Given room, board, and a small stipend by the priest of Dan-no-ura, Hoichi took up residence as the priest’s personal storyteller. One night, he receives a strange visitor.

“One night, Osamu went to the village to perform some priestly duties. Since the night was so hot and sticky, I went out onto the porch just off my room in the back of the temple to await my friend’s return and try to catch a cool breeze. The air was thick and still and the forest surrounding the temple strangely silent. No crickets. No owl hoots. No leaves rustling. Just erie silence.

“I sat in sweat and silence for what seemed like hours. The bell from the village below tolled midnight. ‘Where is Osamu?’ I wondered. I heard the gate to the temple grounds swing open. ‘O good,’ I thought, ‘My friend has returned.’ But as I listened to the approaching footsteps I realized they were too heavy to be Osamu’s and I could hear the click and clack of armor. It wasn’t Osamu. It was a samurai. “Why would a Samurai come to the temple at this hour?’ I wondered. ‘Is there trouble in the village?’

“The heavy footsteps came closer and closer then stopped in front of me suddenly.

‘HO-ICHI!’ Thundered a voice.

‘Hai! Yes!’ I answered, frightened by the powerful voice of the samurai my blind eyes could not see. ‘I am blind. I cannot see who calls.’

‘Do not fear,’ the stranger said gruffly, but with a hint of gentleness. ‘My master, a lord of high rank, has heard of your skill in telling the story of the Heike clan. He wishes you to come and tell your tale to him. So take your biwa and come with me to the house where a noble assembly awaits your arrival.’”

Next time: “On the Way”

As he traveled the coast of Dan-no-ura telling stories from village to village, Ho-ichi heard stories of strange happenings supposedly caused by the ghosts of the Heike clan destroyed in the battle of Dan-no-ura. Soon he will become part of those strange happenings.

As Ho-ichi and I sat under the tree in the woods of the Watchung Reservation, the sun was beginning to dip behind the trees casting ever lengthening shadows on the forest. Ho-ich continued his tale.

“Word of my storytelling reached the priest in charge of the temple of Dan-no-ura. He loved stories and invited me to the temple. I played my biwa for him and told some stories. He was delighted.

‘Ho-ichi,’ he said, ‘Stay here in the temple with me. Tell me stories and play for me and in return I will feed and clothe you and give you a little money to spend. Your hard life will be easier. What do you say?’

“Well, I was tried of traveling and the offer sounded very good to me. I accepted Osamu the priest’s offer and we became friends. Things went along very well for a time until the bizarre happenings of a hot summer night.”

Next time: “An Invitation Not to Be Refused”

Ho-ichi traveled from village to village telling stories and playing his biwa. Along the way he heard of strange happenings off the Coast of Dan–no-ura.

“One time I was traveling the coast of Dan-no-ura. I had heard all the stories of the unusual happenings in that region where the Heike family and Genji clan fought their last sea battle for control of the country. Off the coast of Dan-no-ura the two greatest clans in Japan faced each other in two fleets of ships. As I tell in my stories, the Heike family was destroyed during that battle and after that, strange things began to happen along the coastline.

“On dark nights ghost fires hovered above the shore or skipped over the waves. Whenever the winds became strong a sound like the tumult of battle came from the sea. Sometimes ships passing in the night sank or swimmers gliding through the water were pulled under never to be heard from again.

“So the villagers knew that the spirits of the Heike had not found eternal rest. To try and appease the spirits the people built a temple on the hill overlooking the sea. A graveyard with monuments inscribed with the names of the boy emperor, his lords, and warriors was placed close by the temple near the beach. For a while, things seemed to settle down. But peculiar things did still occur now and then.

“I heard all these reports but gave no thought to them as I traveled from village to village along the coastline. Until one day…

Next time: “Ho-ichi and the Temple Priest”

Having learned his storytelling craft, Ho-ichi is ready to set out to seek his fortune as a traveling storyteller.

After a brief pause, Ho-ichi began the next part of his story.

“The morning I set out to seek my fortune as a storyteller my parents said a fretful goodbye, worried how their blind son whom they’d always protected would fare in the big wide world.

“My mother prepared bread, dates, and raisins to start my journey with. My father gave me the walking staff his father had passed down to him. I rolled up my sleeping mat and slung it and my biwa on my back. My bag of food and skin full of water I hung on my shoulder.

