.
…The seven stood upon the hilltop, their kimonos barely touched by the fierce winds which blew from an angry sea. They looked upon the world with new eyes, without knowledge of the path ahead.
“The land is at war with itself,” one of them said to the others, her voice as soft as silks. “It must be taught civilization. We must find a way to live with the people of this land, and with each other.”
“It is not at all what I had expected.” A gruff voice from a large man to one side. “It is an untamed world, one which needs dominance and force to guide it.”
“No, brother – it is but a child, in need of teaching and wisdom to flourish.” This from a slender man with gentle hands, stroking the beard upon his chin thoughtfully.
“It is need of a leader.” The final voice, from a man with waving golden hair and firelit eyes. “We must give it a reason to grow.”
Upon the hillside by the tossing waves, the seven engaged in contests of skill and strength, with only one man standing aside, apart from the rest. A silent watcher, who already knew the ultimate outcome of the trials. It was there that the first Emperor was chosen, and the First Hantei claimed his right to rule. The others slowly scattered to the winds, building their domain upon the land and gathering the people of the realm to serve them and form the Empire.
Of them, only two remained on that hilltop when the snows came. Those two were Hantei and his sister, Lady Doji. The first city had been raised upon that hill, and a great palace was being built – a palace that would one day be known as Otosan Uchi, the city of the Emperor. The winter blew its harsh breath over the land, coating it with white frost and thick snow. One day, Lady Doji stood at her window in the high towers of Otosan Uchi and looked down upon the budding city below.
On the road outside of the palace she saw a thin beggar man, sitting outside the warm houses of the city. His cloak was ragged, and his weathered staff lay by his side with his begging bowl. There were no travelers on that road, only the company of bitter wind and freezing snow.
Lady Doji called to her samurai guards, instructing them to tell the beggar to com e inside the palace, that a small room would be found for him. But when the guards returned, they said that the beggar refused their request, and would not listen to what they said.
So, Lady Doji called to her maidservants, and gave them a bowl of steaming rice and fish, and told them to go to the beggar. They wen tout into the cold winter wind, but although the beggar gratefully accepted the food, he again refused the shelter than offered. Puzzled by his strange behavior, Doji went to her window again, but the old man had not moved. He simply sat by the road, calmly accepting the cold winter day around him.
At last, despite the pleas of her maids, the Lady Doji left the palace and walked down the road away from Otosan Uchi. Bearing only a blanket woven of thick wool, she stood in the thick snow near the little man. “They tell me,” she said softly, “that you will not come inside. Will you not at least take this warm blanket?”
“Why would I want to do that?” The beggar’s voice was rough, uncultured, but not disrespectful.
“So that you can live. The day grows darker, and the night will bring fierce storms, and snow. Do you wish to freeze and die?”
The wizened beggar looked up at the lady, her face as white as the snow which lightly crusted the ground. “Die?” he chuckled. “You say that word with dread, my Lady.” His thin eyes pinched shut as he calmly took a bite of fish from the warmed bowl.
“Are you not afraid of death?”
“Rather, my Lady, I am not afraid to live.” Doji stared at the man, a faintly puzzled look on her perfect features. “Look around you, Lady. What do you see?”
“Doji gazed a the land around her, from palatial walls of the new construction in Otosan Uchi, down to the rolling ocean on the rocks below. “I see…the world.”
“That is all you see? You do not look right in front of your face.” The little man chuckled, and Doji flushed with mild anger. “Gentle Lady Doji, I do not mean to insult you. Tell me…” He reached down and scooped up a handful of the snow at her feet. “Do you not see the snow?”
“The snow?” she said. “Of course I see the snow. There is snow everywhere.”
“Ah, but do you see the snow?” As Doji looked at him perplexedly, he pointed at a large flake which fell near her face. “That one. What do you see there?”
She looked at the tiny flake of snow as it fell lazily past her face, through her fingers, and landed on the ground at her feet. After a moment, she said, “It has seven spires, from a single point.”
“And that one?”
“Three spires – it looks like a dove in flight.” She paused, “I had never noticed.”
“In all the thousands of snowflakes of all the thousands of snowfalls, there are no two which are alike.” The little man chuckled gleefully. “No two in all eternity. If I were to go inside with you now, I would never see that snowflake. Its pattern would never occur again.” He pointed a wizened finger at a slowly falling splinter of ice.
“It is only a piece of water.” Doji watched in fascination as the beggar peered at another snowflake.
“And life is only a single day, one upon the other, until years have passed and you have grown old, and then you say, “Where have all the days gone?” He chuckled again. “Ah! Six spires – like the wheel of a wagon.” He paused, and the snow fell silently between them. After a moment, the beggar continued, “How did you spend this morning, Lady?”
“This morning?” The curious question surprised her, and she murmured, “I was weaving – a new kimono for my brother Hantei.”
“Four blocks and a single spire!...” The beggar chortled, pounding his feet upon the ground as he pointed at another flake of snow. After a moment, he continued. “Do you remember each silken string that you wove into the pattern of your brother’s kimono?”
“Why, no, of course not!”
“Why not?”
“There are hundreds of fibers in the pattern – thousands of strands in all. How can I remember each one?”
“Yet, I suppose you remember every mistake you made, and the hours it took to correct them.”
Doji flushed. “Of course.”
“Perhaps if you had taken a moment to see every strand, to understand each fiber, you would never had made those mistakes, neh? Like you did not see the snowflake, you ignore what is around you – you ignore the days of life, to see only the years.” He snorted. “You cannot change the passing of years. But you can change the passing of hours – and what you choose to do as that time passes. Will it be something you will remember, or will your days pass you by as if they were nothing but a fog of snow?”
The lady stared at the little man, her vision blurring as the snow began to fall faster, the wind rippling through her hair. “You are more than a beggar, little man.” A tear slid down her pale cheek and vanished into the snow – another lost piece of ice, among the millions.
“But are you more than just one life among many?” His voice was soft, but it cut through the wind and rising storm like a scythe. “And when you die, will you be remembered, or will you be another strand in the tapestry – uncounted, and irretrievable? The snow will melt, Lady Doji, in a few days it will be gone and forgotten forever. Who will remember it?” He paused, and turned form her face to look at the swiftly falling snow. “Who will remember you?”
After a moment, Lady Doji knelt beside the thin monk, and together they sat by the side of the road as the silent snow fell, piece by piece, onto the plains around them.
