The bamboo trees swayed gently in the breeze as I sat by the river, thinking hard. My name is Jie, and I used to believe that the more I tried, the better life would be. But by the river that day, everything started to change.
I had spent months searching for Master Shun, a wise old man said to know the secrets of the Tao. People claimed he could walk silently through the forest and listen to the wind like it told him stories. I was tired—tired of trying so hard, of always feeling like I wasn’t doing enough. I thought maybe he had the answer.
When I finally found him, he was lying on a rock, watching the clouds. I bowed low. "Master Shun, please teach me. I want to understand the Tao."
He didn’t look at me. He just pointed up. “Do you see that cloud?” he asked.
I nodded, confused. “Yes… but I asked about the Tao.”
He smiled, still watching the sky. “That is the Tao.”
I frowned. That didn’t make sense. “But how does a cloud help me live better?”
He finally looked at me and sat up slowly. “The cloud moves without trying. The river flows without planning. The tree grows without forcing. This is Wu Wei—doing without doing. Let go of your need to control everything. Let the world flow through you.”
I wanted to understand his words, but they felt like puzzles. I still believed I had to try harder. So I asked to stay with him a while.
For days, I followed him around. He never seemed rushed. He worked the garden, boiled tea, watched insects on the grass. I kept asking him for big lessons.
One day, I saw him trying to catch a fly in a cup. He missed, again and again. I laughed. “Even you can’t catch it!”
He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “I wasn’t trying to catch it. I was just watching what happens when we try too hard.”
That made me stop laughing. I began to see it then—how much of life slipped through my fingers because I was always chasing something.
Later that week, I sat by the same river, still and quiet. The birds chirped without knowing who I was. The water didn’t care about my troubles. And yet, I felt more peaceful than ever.
I thought I wanted answers. But it was letting go of needing them that set me free.
When I left Master Shun’s side, I wasn’t the same. I still walked the same road, wore the same clothes, and had the same name. But inside, I was lighter. I had forgotten the Self that always wanted more.
Now, when life gets hard, I don’t fight the river. I just float a little while—and trust the current.
And that, I think, is the Way of the Tao.
The bamboo trees swayed gently in the breeze as I sat by the river, thinking hard. My name is Jie, and I used to believe that the more I tried, the better life would be. But by the river that day, everything started to change.
I had spent months searching for Master Shun, a wise old man said to know the secrets of the Tao. People claimed he could walk silently through the forest and listen to the wind like it told him stories. I was tired—tired of trying so hard, of always feeling like I wasn’t doing enough. I thought maybe he had the answer.
When I finally found him, he was lying on a rock, watching the clouds. I bowed low. "Master Shun, please teach me. I want to understand the Tao."
He didn’t look at me. He just pointed up. “Do you see that cloud?” he asked.
I nodded, confused. “Yes… but I asked about the Tao.”
He smiled, still watching the sky. “That is the Tao.”
I frowned. That didn’t make sense. “But how does a cloud help me live better?”
He finally looked at me and sat up slowly. “The cloud moves without trying. The river flows without planning. The tree grows without forcing. This is Wu Wei—doing without doing. Let go of your need to control everything. Let the world flow through you.”
I wanted to understand his words, but they felt like puzzles. I still believed I had to try harder. So I asked to stay with him a while.
For days, I followed him around. He never seemed rushed. He worked the garden, boiled tea, watched insects on the grass. I kept asking him for big lessons.
One day, I saw him trying to catch a fly in a cup. He missed, again and again. I laughed. “Even you can’t catch it!”
He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye. “I wasn’t trying to catch it. I was just watching what happens when we try too hard.”
That made me stop laughing. I began to see it then—how much of life slipped through my fingers because I was always chasing something.
Later that week, I sat by the same river, still and quiet. The birds chirped without knowing who I was. The water didn’t care about my troubles. And yet, I felt more peaceful than ever.
I thought I wanted answers. But it was letting go of needing them that set me free.
When I left Master Shun’s side, I wasn’t the same. I still walked the same road, wore the same clothes, and had the same name. But inside, I was lighter. I had forgotten the Self that always wanted more.
Now, when life gets hard, I don’t fight the river. I just float a little while—and trust the current.
And that, I think, is the Way of the Tao.