“When I hugged my mother and father goodbye I felt their tears wet my cheeks as we embraced. My brother and sister spoke words of encouragement and patted me on the back. My goodbyes finished, I turned and started down the path that led away from our hut. I knew that path well, having walked it with my father many times. Using my walking staff and my sharp ears to guide me, I began my journey.

“Thus I commenced my life as a storyteller, telling stories from village to village in exchange for food, lodging, clothes and money. Life was not easy. I lost my way many times. I was robbed by unprincipled youth who preyed upon a blind man. Many a night I slept outside under a tree by the road, wrapped tightly in my cloak. Sometimes, if I was fortunate, a wealthy lord would invite me to be his guest for several days. In return for my storytelling I was given a roof over my head, a full belly, and a warm place to sleep. Life was good.”

My life went on like this for many years, traveling from village to village, telling stories and playing the biwa.

Next time: “Stories of Unusual Happenings”

Ho-ichi accompanied his father to the market where he heard the village storyteller. Enthralled by the stories and the teller, Ho-ichi asked his father for a bi-wa.

“When we returned home that night from the market place I asked my father to buy me a biwa so I could learn to play it and tell stories like the village storyteller. My father said, ‘Ho-ichi, you are blind. How can you play a biwa and travel from village to village?’ But my uncle who happened to be visiting, spoke up on my behalf. ‘Ho-ichi is a clever lad. I’m sure he can learn.’

“So with persistent encouragement from my uncle, my father eventually bought me a biwa. Then I went to the village teller and asked to be his apprentice. At first he was hesitant. But when he saw how eager I was to learn to play and tell, he agreed to teach me his craft.

“Every morning the storyteller instructed me on the bi-wa and every afternoon I accompanied him to the marketplace, listened to him tell the ancient stories, and tried to play along on the biwa. I listened and learned until I too could tell the tales and play the biwa. Soon I was telling parts of the stories with the village storyteller. One day, when he was feeling ill, I went to the market place and told stories in his place. That’s when I knew I was ready to set out on my own to seek my destiny.”

Ho-ichi paused for a moment before beginning the next part of his story.In the silence I felt a stirring in my own soul, as if I, too, were about to begin my own journey in search of my destiny.

Next time: “Ho-ichi’s Journey Begins”

Blind Ho-ichi longed for light. Light dawned with the village storyteller.

“One morning my father called me, ‘Ho-ichi!’ ‘Hai! Papa-san!’ I replied. ‘Ho-ichi, take my hand and come with me to the market.’

“I held out my hand and felt my father’s strong, warm hand take mine. Off we walked hand-in-hand to the village.

“When we reached the market my father said, ”Ho-ichi, sit here.’ Papa lifted me unto the top of a wooden barrel next to the door of the potter’s house. ‘Stay here while I buy oil for our lamps and rice for our meals.’ ‘Yes, papa-san,” I said, as I settled myself on the barrel top.

“I could hear the whirl of the potter’s wheel. I tried to imagine what he might be shaping. A pot? A bowl? A cup? Little did I know that I was about to be shaped by what I heard.

Music captured my ear. It was the biwa of the village storyteller. He was playing as he recited the tales of the mighty Heike clan of Japan. Jumping off the barrel I followed the sound of the music and the storyteller’s voice to the edge of the crowd that surrounded him. I wiggled my way through several pairs of legs and sat at the teller’s feet.

As the storyteller spoke and played I saw in my mind’s eye the great and noble Heike family parading through the streets to and from their great manor. I watched the mighty Heike samurai practicing their martial arts. I was there at the last ferocious battle of the Heike against the Genji clan in the waters off Dan-no-ura. The village storyteller brought light to my darkness.”

Next Time: “Ho-ichi Learns His Craft”

During my walk through the woods I sat down to rest, fell asleep, and dreamed that I met Ho-ichi the storyteller. Hoichi began his tale.

“My life began in darkness. I was born blind. Why? I don’t know. Nobody knows. All I have ever known is darkness. But the outer darkness paled in comparison to the night that filled my soul for the first half of my life.

“As a boy, I cursed the darkness and railed against the deity that birthed me blind. The sounds of my brother and sister playing filled me with sadness and bitterness. They would call, ‘Ho-ichi, come play! Ho-ichi, come kick the ball!’ I would run toward the sound of their voices and try to kick the ball of rags they rolled toward my feet. They laughed when the ball rolled under my foot that kicked only the air, then their voices trailed off as they chased the ball leaving me standing alone in the darkness again, longing for some light.

