Dogen Says You Are Time
Dogen Says You Are Time — a philosophy story. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Philosophy.
Page 1
The ox leaned into its yoke, and the sledge groaned up the terrace path with the great bronze bell lashed on top, bigger than a barrel and twice as heavy as the ox itself. Then the rope snapped with a crack like a whip. Dōgen lunged for the trailing end, missed, and shouted a warning as the bell tipped sideways and began to roll. Kiku grabbed Tarō's sash and yanked him clear just as the bell crashed through the first mud wall, spraying clods everywhere. It bounced down a second terrace, flattening a row of young rice shoots, and Grandmother Sumi dropped her radish basket and scrambled up the bank, waving her arms and hollering for everyone to run. The bell smashed through the third wall and launched itself into the flooded paddy below with a splash that threw muddy water twenty feet into the air, soaking all four of them to the waist in an instant, gasping and dripping and laughing despite themselves.
Page 2
The water-wheel mill groaned as Dōgen hauled the mill's dripping drive-rope down from its iron hook, looping it twice round the mud-caked bell. 'Pull when I pull,' he called, bracing his wooden clogs against the planks. Kiku scrambled up the millstone to grab the rope higher, her counting-cord beads clacking, while Grandmother Sumi threw her whole stooped weight backward, heels digging into the wet boards. Slowly the great bell tore free of the mud with a thick sucking sound, swinging out over the raft of lashed planks. 'It's rising! Don't let go!' Kiku shouted. As the bell settled with a hollow thud onto the raft, Tarō, scampering to steady a teetering flour sack twice his size, knocked it clean over. It burst open, and a cloud of white buckwheat flour exploded across him, coating his giant straw hat, his jacket, his bare knees, until he stood blinking, entirely snow-white. Grandmother Sumi laughed so hard she nearly dropped the rope.
Page 3
The wind came off the river in one hard slap, and fifty wet sheets lifted off the drying boards like a flock of pale birds. Kiku screamed with laughter and ran, scarlet cord flying loose, grabbing at corners as they skated across the yard. Tarō dove flat onto a sheet twice his size, flattening it with his whole small body before it could escape over the fence. Dōgen strode after a sheet sailing high, snagging it out of the air with the brass rings of his staff and stamping its edge down with his clog. Grandmother Sumi, basket still on her back, planted stones on every corner she passed, scolding the wind like a naughty dog. Once the yard was pinned flat again, they peeled up the rescued sheets, slick with paste, and wound them round and round the great bell's dented flank, smoothing every wrinkle with flat palms until the bronze wore a soft white coat.
Page 4
The vine-rope bridge sags under their weight, planks clattering as the bell swings between two long carrying-poles. Grandmother Sumi plants her padded boots wide on the planks, gripping the rear pole with both wiry hands, bracing it against her hip to steady the bronze weight. Tarō, squeezed in front, hauls his end along inch by inch, his huge straw hat flapping wildly in the gorge wind. A sudden gust rips the hat clean off his head and sends it spinning out over the drop, tumbling down toward the white rush of the river far below. Tarō yelps and lunges after it, nearly losing his footing on the swaying planks until Kiku grabs the back of his jacket and hauls him upright. Dōgen, last in line, whips his tall staff out sideways, hooking the brim of the hat on its jingling brass rings just as it falls past the ropes. He swings the staff back inward and drops the hat neatly onto Tarō's head again, rings still ringing.
Page 5
Steam rolled off the cedar-log pools, thick as smoke, as they dragged the bell up onto a flat rock beside the water. Kiku scooped handfuls of wet sand and scrubbed hard at the bronze flank, while Tarō, sleeves flopping, pressed fistfuls of snow against the grime and rubbed until his small arms shook. Dōgen knelt opposite, polishing a stubborn patch near the rim with the hem of his sleeve, grunting with each stroke. Slowly green-black grime peeled away to show dull gold beneath. Kiku rapped the bell with her knuckles and it gave back the smallest hum, startling Tarō backward onto his seat. Grandmother Sumi, crouched at the pool's edge, ladled hot soup from a dented pot into cupped bowls and pressed one into each child's hands, waving them onward with her ladle like a conductor. Down the mountain track came a clatter of wheels — Jun, stooping under his own height, hauling a wooden handcart bouncing over stones, red-corded hammer swinging loose on his shoulder.
