If you spend a long period of time in study and self-cultivation, you will enter Tao. By doing so, you also enter a world of extraordinary perceptions. You experience unimaginable things, receive thoughts and learning as if from nowhere, perceive things that could be classified as prescient. Yet if you try to communicate what you experience, there is no one to understand you, no one who will believe you. The more you walk this road, the farther you are from the ordinary ways of society. You may see the truth, but you will find that people would rather listen to politicians, performers, and charlatans.
If you are known as a follower of Tao, people may seek you out, but they are seldom the ones who will truly understand Tao. They are people who would exploit Tao as a crutch. To speak to them of the wonders you have seen is often to engage in a futile bout of miscommunication. That is why it is said that those who know do not speak.
Why not simply stay quiet? Enjoy Tao as you will. Let others think you are dumb. Inside yourself, you will know the joy of Tao’s mysteries. If you meet someone who can profit by your experience, you should share. But if you are merely a wanderer in a crowd of strangers, it is wisdom to be silent.
Perhaps the overriding message of the Tao Te Ching is to learn how to luxuriate in the simplicity of what you’re being told throughout this ancient sacred text. As you put its ideas into practice, you’ll discover how profound it all is—but then you’ll find yourself startled by its simplicity and naturalness. The advice of this ancient master is so easy to apply that you mustn’t try to complicate it. Simply allow yourself to stay in harmony with your nature, which can be trusted if you just listen and act accordingly.
I hope that you’ll feel joyously in love with Lao-tzu and his wondrous Tao Te Ching, and that you’ll add your light and color to the Great Way. I offer you my love, along with my commitment to a Tao-centered world. I can think of no greater vision for you, for our planet, or for our universe.
— Wayne W. Dyer
Maui, Hawaii
(Editor’s note: Lao-tzu’s name has been spelled many different ways over the years, so in order to avoid confusion in this book, we’ll be using the spelling preferred by Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary, 11th Edition.)
Of birds
I know that they
have wings to fly with,
of fish that they have fins to
swim with, of wild beasts that they
have feet to run with. For feet there are traps,
for fins nets, for wings arrows.
But who knows how dragons
surmount wind and cloud
into heaven? This day I have seen
[Lao-tzu] and he is a dragon.
— from The Way of Life According to Lao Tzu, translated by Witter Bynner
(This quote is attributed to Confucius, after he visited the elder Lao-tzu to seek advice on points of ceremonial etiquette.)
1st Verse
The Tao that can be told
is not the eternal Tao.
The name that can be named
is not the eternal name.
The Tao is both named and nameless.
As nameless it is the origin of all things;
as named it is the Mother of 10,000 things.
Ever desireless, one can see the mystery;
ever desiring, one sees only the manifestations.
And the mystery itself is the doorway
to all understanding.
Living the Mystery
In this opening verse of the Tao Te Ching, Lao-tzu tells us that the “Tao is both named and nameless.” This sounds paradoxical to our Western intellect—and it is! Paradoxical thinking is embedded in Eastern concepts such as yin and yang or the feminine and the masculine, and where things are comfortably described as both this and that. We in the West, by contrast, tend to view opposites as incompatible concepts that contradict each other. Yet this book is asking that we change our ingrained ways of thinking and see how our lives change as a result.
The Tao is an unknowable, unseeable realm where everything originates; while at the same time, the Tao is invisibly within everything. When we desire to see this invisibleness (mystery), we attempt to define it in terms of the outer world of form—what Lao-tzu calls “the 10,000 things.” He counsels us that letting go of trying to see the mystery will actually allow us to see it. Or, as I like to think of it, “let go and let God.” But how can we do that? One way is to permit ourselves to practice more paradoxical thinking by recognizing that desiring (wanting) and desireless (allowing) are different and the same . . . rather like the mysterious ends of a continuum.
Desiring is the physical expression of creating conditions that allow us to be receptive; that is, it’s in-the-world preparation for receiving. According to Lao-tzu, wanting to know or see the mystery of the Tao will reveal evidence of it in a variety of manifestations, but not the mystery itself. But this isn’t a dead end! From this ground of desiring, the flowering of the mysterious Tao grows. It’s as if wanting transforms into effortless allowing. Desiring, one sees the manifestations; desireless, one can see the mystery itself.
When we tune in to what Lao-tzu is telling us, it becomes readily apparent that our world produces abundant examples of this paradoxical process. Think of gardening and desiring those luscious homegrown tomatoes or spring daffodils: Allowing them to grow is ultimately what happens. Now think of the things in life that involve wanting and how they differ from allowing: Wanting to go to sleep, for instance, rather than going to sleep. Wanting to diet, rather than dieting. Wanting to love, rather than loving. In this reference to the Tao, desireless means trusting, permitting, and allowing. Desire is both the beginning and the ground of desirelessness, yet wanting is also the beginning and the ground of allowing. They are the same, and they are different.
