Drumming on the Basin

Z huangzi's wife was dead. His friend Huizi came to offer condolences and found Zhuangzi sitting on the floor with his legs stretched wide apart, drumming on a basin and singing. Zhuangzi's wife died. Huizi came to condole with him, and found Zhuangzi sitting with legs splayed, drumming on a basin and singing.

Huizi said: "You lived with this woman. She raised your children and grew old beside you. That you don't weep at her death — that alone might be excused. But drumming and singing? Isn't that a bit much?" Huizi said: "You lived together with her; she raised your children and grew old at your side. That you do not weep at her death is already enough — but to drum on a basin and sing: is this not excessive?"

Zhuangzi said: "Not at all. When she first died, do you think I felt nothing? I did. But then I looked back at her beginning — all the way back — and I saw something." Zhuangzi said: "Not so. When she first died, how could I alone have been without deep feeling? Yet I examined her beginning and found there was originally no life."

“She was not alive once. Then she was alive. Now she is not alive again. That's spring, autumn, winter, summer — just the seasons doing their work.”

Not just no life — no form at all. And before that, no qi. Mixed in that vast, undifferentiated blur before anything had names or edges, something shifted and qi appeared. The qi shifted and form appeared. The form shifted and life appeared. Now life has shifted again, into death. This is the four seasons running their course — spring, autumn, winter, summer. Not only was there originally no life — there was originally no form. Not only no form — there was originally no qi. Mingled in the vague and undifferentiated, something transformed and qi appeared; the qi transformed and form appeared; the form transformed and life appeared. Now it has transformed again into death. This is like spring, autumn, winter, and summer proceeding through their four seasons.

She is lying at rest now in the great chamber. If I had followed after her, wailing and howling, I thought — that would mean I understood nothing about fate. So I stopped. She now lies at peace in the great chamber. I thought that if I were to follow her with weeping and wailing, it would show that I did not understand fate. That is why I stopped.

鼓盆 The original Chinese · honored as an artifact

莊子妻死，惠子弔之，莊子則方箕踞鼓盆而歌。

Opening lines, classical Chinese · Zhuangzi 莊子 · Zhuang Zhou