“But I still remember the day things began to change for me.”

Next time: “The Village Storyteller”

I first heard the story of “Ho-ichi the Earless” on storyteller Rafe Martin’s tape, “Ghostly Tales of Japan” many years ago. The story planted itself deep in my psyche and continues to haunt me. It haunts me because, as you will see in my retelling of the tale, it speaks to me of my own fight with my inner and outer demons and how that fight has shaped my life.

Ho-ichi the earless is a character from Japanese mythology. His story is well known in Japan, and the best known English translation first appeared in the book Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things, by Lafcadio Hearn.

As you will see, sometimes it’s hard for me to tell where Ho-ichi’s story ends and my story begins. So come with me and we will begin.

On a warm and sunny fall day I walked slowly along the trail through the woods of the Watchung Reservation. The sun warmed my back. Birds chirped and squirrels chattered in my ears. A breeze caressed my face and floated red, yellow, and gold leaves gently to the ground.

I meandered for hours along a stream that led to a pond. At the pond I sat at the foot of a tree, shade over my head, trunk against my back. In the peace, quiet, and warmth I began to doze, then to dream.

He was an old man, short and hunched over. His shaved head revealed scarred-over holes on either side of his head where ears once protruded. A white silk robe hung to the ankles of his bare feet. An understanding and compassionate smile lit up his face. He was blind. But his unseeing eyes seemed to gaze to the depths of my soul.

He sat down beside me, and taking his biwa, a mandolin-like instrument, began to play a haunting melody. His baritone voice was deep, rich, full, and melodic as he began his story.

“My name is Ho-ichi. I am a storyteller…”

Next time: “Birthed in Darkness”

People call me by a lot of names. Everyone calls me “Shorty” because I am only five feet tall. It’s tough being little. I get pushed around a lot. Some people call me “Traitor” because I work for the government that occupies our country. When I walk through the market people scowl and spit at me. Sometimes when I try and talk to people they turn their backs on me. I get no respect. Other people call me “Crook” accusing me of inflating the taxes I collect for the government so I can take a cut too. I admit that I jack up taxes I collect, but I have no choice. I can’t live on what the government pays me. A guy has to make a living. I’m also called “Rich” because I own a big house with many fine rugs and plenty of livestock in my pastures. I do a dirty job and take a lot of abuse from people. I deserve every drachma, cow and rug I own.

At first I resented being called a short, rich, traitor and crook. Who are these people to judge me? They have faults too. But after a while I got use to my identity and the role I play in society. If people think I am a short, rich, traitor and crook then that’s who I’ll be. I can’t fight the masses.

But then one day I met someone who changed the way I saw myself. The morning started out like any other day, hot and dry, filled with the sounds of the market where I set up my tax collecting booth. I’d just taken out my ledgers to see who I could corner for unpaid taxes when I heard a commotion. A man was walking through town and a crowd was gathering around him. I left my ledger open in my booth and walked to the edge of the crowd to see who this man was. But being short, I could see nothing but people’s butts and backs. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the sycamore tree that grew along the path through town. The man and his crowd would be passing right underneath it. I ran ahead to the tree and scrambled up to a branch that hung low over the path. Perched on the branch I could see everything that was happening.

The man was moving slowly down the path toward me. With all those people shouting and talking around him I was sure he wouldn’t notice me. But when he was right underneath the branch I sat upon he suddenly stoppped and looked up. His eyes met mine and I felt a connection to this man that I’d never felt with anyone else.  I saw such power, love, and understanding in his eyes. It was like he could see into the depths of my soul and knew everything about me. And what was really amazing to me was that even though I knew he understood everything about me, he didn’t scowl, or spit, or turn away. He smiled at me and called me by name. Not “Shorty.” Not “Rich.” Not “Traitor.” Not “Crook.” He called me “Zaccheus.” “Zaccheus, come down! I must eat supper at your house tonight.” Come down? I nearly fell down off the branch I was so surprised. The famous Teacher and Healer wanted to dine with me. Well, dine we would! People in the crowd began to mutter, “He’s going to have supper with the Traitor.” “He’s going to eat with the Crook! But I just ignored them. I was too excited about my dinner guest.

