The Tao
Disclaimer
This is a topic I approach with humility. I know I am not qualified to fully speak on it, yet it is so beautiful and dear to me that I feel compelled to share what I understand from the heart.
Through this writing, I also hope to better understand the dynamics and struggles unfolding within my inner world in response to what is happening in the outer world. Perhaps through that understanding, I may continue my journey with greater clarity.
Rather than speaking entirely in my own words, I have included many quotes throughout this reflection — passages that have influenced my understanding over the years. Though they come from different traditions and sources, they often seem to point toward a similar truth.
I spent an afternoon with a friend the other day, catching up on life. Eventually our conversation turned toward ancient Chinese philosophy — Taoism.
In my limited understanding, Taoism arose through observing nature. From that observation, the ancient sages came to perceive what they called the Tao: the underlying reality, rhythm, or universal energy flowing through all things.
Yet the Tao is said to be beyond full comprehension. It cannot truly be named or completely described, because the human mind itself is limited, and language adds another layer of limitation.
Out of reverence for this mystery, Lao Tzu wrote the Tao Te Ching — not to define the Tao, but to gesture toward it, and to suggest how human beings might live in harmony with it.
“Tao, the subtle reality of the universe, cannot be described.
That which can be described in words is merely a conception of the mind.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 1
“That which exists through itself is called the Way (Tao). Tao has neither name nor shape.”
— The Secret of the Golden Flower
“The father’s kingdom is spread out upon the earth, and people do not see it.”
— Gospel of Mary
As our conversation continued, a difference in understanding emerged.
We both agreed that this universal energy is all-encompassing — containing all things, both manifested and unmanifested. Everything arises from the same source.
From that perspective, one could say that under heaven, all things are possible. Like the Tai Chi symbol, existence moves in continual flow: dark and light, expansion and contraction, creation and destruction. There is rhythm and balance within this movement — a natural order.
Another aspect of this understanding is that nothing exists in complete isolation. In nature, there is no pure darkness without light, and no pure light without darkness. Day turns into night. Winter yields to spring. Silver lining behind a dark cloud. Storms pass and sunlight returns. When light shines upon something, a shadow appears simultaneously. Even death nourishes new life.
Existence itself is woven through relationship and polarity. It is within this universe that we live.
“As soon as the world regards something as beautiful, ugliness simultaneously becomes apparent.
As soon as the world regards something as good, evil simultaneously becomes apparent.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 2
“Light and darkness, life and death, and right and left are siblings of one another, and inseparable.”
— Gospel of Philip
One part of our discussion unsettled me deeply.
Observing our world, it often appears that the strong and adaptable survive, and that polarity is constant.
My friend believed that violence, war, domination, and cruelty exist fully within the Tao — that the strong overpowering the weak is simply part of nature’s law. Since the Tao contains everything, she believed there should be complete neutrality toward all events.
Intellectually, I understood part of what she meant. History shows that war has always existed. Nature itself contains predation, destruction, and death. Events lead to other events, and the flow continues.
And yet something inside me resisted this conclusion.
Over the years, through meditation and reflection, the Tao became less like an abstract philosophy and more like a quiet companion. During difficult periods of my life, the teachings of Lao Tzu brought me peace. They reminded me to soften, to let go, and to trust the unfolding of things.
When I repeated painful patterns in my life, the lessons quietly returned, again and again — patiently, naturally, almost seamlessly. I did not realize how precious this relationship had become until I felt it challenged.
To hear the Tao reduced to pure indifference toward suffering, greed, cruelty, bullying disturbed me deeply.
Not because I believed my friend was entirely wrong, but because the understanding felt incomplete. It felt absent of the human heart.
When I look at nature, I do not only see power and survival. I also see gentleness, interdependence, balance, nourishment, renewal.
In nature, of course there is predation and destruction. But they come from the need for survival, not from the insatiable desire and greed, for money and power.
The Tao, as I experience it, feels vast and open, yet also profoundly tender.
Not sentimental or moralistic — simply life-giving. Quietly nourishing all things without measure, permeating existence endlessly.
And yet I know my understanding is incomplete. Like the story of four blind people describing an elephant, each person touches only one part of something far greater than themselves.
Whatever I understand about the Tao is only a fragment.
The question that remained with me was this:
If the Tao contains all things, does that mean there is no good or evil?
Perhaps from the highest perspective, there is only movement and transformation — energy continuously flowing between opposites.
But from the human perspective, we still participate in what we choose to cultivate, to be.