Page 6
Hail comes slashing sideways through the cedars, hard white stones rattling off the bell like flung gravel, and Dōgen shouts for the hollow trunk ahead. They scramble, hauling the bell between carrying-poles over knotted roots, Jun's long legs stumbling under the weight. The opening in the ancient cedar gapes taller than a man, but the bell's wide shoulder catches fast on the narrow lip, wedged tight no matter how they shove. Kiku throws her whole small body against the bronze, heels digging into bark, while Tarō scrabbles at the bottom rim trying to lift it free. Dōgen pulls a stoppered flask of pine oil from his sash and slathers it thick around the stuck edge, working it in with both palms. Jun braces his shoulder against the trunk and heaves. With a wet, sliding pop the bell slips through into the dark hollow, and all four tumble in after it, breathless, as hail drums down on the bronze like a hundred tiny fists hammering overhead.
Page 7
At the snowbound crossroads, beside the small stone Jizō statue capped with snow like a tiny hat, they lash green branches into a sledge beneath the bell, winding straw rope round and round in tight knots. Jun hauls the last loop taut and ties it off with a grunt. "That'll hold," he says, wiping his brow. But the moment Dōgen nudges the bell forward with his staff, the knot slips loose and the sledge shoots away down the long white snowfield on its own, bell rocking wildly atop it. "It's running!" Kiku shrieks, already sprinting, boots kicking up powder. Tarō tumbles after her, hat flying back on its cord, arms pinwheeling. Jun lunges with the hammer to vault a drift, and Dōgen plants his staff and leaps down the slope in two great strides, robe billowing. All four go floundering through the snow, shouting and laughing, chasing the runaway bronze bell as it bounces and spins ever faster toward the valley below.
Page 8
The bell had stopped at last, sitting bolt upright on the ice like some great bronze toad, waves frozen mid-splash around its rim beneath the silent curtain of Hakujaku Falls, itself locked solid into icicle pillars twice a man's height. Jun skidded to his knees on the ice and began chipping a channel toward the bank with the butt of his bell-hammer, chips of ice flying. Kiku and Tarō jammed cedar poles under the bronze lip, throwing their whole small weight against them. "Heave on three!" Dōgen called, planting his staff and bracing his sandal against a rock. The bell groaned, tipped, and slid an inch along the new channel. "Again!" shouted Jun, hauling the rope hand over hand, his big straw boots slipping. Tarō nearly tumbled into the plunge pool but Kiku grabbed his sash and yanked him back upright. Together they dragged the bell, scraping and shuddering, onto a bed of split cedar planks laid across the bank, where it finally settled with a low, satisfied thud.
Page 9
The hundred stone steps climbed under a wooden roof, lanterns swinging from the beams every few feet. They set round cedar rollers beneath the bell and heaved, Jun bracing his long bell-hammer against the lip to stop it sliding back while Dōgen hauled the rope over his shoulder like an ox. Step by step the bell roared upward, rollers clattering loose behind and Tarō snatching each one up to run it forward again before the bell could stall. 'Keep rolling, don't let her sit!' Dōgen shouted, veins standing on his neck. On the fortieth step Jun's elbow caught a hanging lantern and sent it swinging wildly on its chain, flame guttering toward the paper shade. Kiku sprang up two steps in one leap and caught the lantern's rim with both hands, steadying it before the candle could tip and scorch the paper. Snow sifted down through the lattice windows onto their shoulders as the bell groaned on, step after roaring step, closer to the ridge above.
Page 10
At the top of the ridge, the new bell hangs dark and huge in its wooden frame, taller than Jun even on his long legs. A thick log beam swings beside it on ropes, and all four grab the rope-loops, bracing their heels on the icy planks. "Pull it back, all together, now!" Dōgen shouts, hauling the beam toward himself with Jun straining behind him. Kiku and Tarō dig their sandals into the snow, dragging the rope with both fists. Then Dōgen drops his arm. "Swing!" They let go as one, the beam rushing forward and slamming into the bronze rim with a deep, rolling boom that rattles up through their feet. Snow bursts off the cedar boughs below in great white sheets, sliding and tumbling down over the sleeping temple roofs. Tarō claps both mittened hands over his huge hat, Kiku grips the rope railing, grinning, and Jun staggers back laughing, nearly dropping the hammer still slung on his shoulder.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder Philosophy
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