Whenever I’m chatting in the group these days, I keep thinking of the old fable “The Little Pony Crossing the River.”
A sturdy old mare and a playful young pony lived together in the stable. One day the mare said to the foal, “You’re grown now—could you help your mother with some chores?” The little pony pranced with excitement, “Of course I can! I’d love to help.” “Great,” said the mare. “Take this half‑sack of grain down to the mill.”
The pony slung the bag over his back and galloped off. Soon he came to a rippling stream blocking the path. The pony hesitated. “Can I cross it?” he thought. “If only my mother were here to advise me!” He looked around and spotted a placid old ox grazing by the water’s edge. The pony trotted over and asked, “Sir Ox, please tell me—can I wade across this stream?” The ox licked his muzzle and replied, “The water is shallow—barely up to my hocks. You’ll have no trouble.”
Encouraged, the pony trotted to the bank, ready to ford the water. But at that moment a squirrel leapt down from a nearby tree, shrieking, “Stop! Don’t go in—that river will drown you!” Startled, the pony asked, “Is it that deep?” The squirrel answered gravely, “Very deep! Just yesterday, my friend fell in and drowned here.”
Now utterly confused, the pony drew back. “Oh dear,” he sighed. “I’d better go home and ask Mother.”
He flicked his tail and ran back to the stable. His mother looked up and asked, “Why have you returned so soon?” Embarrassed, he said, “A stream blocked my way, and I… I couldn’t cross it.” She frowned. “But isn’t that river quite shallow?” he ventured. “Yes,” he admitted, “Sir Ox said the same. Yet the squirrel insisted it’s so deep that his friend drowned.”
“Hmm,” said the mare. “Did you think carefully about what each one said?” The pony hung his head. “I… I didn’t.” Gently, his mother smiled. “Child, you can’t live by hearsay alone. You must use your own wits—and test it for yourself. Only then will you know if the water is shallow or deep.”
The little pony raced back to the stream. As he raised his hoof to step in, the squirrel squealed, “What are you thinking? Do you want to die?” “Just let me try,” he said bravely. He waded in—careful, step by step—and reached the far bank without trouble.
It turned out the river was neither as shallow as the ox claimed nor as treacherous as the squirrel feared.
I keep recalling “The Little Pony Crossing the River” because I see the same confusion in our group discussions. Friends ask constantly: “Am I suited for moxibustion? Should I carry a portable kit? Is a wooden box better? Are your moxa sticks good?” They mull it over, poll the group—and receive all kinds of contradictory advice, only to feel more lost.
The truth is, you have to try it for yourself. Experience and compare until you know how you feel. Questions alone won’t help.
Likewise, those of us who’ve practiced for years need to pause and reflect. Are we really helping when we answer from our own perspective? Two people may share the same symptom, yet have entirely different causes—and require different approaches. With enough practice, you learn the river’s depth: it isn’t a matter of one or two acupoints or a single prescription. Chronic imbalance springs from long‑standing habits and mindsets. You must first understand each person’s unique constitution—and their mental state matters just as much. The ox and the squirrel only speak for themselves.
The lesson of the pony’s river crossing, in health and self‑care, is this: you must practice and feel it for yourself—and never assume your experience applies to everyone else.