Reading the many verses of the Dao De Jing, it becomes increasingly clear that the deepest message of this remarkable document is one of abiding trust. All things are forged and nurtured by the Dao. The sage sees and experiences all things as right within the greater context of their appearance (see the last stanza commentary). The Dao is both creator and destroyer and to resist it marks the absence of trust. But even that is of the Dao, for we likely need to live a life of distrust if we are ever to discover the deeper trust that is expressed as accord with all that is - and how it is.

The instruction of deep trust is expressed in Verse 28 in several ways. Using the translation of David Hinton, it is to nurture the feminine, it is to return to infancy, the time of not knowing, it is to cultivate the black (to be a ground for the light), and it is to be the uncarved wood, available to be anything. This is the language of creation, of boundless flexibility, of seeing everything just as it presents itself, and it is to flow with change, like the shadow of change itself.

Verse 28 is organized in a series of pairs. Each pair espouses a positionality with respect to experience and being. The first stanza presents the qualities of gender, flow, and not-knowing.

Knowing the masculine
and nurturing the feminine
you become the river of all beneath heaven.
River of all beneath heaven
you abide by perennial integrity (Te/De)
and so return to infancy.

Thus regarding the inner quality of gender, we are asked to “know” the masculine - the ying of existence - objects, states, thoughts, feelings, but be the yin of being - that which is feminine - that creates, nurtures, accepts, provides a space for all to be as it is. In this way we become the river of all beneath heaven. The infant does not reject for reason. He IS. His experience reflects the immediate qualities of his experience. This is what it means to live by the Dao. It is a life of unceasing balance, even in times of turbulence and chaos.

Knowing the white
and nurturing the black
you become the pattern of all beneath heaven.
Pattern of all beneath heaven
you abide by perennial Integrity (Te/De)
and so return to the boundless.

The Dao is the dark vision, for it is only the contrast between dark and light that things can be seen and experienced. Unless we live as the dark vision, our ability to clearly see will be clouded by identification with belief and conditions that we have taken to be ourselves. This is living a life that is conditional and false. As the dark vision we can reflect the perfect patterns of all beneath heaven. As the dark vision, we are the boundlessness of the Dao itself.

Knowing splendor
and nurturing ruin
you become the valley of all beneath heaven.
Valley of all beneath heaven
you rest content in perennial Integrity
and so return to the simplicity of uncarved wood.

Knowing splendor is see life just as it is. Nurturing ruin is allowing each moment to die to allow for the birth of the next moment. Ruin, decay, extinction, are all part of the cycle of change as the universe ceaselessly re-invents itself. As the cradle for this ever-changing world, we are the valley of “all beneath heaven”. We have no affectation, no preference, we possess no “higher” reasoning, we are like uncarved wood.

When uncarved wood is split apart
it becomes mere implements.
But when a sage is employed
he becomes a true minister,
for the great governing blade carves nothing.

When we carve up the field of experience, the purpose of the carving is to produce “use” or value. We take from the field for a purposes that come and go and thus such actions are likened to “mere implements”. If we are to identify ourselves as beings organized around use and purpose, then we have cut ourselves off from the boundless field of the Dao. This is why it is said that the sage carves nothing. He is not hypnotized by the language of use or practicality. He may use a bowl or anything else, but he doesn’t derive any identity from the process of purpose or meaning.

He is open to just This!

Tags: trust, Being

For me, Verse 11 of the Dao De Jing re-visits one of the most challenging and misunderstood qualities of Eastern spiritual philosophy. So much of neo-Advaita and certain schools of Buddhism negate the existence of objects. In such schools, perceived objects are seen as unreal, as merely representatives of thought or short-lived images arising within the unity of consciousness. From the perspective of western philosophy, this is called nihilism, but from the perspective of the Dao it is error.

In Verse One it is said, “Nameless: the origin of Heaven and Earth. Naming: the mother of ten thousand things.” This line brings attention to the union of the opposing qualities of non-being and being. Non-being without being is void and being without non-being is fiction. Their union is essential.

Verses One, Two, and Eleven address the union of non-being and being (among several others which we have yet to discuss). What makes this problematic or challenging to our understanding is that the mind fights this apparent truth. This is so because the mind can only think in term of opposites. The mind is an innately psychological entity that can know only being in terms of how it “feels” about the perceived object.

But if we are to understand the actual living Dao, we need to transcend this natural limitation of the mind. For when the mind defines the “good”, “evil” is created. When the mind defines what is “beautiful”, the “ugly” is created. From the perspective of the Dao, good, evil, beautiful, and ugly are just passing states of thought/being. They manifest as a projected truth by a mind that fails to see the unity of opposites. While the mind simply cannot contort its way around this truth, this is not a problem in the slightest for the ground of being that is always there but is unacknowledged by the mind. From from the perspective of the ground of being (the Dao) all such identities are seen as mind constructs that are intrinsically false and unreal.

Everything we touch - everything we feel - and everything we see - exists in the passing realm of being. But that which sees is the empty ground of being. The living Dao is the perfect and prosaic union of these qualities. This is the very theme of Verse 11. Today I will be using the translation by Addiss and Lombardo. Notice in this series of stanzas how being and non-being are joined as one.

Thirty spokes join one hub.
The wheel’s use comes from emptiness

Clay is fired to make a pot.
The pot’s use comes from emptiness.

Windows and doors are cut to make a room.
The room’s use comes from emptiness.

Therefore,
Having leads to profit.
Not having leads to use.

Noting the second stanza we can see that without emptiness, a pot cannot simply cannot exist (non-being). But it also cannot exist were it not for the clay structure (being). Clay and emptiness must unite as one for the pot’s use! Non-being and being must be united, it can be no other way. Being and non-being support each other. The same principle not only applies to stanzas 1 and 3, but also to all of life.

Notice how the mind tends to fixate on being (the perceived object) without even acknowledging space. Also notice now how the mind itself is, itself, being that would not exist were it not for the space in which its does its many functions. This is the intrinsic nature of everything in the universe. The universe itself is dependent on the ground of being that holds it in its thrall.

We can also notice that the space element is that which never changes and the being element which is in ceaseless change. Again the polarity and union of opposites! Our wheels, clay pots, and homes come and ago. Nothing, not our bodies, not our minds, and nothing we hold dear is permanent. It is in the evanescence of its transience that the preciousness of life arises. We can make reference to treatment of everything as straw dogs in Verse Five. Ahhhhhh, the burbling brook, that soaring heart, that child’s smile, that violin sonata of Bach, my memory of my late father - all the passing life of being on the screen of nonbeing.

When we attach ourselves to the thought of nonbeing we risk negating the world of objects and when we attach ourselves to the world of being we make ourselves vulnerable to the constant pain of loss, for we tend to cling to what we know, what already is. Life always gives and gives and gives. When this is seen through awareness, we are free of any need to cling to anything. We can love all of being (or not love - if the resistance works for you) from the perspective of nonbeing.

When we trust the Dao, then and only then can we truly love and give ourselves utterly to this moment. When this happens we engage in the union of being and nonbeing and reap the joy that is always there.

Tags: Being, self