Muddy Water, Be Still
Seven days of Taoist meditations -- they've made me, well, me. And better.
In the spring of 2018, I completed my sixth and final semester of undergrad. I took a course titled Eastern Religions, in addition to a memory and cognition class plus its research lab, counseling psychology as I still intended to pursue that path, and a creative nonfiction and American culture course that changed the trajectory of my life. More on that another time.
Day one of Eastern Religions, the professor asked for student introductions. The typical requests of name and a fun fact were made. He also asked us to answer, “Why are you taking this class?”
When my turn came, I flatly stated, “I take a class each semester [for which] I know nothing about the topic.”
The prof stammered, “Oh. Well that’s honest.”
The introductions ended soon after, and the lecture began. It was toward the middle of the semester that I learned a little about Taoism (sometimes spelled Daoism). It was toward the middle of the semester that I finally felt like one religion might be doing it right.
For a long time, I thought that religion exists to divide folks. It’s used in that way in communities, in education, in war, and in so much else. That’s factual. My belief led to me not practicing any religion, not believing in any deity. And then came Taoism. I learned that Taoism asks its followers to follow the Dao (the Way). The Dao is known as the natural way of the universe. Doing so requires practicing wu wei, which is translated to “doing nothing” in English. Without context, that concept likely sounds negative.
As I wrote in a reading analysis back then, “On the contrary, in Daoism, this concept allows people to live a life of accepting what is and respecting what is not.” That’s perhaps what intrigued me most. Six years later, it still does. Acceptance and commitment is the type of therapy that my provider practices. We talk weekly about what I can accept, what I can learn, and what I can let go. It all requires a lot of respecting what is not.
For Christmas, my partner gifted me the book 365 Tao: Daily Meditations by Deng Ming-Dao, and I hugged it close after I freed it from its wrapping. Then I eagerly waited for the new year to arrive. I knew that my practice would start on day one, a practice I had long desired but not yet begun.
Seven days have come and gone, and I have meditated for a total of 63 minutes over seven daily thoughts. The oneness I feel with my body and mind, the connection I feel to the Tao, and the acceptance of what is and respect of what is not all feel so intentional to me. This commitment to 365 days of meditation, something I’ve never stuck with before even with guides, gives me hope.
On day four, the text focused on the word “reflection.” I felt the strength of it while reading the author’s written thoughts aloud. I paused between words to do just that — reflect. And I smiled when I read this:
Muddy water will become clear if allowed to stand undisturbed, and so too will the mind become clear if it is allowed to be still.
After my brief meditation (it had been a day and I needed to get to bed), I remained focused on that thought. I journaled about it as the reflection continued. I realized that exact idea is what I’m trying to do. Trying to do here with you, trying to do in my professional life, trying to do as a Taoist practitioner — trying to do as a person, with pure intentions.
My life has been muddy water for so long. I’ve allowed negative circumstances to continue adding more murk even when there is so much light. I’ve accepted that problems and struggles are everyday occurrences, are what makes this little world go round. I’ve stopped reaching for joy even when it’s reaching for me.
Upon reflection, it’s time to be still. I choose to take time, every day, to intentionally still my mind. I intend to lean into the light and joy of each day, no matter how small. I invite you to do the same with me, on your own, and/or with more of your people. After all…
we are who we have.