The path wound through pine trees and rounded mossy stones. My feet ached, but I didn’t mind. I was searching for something. What it was—I didn’t know. I only knew that I felt a little too full inside. My name is Jian, and I had spent most of my life in the busy city where people raced to be important. I was one of them—always pushing, always trying to be more.
Then one day, I had a dream of a smiling man who sat under a tree, doing nothing but breathing and smiling. In the dream, I asked him, “But what do you do?” He answered, “I am.”
The next morning, I packed my bag and walked toward the mountains. I wanted to find that peace.
I found it, or so I thought, when I stumbled upon a tiny village high in the cliffs. It didn’t even have a name on a map. There were no temples or grand halls, only small homes, vegetable gardens, and soft laughter carried by the wind.
The villagers welcomed me. They told me of a man who might help—a man who had once been a great teacher but had simply “vanished” many years ago by forgetting himself. His little hut was just past the river.
I found him barefoot, placing seeds carefully into the earth.
“Are you Master Wei?” I asked, hopeful.
He looked up and smiled. “Some call me that,” he said. “Others don’t call me anything. Which is fine too.”
I bowed. “I’ve come a long way in search of peace. I heard you forgot your Self. How is that possible?”
He placed another seed. “Have you ever seen the sky trying to be the sky?”
“No,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said.
I didn't understand. So I stayed.
For days, I followed him. He worked without rush, spoke little, laughed often, and when it rained, he simply stood under the clouds. I couldn’t tell when he was teaching. He never gave lessons. But somehow, just being around him made me feel lighter—like I didn’t need to prove anything.
One cloudy afternoon, I asked again, “How did you forget your Self?”
He looked at the trees swaying in the wind. “Like the tree stops counting its leaves. Like the river doesn't count the fish. I stopped trying to be someone.”
I was quiet.
Something inside me softened. For all my trying, I had made life heavy. But Master Wei… was simply being. That night, I looked at my hands. They were my hands, not someone else’s. I felt the wind on my face and didn’t need to do anything about it.
I didn’t change overnight, but something began to shift. I stopped chasing, and I started being.
Now, when I walk under the mountain pines, I don’t ask where I’m going. I just walk. Like the wind. Like the Tao.
The path wound through pine trees and rounded mossy stones. My feet ached, but I didn’t mind. I was searching for something. What it was—I didn’t know. I only knew that I felt a little too full inside. My name is Jian, and I had spent most of my life in the busy city where people raced to be important. I was one of them—always pushing, always trying to be more.
Then one day, I had a dream of a smiling man who sat under a tree, doing nothing but breathing and smiling. In the dream, I asked him, “But what do you do?” He answered, “I am.”
The next morning, I packed my bag and walked toward the mountains. I wanted to find that peace.
I found it, or so I thought, when I stumbled upon a tiny village high in the cliffs. It didn’t even have a name on a map. There were no temples or grand halls, only small homes, vegetable gardens, and soft laughter carried by the wind.
The villagers welcomed me. They told me of a man who might help—a man who had once been a great teacher but had simply “vanished” many years ago by forgetting himself. His little hut was just past the river.
I found him barefoot, placing seeds carefully into the earth.
“Are you Master Wei?” I asked, hopeful.
He looked up and smiled. “Some call me that,” he said. “Others don’t call me anything. Which is fine too.”
I bowed. “I’ve come a long way in search of peace. I heard you forgot your Self. How is that possible?”
He placed another seed. “Have you ever seen the sky trying to be the sky?”
“No,” I said.
“Exactly,” he said.
I didn't understand. So I stayed.
For days, I followed him. He worked without rush, spoke little, laughed often, and when it rained, he simply stood under the clouds. I couldn’t tell when he was teaching. He never gave lessons. But somehow, just being around him made me feel lighter—like I didn’t need to prove anything.
One cloudy afternoon, I asked again, “How did you forget your Self?”
He looked at the trees swaying in the wind. “Like the tree stops counting its leaves. Like the river doesn't count the fish. I stopped trying to be someone.”
I was quiet.
Something inside me softened. For all my trying, I had made life heavy. But Master Wei… was simply being. That night, I looked at my hands. They were my hands, not someone else’s. I felt the wind on my face and didn’t need to do anything about it.
I didn’t change overnight, but something began to shift. I stopped chasing, and I started being.
Now, when I walk under the mountain pines, I don’t ask where I’m going. I just walk. Like the wind. Like the Tao.