Buddhist teachings describe the subconscious mind as a warehouse containing countless seeds: compassion, hatred, greed, fear, kindness, love. The seeds are all present, but our lives are shaped by which ones we nurture.
While the Tao may contain all possibilities, human beings still choose what energies they cultivate within themselves and around them, and what energy they put forth to the universal energy.
Like the physical principle that every action creates an equal and opposite reaction, perhaps in the spiritual realm the energy we put forth eventually circles back to us.
Understanding the all-encompassing nature of the Tao, Lao Tzu taught humanity how to live in harmony within the Tao— how to cultivate gentleness, humility, balance, and nonviolence, how to trust the flow of life, to learn to stay grounded, connected with heaven and earth.
“The subtle Way of the universe: Is it not expressed in the stretching of a bow?
The high it presses down; the low it lifts up.
The excessive it takes from; the deficient it gives to.”
— Tao Te Ching, Chapter 77
We, as conscious human beings, still have the ability to choose our path.
Though existence may transcend absolute categories of right and wrong, I still choose to walk a path that feels more aligned with peace, compassion, and harmony with the Tao.
At the same time, I understand that there is the rotation of day and night, spring and winter. It is in the night that the earth breathes, our body cleanses, repairs and regenerates. It is the season of winter that the earth rests, microbes and soil nutrients recharge, creating a rich foundation for future growth.
It is the challenges I faced in my early childhood that provided me the discipline and the drive to become who I am today. It is in this period of time that I learned not to take anything for granted, to appreciate the smallest act of kindness and friendship, to feel the goodness coming from plants or animals I encounter. It is a time for inner restoration.
And I trust that out of this darkness, something beautiful will come forth. The flow continues.
Another realization emerged afterward:
I was more disturbed by my own reaction to my friend’s opinion than by the opinion itself.
For days, I carried judgment, irritation, and contempt. And I realized these were not energies I wanted to occupy my thoughts.
If I responded to contempt with contempt, what was the difference?
I turned inward.
Whenever something provokes such a strong emotional reaction, I believe there is something within myself asking to be seen.
During meditation, two images appeared.
The first was a fragile, insecure woman with her hands reaching outward — longing for acknowledgment, approval, attention, love. She was shaped by lack and emptiness, searching externally for confirmation of her worth.
The second was its opposite: a looming, shifting force filled with aggression, superiority, judgment, domination, and intimidation.
I observed them both quietly.
The second energy felt intimidating, yet I found myself saying internally, “I am not backing down from you.”
As I sat with these images, I realized they both existed within me.
They were not separate.
One compensated for the other.
Like day and night, they were two sides of the same coin.
And suddenly I understood something painful but important: the qualities I rejected in others were connected to qualities I rejected within myself — parts buried so deeply that I barely recognized them.
Even after years of meditation and healing, the original seeds still remain somewhere within the psyche. When similar energies enter my environment, they awaken old emotional patterns — anxiety, sadness, as well as aggression, judgement.
I realized the looming force existed within me in more than one form. Part of it developed as protection for the vulnerable inner child. Part of it drove me toward achievement, discipline, and survival so that past pain would never repeat itself.
Yet external success can never fully calm internal anxiety that does not operate with reason. Only through paying attention can that form of emptiness be filled.
At the same time, that looming, shifting and intimidating shadow also resembled the oppressive, dark forces surrounding parts of my early childhood.
The current political climate and the presence of war in the world seem to mirror these same energies vividly every day. There are people suffering, struggling, powerless against the powerful. And there are the dark forces driven by greed, domination, power, and self-righteousness, often destroying lives and the beautiful earth without hesitation.
My inner world was reacting to what I saw reflected in the outer world….
______________________________________________________________________________
When I backed away far enough from my emotions, I see that neither of these energies are what I want to cultivate into large trees within my own soul-scape.
What I truly want to nurture is a more whole and original Self, in harmony and co-existence with the Tao, building an inner garden with trees and flowers of the energies I like – love, beauty, honesty, gratitude, being free, living the most basic, simplest existence.
That realization softened me.
Not into agreement, but into understanding.
I distance myself from certain energies not out of moral superiority or condemnation, but simply out of choosing what I want for my garden. There are simply certain seeds I do not wish to water.
Some energies bring restlessness, polarity, and suffering into my inner world.
Others — gentleness, creativity, peace, attention, love – are the energies I want to nourish instead.
And with that understanding, peace slowly returned. Creativity returned.
Morning arrived again.
