The Cuckoo's Cry

The cuckoo in this poem isn't the cheerful clock bird Westerners picture. In Chinese tradition, it's a creature soaked in tragedy. The story goes back to King Du Yu of the ancient Shu kingdom, in what's now Sichuan, around 700 BCE.

He was a beloved ruler who lost his throne under murky circumstances — some versions say he was betrayed by a trusted minister, others say he gave up power and exiled himself out of shame. Either way, he died far from home, heartbroken. His spirit refused to rest and turned into a small bird that cried through the spring nights, calling out a sound that locals heard as 'bu ru gui' — 'better to go home.

' The bird supposedly cried so hard it coughed up blood, which then stained the azalea flowers red. To this day, azaleas in Chinese are called 'cuckoo flowers.' So when this stick speaks of the cuckoo, it's invoking exile, displacement, working hard in a place that isn't yours, and grieving for something — or someone — you can't return to.

It's the sound of a soul out of position.

Let's be honest about what this stick is saying, and what it isn't. Money ebbs and flows, and drawing this sign isn't a verdict on your worth or your future. What it does suggest is that right now, your relationship with money feels a little like the cuckoo's cry — you're working hard, but somewhere far from where your heart actually lives.

The sign blocks speculation and shortcuts. Hard. Any path that promises quick gain through routes you don't fully understand — that's the door this stick is closing, and honestly, it's doing you a favor. The energy here is exile, not abundance, and exile is where people make desperate moves they later regret.

What it doesn't block is your steady income. Your real path. The salary, the clients, the small business, the skill you've spent years sharpening. That's still yours. The trick is whether you can see it that way, or whether you keep measuring it against something you imagine you should have by now.

Think of Marcus, 34, a software contractor from Manchester who took a two-year posting in Singapore for the money. On paper he was up. In practice he was sending half his pay home, eating alone, and pouring the rest into speculative side bets to justify the loneliness. By month eighteen he'd lost most of the side-bet money and quit anyway. The job wasn't the problem. The story he told himself about needing to 'win' the relocation — that was the problem.

This stick is asking a quiet question: are you chasing what you actually want, or chasing a number that's supposed to prove something? Sometimes the homesickness in the poem isn't about a place. It's about a version of yourself you stopped listening to.

Guard the core. The treasury holds when you stop drilling holes in it. The harvest comes from the field you actually planted, not the one you wish you owned. External timing is genuinely tight right now — that part isn't your fault. Your job is to not make it worse.

Through this winter and into early spring, hold position. Don't move large sums into anything you can't fully explain to a friend over coffee. Audit your outflows before the next lunar new year — the small leaks are bigger than you think.

Renegotiate one thing: a contract, a rent, a recurring subscription, a rate you charge clients that hasn't moved in two years. If you've been avoiding a money conversation with family or a partner, have it before summer. Keep three months of essentials liquid and boring.

Say no to one 'opportunity' that arrives with urgency attached — urgency is the tell. Most importantly, ask yourself once a week whether the work you're doing is actually feeding the life you want, or just the image of it.