Past Life Story

You were born a turtle, in a small inlet of a deep lake. From your earliest days you were slow. Round shell, short legs, small head. While other beings ran, you walked. While other beings hurried, you stayed. That was the way of the turtle. By one year you understood your secret. The turtle lives long. Other beings lived ten or twenty years and went. The turtle lived a hundred years, sometimes a thousand. With that long time, the turtle came to see what others could not. In your tenth year, you saw all the seasons of the lake. Spring brought new life, summer brought riches, autumn brought rest, winter brought stillness. You learned all of them. You knew. Time flows. But it also returns. Time is a circle. In your fiftieth year, you became the elder of the lake. The fish, the birds, the snakes by the lake all came to you. They asked. "Old turtle, what is wisdom?" You answered. "Wisdom is slow. Wisdom is calm. Wisdom is to see far." In your hundredth year, you saw the change of the world. New beings appeared, old beings vanished. Trees grew up on the lake's edges, stones smoothed and crumbled, the lake's water level rose and fell. Yet through all of these you stayed in the same place. Slow, calm, far-seeing. In your two hundredth year, you saw a man for the first time. A traveler had come up by the lake. The man saw you, and the man bowed. "Old turtle, give me your wisdom." You did not speak. You only let him see. To live as the turtle lives. The man was silent for a long while, then went on his way. In your three hundredth year, you understood the truth of the turtle. The turtle's long life was not a mere matter of length. It was a gift to see deep. The deeper one saw, the more peaceful the world became. To see chaos with peaceful eyes—that was the wisdom of the turtle. In your five hundredth year, your name spread to the entire forest, the entire mountain, the entire sky. Other elders came to you. They asked. "Old turtle, what is the meaning of life?" You answered. "The meaning of life is to live slowly. Quickness creates illusion. Slowness reveals truth." In your seven hundredth year, you came to know one more thing. The turtle is not a being separate from time. The turtle is time itself. Going slow, but never stopping, like time. Continuing without end, like time. The turtle and time are one. In your nine hundredth year, you encountered a sage. He had come up by the lake to ask you. "Old turtle, please bestow upon me your wisdom in one word." You answered. "Slow." The sage bowed and departed. He spent his lifetime understanding that one word. In your one thousandth year, you were finally complete. A thousand years was the limit of the turtle. Yet you did not depart. You only sank into the deep water. There you closed your eyes. Yet you did not die. You only became the lake itself. The turtle moves slowly, but never stops—that was your life. You knew that quickness was illusion and slowness was truth. With slowness you saw the world deeply, and with deep eyes you brought peace. Your spirit, even now somewhere in some deep water, must be moving slowly. With the rhythm of time, slow and steady. If sometime in your life a strange peace fills you—that, perhaps, may be the gaze of an ancient turtle watching you.