Here is a story from when Nin was young, and still a prince among rabbits:
Nin was sitting under a great old tree, and the rain trickled down through the palms and wet his head and fell on his nose. The rainstorm had come out of nowhere. Nin was irritated. He was cold and miserable, and with nothing to distract him from his coldness and miserableness, his irritation only increased.
Continue readingNin had been dreaming of an old friend, and the falling out that had occurred between them—a friend he hadn’t seen in many a long year.
This friend had always been a free thinker and debater, one who revelled in discussion and playing devil’s advocate.
Continue readingWan-ui, the black rabbit, Nin’s faithful retainer—still she searched for her old master. At every warren or burrow or watering hole she’d ask the animals there for help in locating the lost prince. Had they met him? Had they seen him? Had they heard rumours of a travelling rabbit, more noble than all the rest?
Continue readingNin joined the great march to the east. There he walked among the old, the sick and the hungry. Rabbits of all castes and creeds and colours. It was a great mass moving as one, and in their hearts they were one. Their shared suffering had overridden all former divisions, now they all belonged to one group: the vanquished.
Continue readingLo!
And Nin came to the valley of death and he looked upon that place and saw the corpses of ten thousand beings. And Nin went down into that charnal house and walked amongst the dead.
Continue readingNin came upon a farm. In his younger days he would have disparaged the animals here as tame and dull, but now he was a little older, and a little wiser and thought perhaps they warranted further evaluation.
Continue readingThere are many tales in the animal kingdom of great work—and great effort. As Nin considered his next move, two similar stories jumped out at him: the story of the crow and the story of the donkey, both of which I will now briefly relate:
Continue reading“Wisdom Trap.” Nin had used this phrase before, had thought the words to be true, but he didn’t yet have a proper, tangible, working definition. It tingled just outside his perception, his mind grasped for it, but he could not see it clearly.
Nin decided to ruminate on these words—his words—and decide for himself what he meant.
Continue readingOnce again he could feel its approach. The great dread, the great tiredness. The overwhelming urge to quit, to retire. It was the feeling that told him that all his efforts were vanity, that wisdom was a trap.
The black dread came like the lapping of a tide, always it seemed inevitable, at most he was throwing rocks against the sea, beating it off for a time, yet knowing it would return again in force.
Continue readingAfter the funeral Nin was approached by a large hawk. “You may not remember me, but I remember you,” said the hawk. “It was long ago, on a distant tundra.”
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Crosstown Gate 