Pay attention to times when you can feel in your body where you are on the continuum between desiring and allowing (or trying and doing). Trying to play the piano, drive the car, or ride the bicycle is the same as, and different from, actually playing the piano, driving the car, and riding the bicycle. Once those outer-world activities are desired and learned, there’s a time when allowing is what you do. The point here is to recognize the difference in your body between trying and allowing, and to then become aware of the effortless sensation of the latter. This practice will also lead to a greater awareness of the invisible mystery and the 10,000 things, which are the visible phenomena of our world.
The 10,000 things that Lao-tzu refers to represent the categorized, classified, and scientifically named objects of the earth, which help us communicate and identify what we’re talking and thinking about. Yet for all our technological expertise and scientific categorization, we can never truly create a human eye or liver, or even a grain of wheat for that matter. Each of these things—along with the remainder that comprise the known or named world—emerge from the mystery, the eternal Tao. Just as the world is not its named parts, we’re not exclusively the skin, bone, and rivers of fluids that we’re physically made of. We, too, are the eternal Tao, invisibly animating our tongues to speak, ears to hear, and eyes to see and experience the manifest and the mystery. Consciously allowing this nameless mystery is ultimately the way to practice the Tao.
Does that mean putting yourself in harm’s way? Of course not. Does that mean trusting the mystery at the moment you’re being mugged or mistreated? Probably not. Does it mean never trying to change things? No. It does mean cultivating a practice of being in the mystery and allowing it to flow through you unimpeded. It means permitting the paradox of being in form at the same time that you allow the mystery to unfold.
Do the Tao; find your personal ways of living in the mystery. As Lao-tzu says in this 1st verse, “And the mystery itself is the doorway to all understanding.”
Here’s my advice for translating this passage into daily practice in this 21st century:
First and foremost, enjoy the mystery!
Let the world unfold without always att
empting to figure it all out. Let relationships just be, for example, since everything is going to stretch out in Divine order. Don’t try so hard to make something work—simply allow. Don’t always toil at trying to understand your mate, your children, your parents, your boss, or anyone else, because the Tao is working at all times. When expectations are shattered, practice allowing that to be the way it is. Relax, let go, allow, and recognize that some of your desires are about how you think your world should be, rather than how it is in that moment. Become an astute observer . . . judge less and listen more. Take time to open your mind to the fascinating mystery and uncertainty that we all experience.
Practice letting go of always naming and labeling.
The labeling process is what most of us were taught in school. We studied hard to be able to define things correctly in order to get what we called “high grades.” Most educational institutions insisted on identifying everything, leading to a tag that distinguished us as graduates with knowledge of specific categories. Yet we know, without anyone telling us, that there is no title, degree, or distinguishing label that truly defines us. In the same way that water is not the word water—any more than it is agua, Wasser, or H2O—nothing in this universe is what it’s named. In spite of our endless categorizations, each animal, flower, mineral, and human can never truly be described. In the same way, the Tao tells us that “the name that can be named is not the eternal name.” We must bask in the magnificence of what is seen and sensed, instead of always memorizing and categorizing.
Do the Tao Now
At some point today, notice an instance of annoyance or irritation you have with another person or situation. Decide to do the Tao (or practice the Way) in that moment by turning inward with curiosity about where you are on the continuum between desire and allowing. Permit the paradox of wanting the irritant to vanish and allowing it to be what it is. Look inward for it in your thoughts and allow yourself to feel it wherever it is and however it moves in your body.
Turn all of your attention to becoming open-minded, allowing permissiveness to befriend the mystery within yourself. Notice how the feeling manifests itself: perhaps doing “loop-de-loops” in your stomach, giving a rigidness to your skeleton, making your heart pound, or tightening your throat. Wherever it is, allow it as an enigmatic messenger within you, and give it nonjudgmental attention. Notice the desire for the feeling to disappear, and allow it to be monitored compassionately by you. Accept whatever comes. Encounter the mystery within without labeling, explaining, or defending. It’s a subtle distinction at first, which you must take personal responsibility for identifying. You alone can prepare the ground of your being for the experience of living the mystery.
2nd Verse
Under heaven all can see beauty as beauty,
only because there is ugliness.
All can know good as good only because there is evil.
Being and nonbeing produce each other.
The difficult is born in the easy.
Long is defined by short, the high by the low.
Before and after go along with each other.
So the sage lives openly with apparent duality
and paradoxical unity.
The sage can act without effort
and teach without words.
Nurturing things without possessing them,
he works, but not for rewards;
he competes, but not for results.
When the work is done, it is forgotten.
That is why it lasts forever.
Living the
Paradoxical Unity
The concept of something or someone being beautiful is grounded in a belief system that promotes duality and judgment. This way of thinking is prevalent and commonplace for just about everybody in our culture, perhaps even having some value in society. I encourage you to explore the concept of paradoxical unity in this 2nd verse of the Tao Te Ching. By changing your thoughts, you can change your life and truly live the bliss of oneness.
