A Philosophical Tale from the Eastern Winds
There once lived a young man who climbed a mountain to ask the hermit sage a single question: “What does it mean to live a long life?”
The sage smiled and poured two cups of tea.
The First Cup: The Taoist Whisper
“In the mountains of ancient China,” the sage began, “Zhuangzi once dreamed he was a butterfly—fluttering, content, unaware of being a man. When he woke, he wondered: Was I a man dreaming of being a butterfly, or am I now a butterfly dreaming of being a man?“
The sage set down his cup.
“A long life, you see, is not counted in years. Laozi wrote in the Tao Te Ching: ‘He who dies but does not perish has longevity.’ The one who grasps at life loses it. The one who flows like water—yielding, adapting, returning to the source—that one lives long, even in a single breath.”
The Second Cup: The Buddha’s Silence
The young man frowned. “But surely, Master, we all wish not to die?”
The sage nodded. “The Buddha sat beneath a tree and saw this truth: all things arise and pass away. Anicca—impermanence. To cling to a long life is to hold water in your fist. The tighter you grip, the faster it escapes.”
He gestured to the mountain’s edge, where clouds rolled like white rivers.
“In the Dhammapada, the Awakened One taught: ‘Better than a hundred years lived in ignorance is a single day lived in wisdom.’ Length without depth is an empty road. A long life is not duration—it is awakening.”
The Third Cup: The Song of Rumi
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of distant roses.
“Far to the west, in the lands of Persia,” the sage continued, “there lived a poet named Jalāl ad-Dīn Rūmī. He whirled in ecstasy, for he understood that the soul is a guest in this house of dust.”
He recited softly:
“This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival— a joy, a depression, a meanness… Welcome and entertain them all.”
“Rumi taught that a long life is not about staying in the guest house, but about how fully you receive its visitors. Love deeply. Grieve deeply. Burn with the fire of the Beloved. A single year of such living outweighs a century of sleep.”
The Fourth Cup: The Weaver’s Thread (from the Bhagavad Gita)
The young man’s eyes grew heavy with thought.
“But what of duty? What of the life we are meant to live?”
The sage smiled. “Ah, you speak now like Arjuna, the warrior prince, who stood upon the battlefield of Kurukshetra, trembling. He did not want to fight. He wanted to live long and in peace.”
The sage’s voice deepened.
“And Krishna, the Divine, answered him: ‘The soul is never born and never dies. It is eternal, unchanging. Weapons cannot cleave it, fire cannot burn it, water cannot wet it, wind cannot dry it.’“
He placed his hand on his chest.
“A long life, dear seeker, is not about preserving this body. It is about remembering what you truly are—beyond birth, beyond death, beyond the turning of ages.”
The Fifth Cup: The Wine of Khayyam
Night fell. Stars appeared like scattered pearls.
“And yet,” the sage said with a softer tone, “there is also this. The poet Omar Khayyám of Nishapur looked at the heavens and laughed.”
He recited once more:
“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”
“Khayyám knew that time does not wait. The grape becomes wine, the wine becomes dust. So he said: drink the wine now. Sit in the garden now. Love now. A long life is this very moment, fully tasted.”
The Empty Cup
The young man looked at his cup. It was empty.
“So what is a long life, Master?”
The sage rose and walked to the mountain’s edge.
“A long life,” he said, watching the moon rise, “is not a number of years. It is:
- Depth, not duration (Buddha)
- Flow, not grasping (Laozi)
- Fire, not mere warmth (Rumi)
- Remembrance of the eternal (Krishna)
- Presence in this fleeting instant (Khayyám)“
He turned to the young man.
“You ask what humans think of a long life? They fear death. They desire more time. But the sages of the East—from the misty mountains of China to the rose gardens of Persia, from the banyan trees of India to the deserts of Arabia—all whisper the same secret:”
To live long is not to count many years, but to make each moment infinite.
The young man descended the mountain. He did not live to old age. But those who met him said he seemed to carry centuries in his eyes.
Thus ends the tale.
May your tea be warm, and your moments deep.
~ Cahya.
Bhyllabus l'énigme 
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