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I-Ching Hexagram · 鼎 · Dǐng
50. The Cauldron
Raw matter becomes nourishment through slow cooking. Honor the vessel — do not rush the fire.
Keywords
Transformation · Offering · Culture
The field
The Cauldron is a three-legged bronze vessel standing in the temple. Wood feeds fire, fire cooks the offering, the offering nourishes both gods and people. Wilhelm reads this as the highest cultural symbol — raw matter transformed by patient heat into something worth sharing. Whatever you are working on now is in the pot: a project, a relationship, your own becoming. The legs must be sound, the handles cool enough to lift, the contents stirred without panic. Rushing the fire scorches the meal. Letting the fire die wastes the wood. The work asks for steadiness, ceremony, and a clean vessel — not brilliance.
Stance
Treat the work as ceremony, not output. Choose your ingredients with care; reject what does not belong. Keep the fire steady — same hour, same hand, day after day. Invite worthy people to the table when the meal is ready, and only then. Rest between courses. The cauldron is not just yours; whatever rises from it feeds those around you, so keep it honest.
Shadow
The shadow is the empty cauldron paraded as full — title without nourishment, ritual without substance. Or a vessel cracked at the base by past resentment, leaking everything you put in. Sometimes the shadow is greed: cooking only for yourself, refusing to share the meal until it spoils. Notice which it is. A vessel cannot fix itself by polishing the outside.
Changing lines
Forward, the Cauldron tips into Thunder — the slow simmer breaks into a sudden clap. The meal is ready, and the call to come and eat lands like lightning. Be ready for the noise; do not mistake the shock for catastrophe. What you cooked patiently is now demanded fast. Serve it without apology, and laugh at the speed of the change.
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