I love the story below because it has been as though true for my almost seventy-three years. In almost every place living in the Ozarks it has been like a self-fulfilling prophecy of never fitting in with the status quo. On the playground in Lamar in grade school never chosen when sides were taken on the playground and told to go sit down. In junior high and high school at Carl Junction never good enough to play in athletics but wanting to participate so I was the student manager or trainer. Steeped in democratic politics in Joplin running the McGovern campaign because no one else would. Moving to Springfield becoming a state representative with the slogan “He cares” and losing my election in 1980 because I was “too liberal”. Always challenging the mainstream or questioning the status quo, while others seem content with how things are.
Being a Democrat in a predominantly conservative area felt like wearing a badge of honor, constantly offering the chance to rise above and embrace something greater—something yet to be discovered that could benefit everyone, regardless of political beliefs or affiliations. When the status quo does not take into consideration the virtue of finding the value in all people and what nature provides there is a problem. In essence, this reflects the core of Confucius’ teachings on benevolence and virtue, emphasizing that we all have purpose and meaning in our lives, and sticking to the status quo undermines our efforts to follow our own path.
Drawn eventually to China and becoming a teacher in the hometown of Confucius where there seemed a natural fit as though I was finally home. But not speaking or writing Chinese, I was always out of the mainstream being a foreigner even though I had books published in China and became a respected teacher. After returning to Florida in 2013 where I had lived for twenty years when not in China, there was still the feeling that I had left my heart and soul in China. After two years coming back to Springfield in 2015, becoming a master gardener, and finding myself re-telling, or updating and telling stories again.
It is said that only when the sage overcomes the self that he can enter into the Tao. Overcoming the self is considered to be one of the darkest mysteries along with the gift we are here to find. This is why the sage seeks a reclusive lifestyle. He cannot get to where he needs to be easily with others present. It is the paradox that living with others brings forward every day. Not fitting in the present moment with others present is generally because they don’t see beyond or possess the same values and virtues. It is heart and spirit that make the sage and who he aspires to become.
The sage isn’t superior to others; he’s simply experienced it all before and turns inward to find the ultimate gift within himself. It’s about transcending who we think we are and discovering something far greater—the gift of self-knowledge. It’s even more of a paradox when considering Buddhist thought, the bodhisattva vow, and the commitment to helping others find their own path. Seeing beyond yourself only holds value if you can help others do the same. What then becomes of the ultimate paradox we are meant to live and learn from?
The first step is refusing to settle for less than who we truly are, remembering that we are here to grow and build on what we may have forgotten. Now retired, I find myself with time and stories that have always been a part of me, simply waiting to be expanded upon and retold. I believe the following story captures it all. I wrote “The tale-telling illness” on March 15, 1995, exactly thirty years ago today.
My travels with Lieh Tzu / Interpolations along the Way
Chapter Four – Confucius
59. The tale-telling illness
Seeking an explanation from your doctor, you relay that you have been ill and ask him if he can find a cure. The doctor explains that you only need to tell him your symptoms and he will find what ails you.
You explain that you do not think it an honor if the whole town praises you or the 
whole state reviles you. That you take no joy in winning and have no anxiety about losing. That you view life and death, wealth and poverty, others and pigs, and yourself all the same: you live in your house as if it were up for sale or just a temporary inn, and see your neighborhood as though it were a strange and barbaric land.
Having all these ailments, titles and rewards cannot induce me, punishments and fines cannot awe me, prosperity and decline and benefit and harm cannot change me, joy and sorrow cannot influence me. Consequently, I cannot serve my chosen livelihood, have dealings with my family and friends, comfort my wife and tend to my affairs as before. What illness is this? Can there be a cure for this?
Your doctor asks you to stand with your back to the light. Stepping back, he ponders 
momentarily from a distance, then explains all: “Hmm, I see your heart! The place an inch square is empty. You are a sage. Six of the holes in your heart are stopped up. Can this be the reason you now think the wisdom of a sage is an illness? There is no known cure for this.”
In pondering your fate, you are now reconciled to the fact that there is nothing to be done except to live with the diagnosis. With the loving heart of the sage you have now become, how can your illness be considered life threatening? Knowing that it is only when you come to the end of everything that represents who you thought you were can you begin to be well again. 3/15/95
Number fifty-nine of one hundred fifty-eight entries.
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