The wind blew gently across the mountaintop as I sat beside Grandfather, watching the clouds drift by. I had run all the way up the hill, angry and full of questions. My name is Mei, and that day, I thought I knew the way the world worked. Work hard. Push harder. Get what you want.
But nothing was going my way.
"I studied so much for the test," I grumbled. "But Lian didn't even try, and she did better than me. It's not fair!"
Grandfather smiled, his long white beard dancing in the breeze. He looked up at the clouds. "Do you see how the wind moves the clouds?"
I blinked. "Yes… but what does that have to do with anything?"
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his sack and pulled out two bamboo cups. He poured tea into them—slowly, softly, without spilling a drop.
"Sometimes," he said, "doing less brings more."
I frowned. "But I tried harder than anyone!”
He nodded. "Yes. You tried to force the river to rush. But the Tao teaches that when water flows, it follows its path. It doesn't shout, it doesn't push. It simply moves, and in doing so, it shapes mountains."
I didn’t fully understand. Grandfather always spoke in riddles.
He placed a cup in front of me. “Have you heard about the farmer’s son?"
I shook my head.
"A long time ago," he began, "a farmer’s horse ran away. The neighbors said, ‘Such bad luck!’ The farmer only said, ‘Maybe.’
The next day, the horse returned with three wild horses. ‘You’re so lucky!’ the neighbors declared. The farmer said, ‘Maybe.’
Then the farmer’s son broke his leg trying to ride one of the wild horses. ‘So unlucky!’ the neighbors said. And again, the farmer replied, ‘Maybe.’
A week later, the army came, searching for young men to fight. But they left the son behind due to his broken leg. ‘So lucky!’ the neighbors gasped. And the farmer said, ‘Maybe.’”
I sipped my tea, warm and light.
“So… we never really know what’s good or bad until later?” I asked.
Grandfather’s eyes sparkled. “That’s right. And sometimes, trying too hard to control things only pulls us further from the Way—the Tao.”
I looked at the clouds again. They drifted without effort, just as they were meant to. My heart quieted a little.
That night, I didn’t go back and study harder like I planned. I took a walk in the garden instead. I breathed. I just… was.
I still studied the next day—but I didn’t stress.
And slowly, I began to understand what Grandfather meant. I didn’t have to chase everything with all my strength. Sometimes, it was better to wait, listen, and let the path appear.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the story of the farmer. I remember the clouds on the mountain. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting that I don’t need to fight the flow of the river. Because in the Taoist way, sometimes the most powerful action… is no action at all.
The wind blew gently across the mountaintop as I sat beside Grandfather, watching the clouds drift by. I had run all the way up the hill, angry and full of questions. My name is Mei, and that day, I thought I knew the way the world worked. Work hard. Push harder. Get what you want.
But nothing was going my way.
"I studied so much for the test," I grumbled. "But Lian didn't even try, and she did better than me. It's not fair!"
Grandfather smiled, his long white beard dancing in the breeze. He looked up at the clouds. "Do you see how the wind moves the clouds?"
I blinked. "Yes… but what does that have to do with anything?"
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his sack and pulled out two bamboo cups. He poured tea into them—slowly, softly, without spilling a drop.
"Sometimes," he said, "doing less brings more."
I frowned. "But I tried harder than anyone!”
He nodded. "Yes. You tried to force the river to rush. But the Tao teaches that when water flows, it follows its path. It doesn't shout, it doesn't push. It simply moves, and in doing so, it shapes mountains."
I didn’t fully understand. Grandfather always spoke in riddles.
He placed a cup in front of me. “Have you heard about the farmer’s son?"
I shook my head.
"A long time ago," he began, "a farmer’s horse ran away. The neighbors said, ‘Such bad luck!’ The farmer only said, ‘Maybe.’
The next day, the horse returned with three wild horses. ‘You’re so lucky!’ the neighbors declared. The farmer said, ‘Maybe.’
Then the farmer’s son broke his leg trying to ride one of the wild horses. ‘So unlucky!’ the neighbors said. And again, the farmer replied, ‘Maybe.’
A week later, the army came, searching for young men to fight. But they left the son behind due to his broken leg. ‘So lucky!’ the neighbors gasped. And the farmer said, ‘Maybe.’”
I sipped my tea, warm and light.
“So… we never really know what’s good or bad until later?” I asked.
Grandfather’s eyes sparkled. “That’s right. And sometimes, trying too hard to control things only pulls us further from the Way—the Tao.”
I looked at the clouds again. They drifted without effort, just as they were meant to. My heart quieted a little.
That night, I didn’t go back and study harder like I planned. I took a walk in the garden instead. I breathed. I just… was.
I still studied the next day—but I didn’t stress.
And slowly, I began to understand what Grandfather meant. I didn’t have to chase everything with all my strength. Sometimes, it was better to wait, listen, and let the path appear.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel the urge to push too hard, I remember the story of the farmer. I remember the clouds on the mountain. I try to let things unfold as they are, trusting that I don’t need to fight the flow of the river. Because in the Taoist way, sometimes the most powerful action… is no action at all.