I sent word to my servants to make everything ready for my guest. I had them slaughter the best calf. We put out the finest wine. We bought the best fruit in the market. And dine we did! The Teacher and his friends ate with me that night. We laughed. We sang. We talked. Half way through the meal the Teacher proposed a toast. “To Zaccheus, our extravagant host!” Everyone raised their goblets and toasted me. Again the Teacher gazed deep into my eyes and I felt a oneness with him. And in that connection with the teacher I found my true self. At that moment I new I was no longer the short, rich, traitor and crook. I was Zaccheus, the child of God.

In my joy over my new found identity I stood up and said, “Here and now I give half my possessions to the poor, and if I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount.” The Teacher smiled and said, “Today wholeness has come to this house, because this man too, is a son of Abraham.” Yes, that’s who I am: Zaaccheus, son of Abraham, child of God.

We find our true selves when we are known by God. Author, psychotherapist, and spiritual director David Benner writes, “…our true self–the self we are becoming in God–is something we receive from God. any other identity is of our own making and it is an illusion” (The Gift of Being Yourself , p.47).

“The Search for the Key” pointed us inward to find the key to our true self. Today’s story, “Befriending Your Monsters,” from 101 HEALING STORIES, by George Burns, suggestions what we might do with what we find in our search for our true self.

Long ago, in a time that was and was not, a baby boy was born whose destiny it was to free the world of monsters. The boy grew in stature and skill, and when he was twelve years old his father gave him a magical bow and arrow with the power to slay whatever monster the boy took aim at. Thus equipped, the young warrior set off to find and destroy the monsters that terrified his people.

He hadn’t gone very far before he encountered the Monster of Hunger. He raised his bow and arrow, pointed it toward the monster’s heart and shouted bravely, “Prepare yourself to die. You have been causing my people to be hungry. They suffer and feel discomfort. I shall eliminate you and free them from hunger.”

The monster looked him in the eye and asked, “Is that what you really want? I acknowledge I do cause your people discomfort, but think what benefits I bring them as well. Without hunger, they would have no desire to go hunting for their own food. Without hunger, they would sit and die. I give them the drive to find food and survive. Instead of trying to destroy me, look at ways I might be useful. Stop seeing me as a monster and examine how I might keep people healthy, contented, and happy.”

The young warrior saw the truth in what the monster said. Perhaps he was not so monstrous after all, and the discomfort he created had its essential benefits. So the young warrior spared the monster’s life, thinking perhaps it was better to befriend than destroy this powerful force.

Later, he came upon the Monster of Winter. He was a monster that surely needed to be eliminated, so he raised his bow and arrow. “You bring cold and darkness into the life of my people,” he challenged her. “You make us shiver and, at times, you are so cold that people die. I must destroy you.”

“Yes,” replied the Monster of Winter, “What you say is right. I do bring cold and darkness into your lives, but think how much you need me. I bring rain that fills your rivers, waters your crops, and feeds the animals that you hunt. I pave the way for the warmth and beauty of spring. Without me, there would be no spring and, without spring, the animals you need for food and clothing would not mate and reproduce.”

The young warrior realized that what the Monster of Winter said was true. She was not all bleak and evil, as he had originally perceived her but offered much that his people needed. If people could enjoy these benefits rather than think only of the cold and misery, their lives would be richer. So he spared her life and befriended her.

As he continued on, he encountered the Monster of Suffering. “Ah ha!” Shouted the young warrior. “At last I have found a monster that humanity can do without. Nobody wants to suffer. Prepare to be slain.”

“I know what you are thinking,” said the Monster of Suffering. “You think that I cause people needless pain, discomfort, and unhappiness. You think they would be better off without me. But have you thought about what benefits I bring to people? It is because of me that people learn, grow, and develop. Remember as a child when you put your hand too close to the fire and experienced the pain of the heat? Your suffering was brief, but you learned from the experience. That learning has protected you, maybe even saved your life. People grow from pain. They learn through their suffering. Like me or not, you need me.”

The young warrior lowered his bow, for he had discovered another truth. Nobody likes to suffer or experience pain, yet somehow there was something paradoxical about it. through pain we learn to avoid pain and grow from the experience. Through suffering we learn to avoid suffering and discover something about happiness. Even suffering has its place if we learn how to benefit from it.

The young warrior changed the purpose of the mission that initially engaged him. His goal now was to befriend what he thought were monsters, for he had much to learn from them.

One night, Nasrudin, was on his hands and knees searching for his key in a well lit area. Some of his neighbors came to see why Nasrudin was on his hands and knees.