In 1987, during my sophomore year of university, I watched Andrei Tarkovsky’s film "The Sacrifice." In the opening scene, the protagonist takes his young son to the seashore to plant a tree and tells him a story: "A monk in a Greek Orthodox monastery once planted a barren tree on a mountainside. He told his young apprentice, 'You must water it every day until it comes back to life.' Every morning, the young novice carried a ladle of water up the mountain, returning only at sunset. After three years of this, the withered tree sprouted." The protagonist then continues, "Sometimes I tell myself that if one does the same thing at the exact same moment every single day, like a ritual, the world would change."
For some reason, though I never watched the film a second time, I could never forget that story. In 1993, while I was in residence at the Headlands Center for the Arts in California working on "Hiking Diary," I was climbing a peak called Hill 88. In a state of extreme exhaustion, that story returned to me. Looking at a pine tree on the summit, I felt I was that young novice watering the tree. This realization gave me a surge of strength, and I finally reached the top. Sitting beneath the pine, gazing at the curve of the Pacific and the houses and roads below like tiny toy blocks, I decided from that moment on to adopt, adapt, and live by this story.
ADOPTING AND WRITING THE PARABLES OF LIFE
To me, the whole of life is a continuous process of discovering the true meaning of revelations and parables. Within these parables, I am a character, a reader, and an author. This method of reflecting on the protagonist’s situation alongside my own—of continuing to write the story—makes me feel as though I am writing my own life. It allows me to make meaningful choices, to find the strength to live, and to cast off nihility even in seemingly hopeless circumstances.
However, from the time I first learned the story of the child and the withered tree in "The Sacrifice," it took many years before I encountered the story of struggling to climb a mountain in a dream, the significance of the pilgrimage (Kora), and finally, the story of the man who plants the tree. Only then did I understand: the threat of life’s extinction is not what is terrifying. In fact, we have already died countless times. By gazing directly at death, we see that the root of our pain and fear is our failure to perceive reality. The loves, hates, and relationships of a cyclical life, as well as the mountains and rivers, all manifest through causality. Yet this causality is also the strongest chain in the world. How is it possible to break such bonds?
For many years, I asked myself: "How can a withered tree live again? If everyone deems a task impossible, why do it? If fate or the world cannot be changed, why struggle?" Now, to me, this is a sacred journey in pursuit of truth and meaning.
Samsara has no inherent meaning; the only meaning of life is to awaken from its dream.
"In the dream, there was indeed a mountain, and I indeed existed. But had I not exerted myself in this impossible task—climbing that mountain—I could never have awakened from the dream."
(originally published in the artist's monograph, 2013)
1987年，我大學二年級的時候，看了安德烈．塔可夫斯基的電影《犧牲》。在片頭男主角帶著自己的小兒子在海邊種樹，他告訴他兒子一個種樹的故事：「一個希臘東正教修道院的修士在山腰上種了一棵荒樹，他跟他的小徒弟說：『你要每天為它澆水，直到它再活過來。』這個小修生每天早上帶著一勺水上山澆樹，直到夕陽西下他才下山。這樣經過了三年，那棵枯樹發芽了。」然後男主角接著說：「有時候我跟我自己說，如果每一天在同一個時刻做著同一件事情，像一個儀式一般，這個世界就會有所改變。」
不知道為什麼，即使沒有再看第二遍，我一直忘不了這部電影與片頭的這段故事。1993年，當我在美國加州海德蘭藝術中心駐村做《健行日記》的時候，有一次攀登一個叫Hill 88的山頭，在極度筋疲力竭之際，這個故事回來了。我望著山頭的一株松樹，覺得我是那上山澆樹的小修生，這讓我升起了一股力量，最後我終於爬上山頂。我坐在松樹下，望著太平洋的曲線、山下小的像積木的房子與道路。從那時候起，我開始認養、修改並照著這個故事去活。
〈認養與書寫人生的寓言〉
對我而言，整個人生就是一個持續發現啟示與寓言真義的過程。在這些人生的寓言中，我是其中的角色，也是讀者與作者。這種思考故事主人翁和我自己的情境，延續書寫故事的作法，會讓我感覺正在書寫自己的生命，並做出有意義的抉擇，在看似沒有希望的情形中，生活出力氣，擺脫虛無。
然而，從我知道〈犧牲〉裡面小孩與枯樹的故事，一直要到很多年以後，我才遇見在夢中奮力爬山的故事及轉山的意義，然後才是種樹的男人的故事。這才明白：生命消亡的威脅並不可怕，事實上我們早已死過無數次，直接逼視死亡，只見我們痛苦與恐懼的根本是因為不明實相。輪迴生命的愛恨怨親、山河大地都是以因果的方式顯現展演，可這因果也是這世界上最最堅強的鎖鍊，想要掙斷束縛，如何可能？
我曾追問自己許多年：「枯木怎麼可能再生呢？如果眾人都認為不可能的事，還要去做，是為什麼呢？如果命運或世界不可能改變，為什麼還要奮鬥？」現在，對我而言，這是一個追尋真理與意義的神聖旅程。
輪迴沒有意義，生命唯一的意義就是從輪迴的夢中醒來。
「在夢裏，確實有一座山，我也確實存在。但如果我沒有盡力做這件不可能的事，爬上那座山。我就不可能由夢中醒來。」
（原載於2013年作品集）
For some reason, though I never watched the film a second time, I could never forget that story. In 1993, while I was in residence at the Headlands Center for the Arts in California working on "Hiking Diary," I was climbing a peak called Hill 88. In a state of extreme exhaustion, that story returned to me. Looking at a pine tree on the summit, I felt I was that young novice watering the tree. This realization gave me a surge of strength, and I finally reached the top. Sitting beneath the pine, gazing at the curve of the Pacific and the houses and roads below like tiny toy blocks, I decided from that moment on to adopt, adapt, and live by this story.
