On Resignation

A new strength have I found in my resignation and solitude. Verily, too often does one's solitude become a prison. We ourselves are jailer and cell and musty stone. But it is with chisel and hammer that we pave the way to higher paths. Yet for that, much patience and endurance is needed ― and even calloused hands.

A bitter and vengeful heart have I found in my breast. Too long have I lived in the marketplace amongst the calls of the street trumpeters and the humming of poisonous flies. The danger of the lonely one is not that his kindness kills, but that such generosity often turns on itself like the scorpion with its tail. His danger is that he learn to throw his compassion like a stone into the well of abandonment.

Is it not irresponsible to resent the resenter, when our responsibility speaks most honestly of our folly? Yet we always have too much self-consideration: look, how the slug praises his shell, when he himself is filth and poverty and wretched contentment!

Is it not difficult to be responsible when no one takes the stand, especially when we are alone? How weak we are when we hesitate, as butterflies fluttering before adamant crowds! We condemn those who send us to the cross; such is the folly of our best wisdom.

When bitten, one seeks to bite in return. However, my hardened hide has taught me to tolerate even toothless nibblers: such gape-jaws are innocent in their nibbling. But piranhas and paragons one should avoid, particularly if one has thin skin and gentle blood.

And towards my enemies who nibble and spew, how can I not find joy in my humble sarcasm, which is not wounded by their words? Upon the peak of tall mountains, does one not see such toys for what they are: a playground and gymnasium for the spirit?

Does Ding Dong teach you of solitude? Does he teach you penance and passion like wild flowers? But such flowers of virtue only grow on pure soil, upon high mountains of ambrosia.

Your best virtue amounts to nothing if you are clumsy in such fields: even an inconsiderate action is enough to crush one's virtue.

A vengeful heart I have found in my breast, palpitating with the venom of so many flies. Only a dragon cannot perish from such venom. Therefore, the disciple must learn to forget and pass by much.

Should one go against such wisdom? But folly demands that we strive to know how to love, and our wisdom is our best folly. I have found resignation in my folly as my best wisdom. Truly, it is absurd to strive against mountains!

But one must become a climber of mountains, and not a talker of it. Verily, too much talk has infected even the mind of this clown, and I would soon resemble the parrot with its broken wings of the spirit...

A new strength have I found in my resignation: not to despise the despiser, but to love out of my great contempt. Out of my love and height shall emerge true compassion, though it strike both friend and foe like lightning. For it is a bridge toward new shores and hopes, a rainbow of consolation after long storms.

Well shall I mask such compassion, for those who would not welcome it. There is nothing that teaches men to bite more than the bite of conscience. Therefore, beware of your good and your evil! You weigh scales far above the multitudes, and they never forgive you that you break their old tablets and abaci.

It is better to teach the dumb than the deaf. The illiterate always seek to understand your words. But with the deaf, only your warmth and not your words are weighed. Although one cannot hear our words, they at least can register the happiness of our face, and muffled kindness. Through the gift of words, such benediction can penetrate even hard shells.

Too long has Ding Dong sat among the deaf, who do not have ears to hear his wisdom, and that is: my folly is my best wisdom. So who is more foolish than I, that I may delight in his instruction?

Too long have I sat in resignation amongst dull stones, and many a knife have I broken on them – to the resentment of both parties.

I have been a beggar with too many riches, stolen from caves of vast mountains, stolen from the very dragon's nest. Enchanted are these treasures, and painful is my heart that I have had none to take them as gifts.

Such gifts are meant only for the unselfish. Too greedy have I found all buyers, without resignation. They do not want to accept Ding Dong's gifts, so had I to resign to the poverty of too many riches.

Is not giving a need? Is not receiving mercy? But merciless have I found all buyers now: they are too poor in their riches. They resent all mountain air and mountain freedom, this crisp immortal air of the spirit.

The bleeding and the sick and the poor of spirit, thus do my hands reach out to give to those who suffer more than I. Their suffering is the suffering of poverty, and mine the suffering of too much wealth.

A new truth my resignation taught me: to love those who do not love us, to love when they do not give us pity. For everything human wants pity and consideration.

Too considerate and too hesitant has been this clown, to profess what he has always taught in words. Although one enters the circus, one need not be a clown in order to be heard.

With happiness and bright colors of resignation, I resign my proud head to the guillotine. May the catastrophe of the executioner be cruel and quick!

Is not love of our enemies more noble than our worst contempt? But one must be rich enough for that. Rather than competing with dull stones, it is best to climb high mountains.

Far upon the horizons of the spirit my will has willed, towards fields of sacred lilies and ambrosia of the spirit. Such clean air saturates my bones, and makes me giddy with hope. Wafting upon such breezes of happiness, my wings have only known the joy of stretching, and the humble test of dignity.

High above this muddled city of despair have I flown, and far down into the depths have my eyes searched for prey. Too many are the poor in spirit, who boast too much of having spirit. Maimed and pretentious are these sick ones; my honor demands that I only hunt for fresh lamb.

So shall I descend like a hawk upon my enemies. My talons shall bear them to my happiness; but if they do not like such heights, I cannot resent them for that. But at least shall I have the joy of testing my strength.

High above the smog of polluted minds have I flown to the future. Within the most recessive and secret isles of life have I found my ivy wreath of happiness. But the brainsick have always been there to pluck at my wreath, to test the sincerity of my resignation.

Such lunatics even wear business suits, and seek to drown me in legality and polemics. But if I must resign, then it shall be without benefits.

Thus speaks Ding Dong.