Tao Te Ching Verse 55: Practicing Harmony with the Tao

The Tao Te Ching for Everyday Living

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Tao Te Ching Verse 55

translated by Lin Yutang
Who is rich in character
Is like a child.
No poisonous insects sting him,
No wild beasts attack him,
And no birds of prey pounce upon him.
His bones are soft, his sinews tender, yet his grip is strong.
Not knowing the union of male and female, yet his organs are complete,
Which means his vigor is unspoiled.
Crying the whole day, yet his voice never runs hoarse,
Which means his (natural) harmony is perfect.
To know harmony is to be in accord with the eternal,
(And) to know eternity is called discerning.
(But) to improve upon life is called an ill-omen;
To let go the emotions through impulse is called assertiveness.
(For) things age after reaching their prime;
That (assertiveness) would be against Tao.
And he who is against Tao perishes young.
Photo by Daniel Sandvik on Unsplash
Staying on the Path

Do you remember that path we walked on two verses ago? We were in a forest on the main path, headed to where we didn’t know with little offshoot paths. They seemed to be luring us down them, but we kept going. We said that the offshoots were just temporary diversions from the main path we were to walk. And there definitely was a destination - it’s just that it seems invisible while we’re back on the ground walking again.

We know what the Way feels like, what it is, and the biggest thing of all - if we’re on it or not. Lao Tzu tells us in the first part of this verse that if we are on the Way, we are strong in our vulnerability, our creative energies are retained and we’re not needlessly spending them on diversions. And we’re walking effortlessly.

So I don't know about you, but from time to time, I get bored. While I’m walking the path, the stones crunch the same way over and over, the trees don’t seem to change, and it’s one curve in the path after another. Sometimes, yes, I’m all, dude a waterfall or a stream would be cool. And in those moments, I may have an idea. I may get the idea that I should liven up the path a bit. Maybe play games with seeing how many drag marks I can make with my feet. Maybe taking branches from the side of the way and pretending they’re swords, or using them to draw shapes in the path. Perhaps I even get an idea that it would be neat if the path was paved into a road and I could get to my destination faster if I had a skateboard, a bike, or even a car.

To what end, though? Let’s say I’m on the path and I get that momentary feeling of boredom and I want to make improvements to my experience. Aren’t I slowing my effortless progress? The goal, as I saw from the elevator, is to get to that magic place. So why drag my feet along, even if it seems fun for a moment? Why try to pretend I’m something my inherent nature isn’t by waving pretend swords around? If I had a vehicle that would get me there faster, wouldn’t I be missing the whole experience?

Maybe what makes that magic place magic is my experience of the mundane. Maybe it’s magic only after I have learned a thing or two about the forest by careful observation. Maybe on the surface, when I get there, it seems like any other place, but only after I have absorbed the forest’s energy does the place truly come to life.

Maybe...I am already at my destination but I must tune myself to it.