Oh Momma! Tao Te Ching 6
Godzilla meets Kannon, the Japanese goddess of mercy, who hears the prayers of those in pain. She’s also the reason why the camera company from Japan is called Kannon. She’s called Guanyin in China, and is a transformation of the male Indian deity Avalokiteshvara. We saw a depiction of Kwan Yin in Foshan, China, pouring out liquid from a cistern. That image helped us make sense of this chapter. It seems that she is a sort of archetype of compassion without stinginess.
6.
The spirit of the valley is deathless.
She is called the Mysterious Mother.
The womb of the Mysterious Mother
is called the source of heaven and earth.
It flows endlessly, almost imperceptibly.
If this chapter is too mysterious for your, or perhaps too reminiscent of an ancient polytheistic way of thinking, stay with us. It is indeed evocative of deep dark caves with dripping ceilings. It recalls the wonder of birth, the womb, the feminine principle, and the power of the unseen. It does arguably tap into the same archetypal longings behind maternal images like that of the Virgin of Guadalupe or the Eastern goddess of compassion, Guanyin (Kannon in Japan). That said, this need not be taken as a reference to some esoteric knowledge about creation through a goddess. Rather, it is a recognition of the wonder of life on this planet that sprouts forth organically. Without our frantic human efforts, life seems to keep plugging along.
We humans can be agents of death’s kingdom. Or, by recognizing the natural gifts inherent in even a difficult life, we can receive the blessings of creation. That’s the fundamental message.
When our family moved to Snohomish County, Washington, we decided to learn to forage, seeking out wisdom from naturalist groups who knew how to find edible mushrooms, make a stinging nettle pesto, or fish for Dungeness crabs. We wanted to see how long we could last just living off the land. The short answer to our question was that, in a suburban environment, and with a full time job, one can indeed find all sorts of culinary treats—from wild huckleberries to chanterelles, to invasive snails brought to the new world as food but now invaders of gardens—but the caloric value is too low for long-term sustenance. Nevertheless, the experiment taught us that, even when we can’t directly see where our nourishment comes from, it all comes from the earth.
When we recognize this, we realize how precious our natural resources are. This isn’t a nagging sense of guilt about using these resources, but it leads one to a deep respect and a deeper gratitude for the abundance that is all around us, if we settle down enough to perceive it. More importantly, our lives can become overflowing fountains of unconditional love and mercy for all those around us if we tap into this medicine. Maybe we can spare some of that overflow for ourselves too: having compassion on our own worried hearts.
Sometimes, when life feel like one hustle after another, a constant chasing after barely tolerable fare, we can take a beat and come to faith like that of a suckling child, content that whatever power is behind that tender moment between a newborn and a attendant mother is an analog for the spirit behind the song of every sparrow.
The point here isn’t that there exists some mother goddess who demands your groveling. The point is that there is a love in the universe that is expressed in the simplest elements of nature, and in which you can, at least for part of a day, rest in the way a child does as it dozes, knowing that all manner of thing shall be well.
Note: We’ve bumped into some historical indications (inspired by our visit to a Guanyin temple in Foshan China) that there is some reason to believe 9th century missionaries who brought images of the Virgin Mary to China may have contributed to the blending of Avalokiteshvara from South Asia with a goddess of mercy. One of these days, Jeff will track this down. This also would make sense in Japan: if you watch the final scenes of the film Silence, you might get our point. What’s interesting to us about the Guanyin tradition is that it has hardly any official doctrine or scriptures, connects with Hindus, Buddhists, Shinto and unaffiliated folks, and tends to piss off male priests and religious leaders. Like the fictional St. George, we are a fan of the archetype even if we don't think either of them were real. Also note that the narratives we do have about Guanyin involve an innocent girl suffering and going to hell for the sake of those in pain, and she puts out the flames of hell with her tears. The whole thing reminds us of the motif of the harrowing of hades, depicted below.
