Red Dust on the Road, White Waves on the River

Among the galaxy of ideas where a hundred schools of thought contend, I have a special fondness for Daoism. Daoism does not speak of "benevolence" or proclaim "righteousness," yet more deeply than any other school of thought, it gazes with tenderness upon the breath and freedom of every humble life. It is often misread as passive retreat, when in truth it is the gentlest balm for the souls of those mired in hardship and silently bearing suffering. Through long, gloomy years, it is like a tiny light that never goes out, warming the withered roots of humanity just before they freeze. For this reason, Daoism has never needed fervent worship. It builds no grand idols and imposes no stern commandments. Its sanctuary exists only in the hearts of those who yearn for freedom and cherish themselves. "A cool breeze beneath the bamboo, flowing water in the qin: savor a little leisure. Fame and fortune beyond me, favor and disgrace before my eyes: smile and leave them to the setting sun." Set aside, for a while, the glitter of nightlife and the clamor of passing carriages, and ponder carefully: "What shape are the clouds? What color are the mountains? What does speech without words mean? What sweetness lies in flavor without taste?" Amid the turmoil, look back upon the spirit and vitality within yourself. In the midst of your hurried life, set down the body imprisoned by material desires, and savor the peaceful joy of wanting nothing, clinging to nothing, and contending with no one.