The rain had been falling for three days straight, and I was soaked through my straw hat and robe. My name is Jie, a traveling pot seller from a small village near the mountains. I had left home to sell my pots in the big city, but no one wanted to buy from a wet, tired stranger.
On the fourth day, I gave up. I left the city and wandered along a muddy path, not knowing where I was going. My feet slipped with every step, my cart had broken a wheel, and my pots—most of them—had shattered. All I felt was failure.
As I turned a bend, I saw a small, crooked hut by the river. Smoke puffed from the chimney, and a soft voice called out, “Stranger, would you like some tea?”
Inside the hut was an old man with a long white beard and eyes like morning mist. He introduced himself as Master Lin. I didn’t know who he was then, but I would come to learn that he was a student of the great Way—the Tao—as taught by Laozi himself.
I dropped to the floor, my body aching. “I’ve lost everything,” I said. “All my hard work was useless. I tried so hard, but nothing worked.”
Master Lin poured me tea, warm and quiet. He didn’t speak for a while. Instead, he pointed out the window.
“Do you see that tall bamboo?” he asked. “It stands straight and tall—but notice how it bends with the wind.”
I watched the bamboo sway, never breaking.
“Now, look at that tree over there—thick, strong,” he continued, “but last year, a great storm broke its branch. It did not bend.”
I felt confused. “Are you saying I should bend like the bamboo? But why? Isn’t strength better?”
Master Lin smiled gently. “Sometimes, when we try too hard to stay strong, we break. But when we let go, even just a little, we stay whole.”
Later that evening, as the rain cleared, Master Lin gave me his last cart wheel. “You don’t need to fight the world, Jie. Rest, and the path will appear.”
I stayed by the river two days more. I didn’t rush. I watched the current, listened to birds, and let go of my worry. Slowly, I felt light again, like I wasn’t carrying so much weight in my heart.
When I returned home, I didn’t have many pots left. But I smiled. Strangely, I felt rich.
Now, when problems come, I think of the bamboo. I try not to break myself with force. I let go, just a little, and trust the Tao will carry me forward.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever things feel too hard, I remember what Master Lin taught me—that peace doesn’t come from holding on too tight, but from knowing when to let go.
And just like the bamboo in the storm, I learn to bend—never break.
The rain had been falling for three days straight, and I was soaked through my straw hat and robe. My name is Jie, a traveling pot seller from a small village near the mountains. I had left home to sell my pots in the big city, but no one wanted to buy from a wet, tired stranger.
On the fourth day, I gave up. I left the city and wandered along a muddy path, not knowing where I was going. My feet slipped with every step, my cart had broken a wheel, and my pots—most of them—had shattered. All I felt was failure.
As I turned a bend, I saw a small, crooked hut by the river. Smoke puffed from the chimney, and a soft voice called out, “Stranger, would you like some tea?”
Inside the hut was an old man with a long white beard and eyes like morning mist. He introduced himself as Master Lin. I didn’t know who he was then, but I would come to learn that he was a student of the great Way—the Tao—as taught by Laozi himself.
I dropped to the floor, my body aching. “I’ve lost everything,” I said. “All my hard work was useless. I tried so hard, but nothing worked.”
Master Lin poured me tea, warm and quiet. He didn’t speak for a while. Instead, he pointed out the window.
“Do you see that tall bamboo?” he asked. “It stands straight and tall—but notice how it bends with the wind.”
I watched the bamboo sway, never breaking.
“Now, look at that tree over there—thick, strong,” he continued, “but last year, a great storm broke its branch. It did not bend.”
I felt confused. “Are you saying I should bend like the bamboo? But why? Isn’t strength better?”
Master Lin smiled gently. “Sometimes, when we try too hard to stay strong, we break. But when we let go, even just a little, we stay whole.”
Later that evening, as the rain cleared, Master Lin gave me his last cart wheel. “You don’t need to fight the world, Jie. Rest, and the path will appear.”
I stayed by the river two days more. I didn’t rush. I watched the current, listened to birds, and let go of my worry. Slowly, I felt light again, like I wasn’t carrying so much weight in my heart.
When I returned home, I didn’t have many pots left. But I smiled. Strangely, I felt rich.
Now, when problems come, I think of the bamboo. I try not to break myself with force. I let go, just a little, and trust the Tao will carry me forward.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever things feel too hard, I remember what Master Lin taught me—that peace doesn’t come from holding on too tight, but from knowing when to let go.
And just like the bamboo in the storm, I learn to bend—never break.
