The wind brushed softly against my face as I sat by the riverbank, watching the leaves swirl in the water. I had come to the mountains to find peace, but my thoughts would not stop. My name is Wei, and I was once a famous scholar in the city. People asked me for answers, and I gave them proudly. But one day, I forgot something very important—who I really was.
It started when I met an old man named Master Shen. He lived alone deep in the forest. They said he was strange, but wise. I was curious, so I left the busy roads behind and found his small hut beside a waterfall.
“You must be seeking something,” he said when I arrived.
“Yes,” I replied. “I want to understand the Tao.”
Master Shen smiled and pointed to a bird resting on a tree branch. “Do you see that bird? It sings, it flies, it rests. It doesn’t ask what it is. It simply is.”
I blinked. “But I am not a bird. I have questions.”
“And that is your trouble,” he said gently. “You are too full of yourself to hear the way of the Tao.”
I didn’t like that answer. I thought the Tao was something to chase, like a prize. So I stayed with Master Shen, hoping to find what I was missing.
Each day, he gave me simple tasks. Gather sticks. Watch the ants. Sit beside the river and breathe. No scrolls. No special lessons.
One evening, I grew frustrated. “I came here to learn wisdom, not do chores!”
Master Shen looked at me kindly. “Wei, you are carrying too much. Let go of your names, your cleverness, even your wanting.”
I didn’t understand. How could I forget who I was?
But the next morning, something changed. I woke early before the sun. The mist lay low in the trees, and the air was still. I walked to the river, forgetting about lessons, about being a scholar… even about myself.
I watched the water flow. I listened to the birds begin to sing. I felt like part of everything—not better, not worse. Just part of it.
When Master Shen came, I didn’t say anything.
He nodded. “Now you are beginning to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That you are not separate from the world. You are not your name. You are not your thinking. You are the Way, living in its own time.”
From then on, I stopped trying so hard. I stopped needing to become something big. Instead, I learned to just be—like the river, like the bird.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel lost again, I return to that river in my mind. I sit quietly, and I let the Tao carry me.
And that is how I found peace—by forgetting myself, and remembering the Way.
The wind brushed softly against my face as I sat by the riverbank, watching the leaves swirl in the water. I had come to the mountains to find peace, but my thoughts would not stop. My name is Wei, and I was once a famous scholar in the city. People asked me for answers, and I gave them proudly. But one day, I forgot something very important—who I really was.
It started when I met an old man named Master Shen. He lived alone deep in the forest. They said he was strange, but wise. I was curious, so I left the busy roads behind and found his small hut beside a waterfall.
“You must be seeking something,” he said when I arrived.
“Yes,” I replied. “I want to understand the Tao.”
Master Shen smiled and pointed to a bird resting on a tree branch. “Do you see that bird? It sings, it flies, it rests. It doesn’t ask what it is. It simply is.”
I blinked. “But I am not a bird. I have questions.”
“And that is your trouble,” he said gently. “You are too full of yourself to hear the way of the Tao.”
I didn’t like that answer. I thought the Tao was something to chase, like a prize. So I stayed with Master Shen, hoping to find what I was missing.
Each day, he gave me simple tasks. Gather sticks. Watch the ants. Sit beside the river and breathe. No scrolls. No special lessons.
One evening, I grew frustrated. “I came here to learn wisdom, not do chores!”
Master Shen looked at me kindly. “Wei, you are carrying too much. Let go of your names, your cleverness, even your wanting.”
I didn’t understand. How could I forget who I was?
But the next morning, something changed. I woke early before the sun. The mist lay low in the trees, and the air was still. I walked to the river, forgetting about lessons, about being a scholar… even about myself.
I watched the water flow. I listened to the birds begin to sing. I felt like part of everything—not better, not worse. Just part of it.
When Master Shen came, I didn’t say anything.
He nodded. “Now you are beginning to remember.”
“Remember what?”
“That you are not separate from the world. You are not your name. You are not your thinking. You are the Way, living in its own time.”
From then on, I stopped trying so hard. I stopped needing to become something big. Instead, I learned to just be—like the river, like the bird.
I didn’t change overnight. But now, whenever I feel lost again, I return to that river in my mind. I sit quietly, and I let the Tao carry me.
And that is how I found peace—by forgetting myself, and remembering the Way.