Has it ever occurred to you that beauty depends on something being identified as ugly? Therefore, the idea of beauty produces the idea of ugliness, and vice versa. Just think of how many concepts in this “duality belief system” depend on opposites: A person isn’t tall unless there’s a belief system that includes short. Our idea of life couldn’t exist without that of death. Day is the opposite of night. Male is the antithesis of female.
What if you instead perceived all as a piece (or a glimpse) of the perfection of oneness? I think this is what Lao-tzu is suggesting with his description of the sage who “lives openly with apparent duality and paradoxical unity.” Imagine the perfect oneness coexisting in the apparent duality, where opposites are simply judgments made by human minds in the world of 10,000 things. Surely the daffodil doesn’t think that the daisy is prettier or uglier than it is, and the eagle and the mouse have no sense of the opposites we call life and death. The trees, flowers, and animals know not of ugliness or beauty; they simply are . . . in harmony with the eternal Tao, devoid of judgment.
As the sage lives openly with apparent duality, he synthesizes the origin with the manifestation without forming an opinion about it. Living without judgment and in perfect oneness is what Lao-tzu invites his readers to do. He invites our wisdom to combine perceived opposites and live a unified life. The perfection of the Tao is allowing apparent duality while seeing the unity that is reality. Life and death are identical. Virtue and sin are judgments, needing both to identify either. These are the paradoxes of a unified life; this is living within the eternal Tao. Once the dichotomies or pairs of opposites are transcended, or at least seen for what they are, they flow in and out of life like the tides.
Practice being a living, breathing paradox every moment of your life. The body has physical boundaries—it begins and ends and has material substance. Yet it also contains something that defies boundaries, has no substance, and is infinite and formless. You are both the Tao and the 10,000 things simultaneously. Let the contrasting and opposite ideas be within you at the same time. Allow yourself to hold those opposite thoughts without them canceling each other out. Believe strongly in your free will and ability to influence your surroundings, and simultaneously surrender to the energy within you. Know that good and evil are two aspects of a union. In other words, accept the duality of the material world while still remaining in constant contact with the oneness of the eternal Tao. The debilitating necessity to be right and make others wrong will diminish.
I believe that Lao-tzu would apply the Tao Te Ching to today’s world by suggesting the following:
Live a unified life.
Enter the world of oneness with an awareness of the propensity to compartmentalize everything as good or bad, right or wrong. Beautiful or ugly are standards of the physical world, not the Tao. Contemplate the insight that duality is a mind game. In other words, people look the way they look, period—criticism is not always necessary or helpful. See the unfolding of the Tao inside everyone, including yourself, and be at peace with what you observe.
Be a good animal and move freely, unencumbered with thoughts about where you should be and how you should be acting. For instance, imagine yourself as an otter just living your “otterness.” You’re not good or bad, beautiful or ugly, a hard worker or a slacker . . . you’re simply an otter, moving through the water or on the land freely, peacefully, playfully, and without judgments. When it’s time to leave your body, you do so, reclaiming your place in the pure mystery of oneness. This is what Lao-tzu means when he says, “When the work is done, it is forgotten. That is why it lasts forever.”
In other words, you don’t have to leave your body to experience forever; it’s possible to know your eternal self even in the embodied condition. When duality and judgment crop up, allow them to be a part of the perfect unity. When other people create dichotomies, you can always know oneness by practicing the Tao.
Accomplish much by trying less.
Effort is one piece of the whole; another
piece is non-effort. Fuse these dichotomies, and the result is effortless action without attachment to outcome. This is precisely how you dance with someone: You make an attempt, assume a position, listen to the music, and let go all at the same time, allowing yourself to easily move with your partner. Combine the so-called opposites into the oneness of being without judgment or fear. Labeling action as “a fine effort” implies a belief that trying hard is better than not trying. But trying itself only exists because of beliefs about not trying. Attempting to pick up a piece of trash is really just not picking up the trash. Once you’ve picked it up, then trying and not trying are irrelevant.
Understand that you can act without the implied judgment of words such as effort and trying. You can compete without being focused on outcome. Eliminating opposites paradoxically unifies them so that it is unnecessary to identify with one position. I imagine that in today’s language, Lao-tzu would sum up this 2nd verse of the Tao Te Ching in these two simple words: Just be.
Do the Tao Now
Do the Tao today by noticing an opportunity to defend or explain yourself and choosing not to. Instead, turn within and sense the texture of misunderstanding, feeling it all the way through your physical system. Just be with what is, instead of opting to ease it by traversing the outer-world path of explaining and defending. Don’t get caught up in the apparent duality of being right or wrong. Congratulate yourself for making a choice to be in paradoxical unity, a oneness where all of the spectrum simply is. Silently appreciate the opportunity, along with your willingness to practice your sageness!
Change Your Thoughts—Change Your Life Page 2