ADOPTING AND WRITING THE PARABLES OF LIFE
To me, the whole of life is a continuous process of discovering the true meaning of revelations and parables. Within these parables, I am a character, a reader, and an author. This method of reflecting on the protagonist’s situation alongside my own—of continuing to write the story—makes me feel as though I am writing my own life. It allows me to make meaningful choices, to find the strength to live, and to cast off nihility even in seemingly hopeless circumstances.
However, from the time I first learned the story of the child and the withered tree in "The Sacrifice," it took many years before I encountered the story of struggling to climb a mountain in a dream, the significance of the pilgrimage (Kora), and finally, the story of the man who plants the tree. Only then did I understand: the threat of life’s extinction is not what is terrifying. In fact, we have already died countless times. By gazing directly at death, we see that the root of our pain and fear is our failure to perceive reality. The loves, hates, and relationships of a cyclical life, as well as the mountains and rivers, all manifest through causality. Yet this causality is also the strongest chain in the world. How is it possible to break such bonds?
For many years, I asked myself: "How can a withered tree live again? If everyone deems a task impossible, why do it? If fate or the world cannot be changed, why struggle?" Now, to me, this is a sacred journey in pursuit of truth and meaning.
Samsara has no inherent meaning; the only meaning of life is to awaken from its dream.
"In the dream, there was indeed a mountain, and I indeed existed. But had I not exerted myself in this impossible task—climbing that mountain—I could never have awakened from the dream."
(originally published in the artist's monograph, 2013)
1987年，我大學二年級的時候，看了安德烈．塔可夫斯基的電影《犧牲》。在片頭男主角帶著自己的小兒子在海邊種樹，他告訴他兒子一個種樹的故事：「一個希臘東正教修道院的修士在山腰上種了一棵荒樹，他跟他的小徒弟說：『你要每天為它澆水，直到它再活過來。』這個小修生每天早上帶著一勺水上山澆樹，直到夕陽西下他才下山。這樣經過了三年，那棵枯樹發芽了。」然後男主角接著說：「有時候我跟我自己說，如果每一天在同一個時刻做著同一件事情，像一個儀式一般，這個世界就會有所改變。」
不知道為什麼，即使沒有再看第二遍，我一直忘不了這部電影與片頭的這段故事。1993年，當我在美國加州海德蘭藝術中心駐村做《健行日記》的時候，有一次攀登一個叫Hill 88的山頭，在極度筋疲力竭之際，這個故事回來了。我望著山頭的一株松樹，覺得我是那上山澆樹的小修生，這讓我升起了一股力量，最後我終於爬上山頂。我坐在松樹下，望著太平洋的曲線、山下小的像積木的房子與道路。從那時候起，我開始認養、修改並照著這個故事去活。
〈認養與書寫人生的寓言〉
對我而言，整個人生就是一個持續發現啟示與寓言真義的過程。在這些人生的寓言中，我是其中的角色，也是讀者與作者。這種思考故事主人翁和我自己的情境，延續書寫故事的作法，會讓我感覺正在書寫自己的生命，並做出有意義的抉擇，在看似沒有希望的情形中，生活出力氣，擺脫虛無。
然而，從我知道〈犧牲〉裡面小孩與枯樹的故事，一直要到很多年以後，我才遇見在夢中奮力爬山的故事及轉山的意義，然後才是種樹的男人的故事。這才明白：生命消亡的威脅並不可怕，事實上我們早已死過無數次，直接逼視死亡，只見我們痛苦與恐懼的根本是因為不明實相。輪迴生命的愛恨怨親、山河大地都是以因果的方式顯現展演，可這因果也是這世界上最最堅強的鎖鍊，想要掙斷束縛，如何可能？
我曾追問自己許多年：「枯木怎麼可能再生呢？如果眾人都認為不可能的事，還要去做，是為什麼呢？如果命運或世界不可能改變，為什麼還要奮鬥？」現在，對我而言，這是一個追尋真理與意義的神聖旅程。
輪迴沒有意義，生命唯一的意義就是從輪迴的夢中醒來。
「在夢裏，確實有一座山，我也確實存在。但如果我沒有盡力做這件不可能的事，爬上那座山。我就不可能由夢中醒來。」
（原載於2013年作品集）
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The Sacrifice Tree—Prequel, 2012–2016 -
The Sacrifice Tree, 2017
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The Sacrifice Tree—Sequel, 2016
