Past Life Story

You were born a rabbit, in a small den deep in a mountain valley. From the moment of your birth, you were small. Long ears, soft fur, small body. People say small beings are weak, but you knew. The small can also live well. The small must be cleverer than the great. By thirty days, you came to know the way of the rabbit. The way of the rabbit is in cleverness. The rabbit cannot fight. The rabbit cannot run by force. But the rabbit is clever. The rabbit reads the path. The rabbit reads the timing. The rabbit reads the wind. With these, the rabbit lives. In your first year, you faced your first crisis. A hawk descended from the sky. Other rabbits ran without thought, but you watched the hawk's path and ran in the opposite direction. The hawk could not catch you. You smiled. "What matters is not running, but reading the path before running." In your second year, your name became known. The hare that escaped a hawk. Other rabbits came to you. They asked. "Tell us the way of the rabbit." You told them. "Use ears more than eyes, use ears more than feet, run only after thinking." In your third year, you came to know the great secret of the rabbit. The story of the rabbit pounding rice cakes on the moon. People look up at the moon and say, "There is a rabbit pounding rice cakes there." That was a lovely tale. Yet for you, it had a different meaning. The rabbit could ascend to the moon. The rabbit had a soul that could be wherever it wanted. In your fourth year, you met your love. A rabbit who had crossed from a neighboring village. Long ears, gentle eyes. The two of you spent a season together. The young born to you were five. Many young, like rabbits. In your fifth year, you raised many young. The rabbit raises many young. Among many young, some are taken by hawks, some by foxes, some by people. Yet some grow well. That was the way of the rabbit. To leave many lives. In your sixth year, you taught the village rabbits. Your young had grown well. They taught their own young. The wisdom of the rabbit went on for generations. "Use ears more than eyes, run only after thinking." That message was passed. In your seventh year, you came to know once more the meaning of the moon. On a moonlit night, you sat alone outside your den and gazed up. The rabbit's shadow seemed to be on the moon. You smiled. "The rabbit is the moon's friend. We watch each other and live well." In your eighth year, you grew old. The rabbit lives only seven or eight years. Your time was nearly done. Yet you did not falter. You had lived a clean life as a rabbit ought to. You had left many young. You had made other rabbits clever. There was nothing more to be done. In a winter of your tenth year, you went into your old den. There you lay quietly. The young of the village covered you with grass. They did not weep. They knew. The rabbit dies as it lived. Cleverly, calmly. You closed your eyes one last time. You ascended to the moon. There you began your second life. Pounding rice cakes on the moon. Living that lovely tale. The rabbit pounding rice cakes on the moon—that, perhaps, may have been you. Even now your soul may be on the moon, pounding rice cakes, watching the world. If you sometime see the moon and a strange warmth fills you—that, perhaps, may be the gaze of an old rabbit watching you.