Eternal, nameless Tao
Residing in the spiritual realm
yet permeating all things
To the unattached
the mystery is revealed
To the attached
the mystery is hidden
Wearing the robe of night
the seer steps out of the darkness
into the moonlight
(Tao Te Ching, Chapter One,
Interpreted by Terry Chitwood)
We are flow, drifting like mist along the path, bathed in moonlight, wanderers by nature, our journey . . . our goal. We take refuge in the dark, immersed in not knowing, cultivating receptivity. Unburdened, we glide across the years, time ebbing and flowing, the future moving backwards to greet us.
Will our writing seek us out, following our scent, tracking us like prey, pouncing on us and breathing words into our soul? Or will our writing disguise itself as a beggar on the side of a barren trail, awaiting our attention . . . waiting to be fed? Or will the crow caw our name, sound fragments riding the wind turning into a haiku—the birth of our writing?
We are conceived without a name and born into a world of words. The words choose us, resulting in the telling of our life stories using unique descriptors. And as writers, the words choose us, arriving when our minds are empty, when we are receptive. Shrouded in mystery, the words reveal themselves.
Photo Credit: Photo by Suppakij Sengsaman.
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