Preponderance of the Small

Ying went to a spot in the midst of a sacred little copse of trees, an agreeable distance down a nameless farm road, under the root of twin live oaks where she kept a picayune box of earthly treasures, all of which were perfectly innocuous, save for one little book: her dusty divination tome, the Yi Jing. She knew all too well that the Chinese People's Party would likely have her executed for possessing such forbidden ancient knowledge.

In this little box lay a heart-shaped locket with a monochrome photograph of her Mama and Baba on their wedding day, an ancient book, three gold coins with squares bored into the middle, and a scattering of sentimental totems and trinkets. If it were to be so that the fabled men in cloaks would come to take her away again as they also did her parents, at least she would know that Mama and Baba's final memory would slowly unite with nature. This is the Way!

She held her gaze lovingly upon the image of her Mama and Baba, the famed "heroes" of the Revolution. Sure-- heroes that were un-personed and, Heaven knows, perished so that their daughter, the only one whom the Party permitted them to keep would inherit... whatever this is. Gee, thanks, she sulked.

Ying shook her head. Focus, Ying! This is not the Way! then rolled the coins around in her hand and their locket in the other. She closed her eyes and opened the one in the centre of her brow like the past Masters taught.

Mama, the clever sorcerer she was, had many tomes. When they came to take the traitors of the Party away, Mama-- prescient as ever-- had sent Ying out only hours before to go gather wood and kindling for the cook fire and told her to take that book with her. "You will understand one day, my clever little bird," Mama had told her. "Hide this book somewhere safe, for they will certainly take it and burn it!" Mama admonished with a fierce but sorrowful gaze and said, "when you feel upset or lost, my dearest Ying, go to the temple in the forest and talk to us. We are not long on this Earth, my child, but we shall look upon you from the Heavens." In Chinese fashion, she respectfully submitted to Mama's woeful entreaty and went to fetch wood and stash this quaint and curious volume of Ancient Chinese lore.

A tear rolled down her cheek as she pitched her coins down into the box and made some jots in her battered and tear-stained notebook and repeated this process five more times in the Taoist diviner's way. She tucked a strand of chestnut-brown hair behind her ear, worried her lower lip and looked down at the diagram she had drawn in her book: two solid lines surrounded on both sides by two broken lines.

She recognized it immediately; Hsaio Kuo-- Small Increasing. The Yi Jing read:

THE JUDGMENT

PREPONDERANCE OF THE SMALL -- Success.

Perseverance furthers.

Small things may be done; great things should not be done.

The flying bird brings the message:

It is not well to strive upward,

It is well to remain below.

Great good fortune.

Ying held her locket in her hand and meditated on this message as another tear fell as she studied the tiny little box and all of the trinkets therein. Heaving a sigh, she began to neatly roll everything back up in cheesecloth and stood to go home one last time.

As she was miserably plodding on home, she stopped as she felt her hackles raise and in the Taoist way of seeing without looking, she sensed foreboding-- they were here and they were curious. She was her mother's child after all.

Ying swallowed hard and kept walking home then, unsurprisingly, when she opened the door, a member of the Party sat at her diminutive bamboo table. He regarded her curtly and stated more than asked, "you are Ying, yes?"

Ying held the man's gaze and, emboldened by the facade of her ostensible innocence said, "I am Nobody! Who are you? Are you Nobody too?" The man rolled his eyes, obviously aware of the reference to the illicit Western poet.

The man stood up and said, "I have a warrant. You are wanted for questioning by the Ministry of State Security." He scrutinized her humble living space disparagingly and continued, "I have a search warrant for your home as well, but as you choose such a...," he paused, trailing off and meddling about with her kitschy table decorations, "...spartan style of living, I won't squander our Party's time." She reflected on the stories of the Greek Gods and smiled knowingly.

Starting to tremble, Ying remained silent and stood there defiantly. It's happening! The stories are all true! she mused-- but then she knew that, for it had only been a few years since she was placed in the state facility with the other children. Not a single Chinese soul misrecollected how virtually omnipotent the Party is; they merely held their tongues.

"Nothing to say, little bird?" The man chuckled darkly and apprised, "that will change soon enough. Come with me, Ying. We have so very much to discuss."

A dark grey sedan with a Red Star now waited outside and as she climbed in, she announced boldly, "I will speak of little, for I have little of which to speak. I gather riches in my Father's House. This is the Way," eliciting a scoff. They both rode on in silence, smiling as they passed that blessed little copse of trees, thinking about her heart-shaped locket.

Looking back out the window, a third and final tear made its way down the track of the two before them. Three coins, three tears... Rest easy, Mama, for your little bird will be coming back to the nest soon, but it is not safe for me to fly so very high today.