TAO TE CHING I

The way that can be spoken of is not the constant way.

The name that can be named is not the constant name.

The nameless was the beginning of heaven and earth;

the named was the mother of the myriad creatures.

Therefore always rid yourself of desires that you may observe its secrets.

But always allow yourself to have desires that you may observe its manifestations.

These two are the same,

but diverge in name as they issue forth.

Being the same, they are called mystery.

Mystery upon mystery—

the gateway of the manifold secrets.

There is a thing, there is its opposite, and there is a space—a feeling, perhaps—of something—we have no name for it really—behind or above or in those things and their opposites.  The preposition doesn’t particularly matter; what matters is the feeling (or desire) that there is a third thing behind (or below or through) every pair, and that this third thing is somehow the same thing that is of (or beside or out from) every pair.

Not everything has an opposite, but everything contains something or belongs to something that has an opposite.  Opposites may be constructs of human perception, but that does not stop them from being opposites; human perception is what we live within.  The Tao is what we live within and the sense of what we don’t live within and what we don’t live within.

We can think of these three aspects of existence—a thing, its opposite, and the thing throughout the thing and its opposite—as a relationship.  In a relationship there is, say, a woman, her lover, and the relation between them.  The relation between them is both in each of them, albeit differently, and something else, while still not entirely separate from either of them.  If you seek to understand this intellectually, you won’t.  The intellect divides; it thrives on distinctions and systems.  These three aspects emerge from the experience of life, which includes the intellect, but refuse its attempted tyranny.

Life itself, which has its opposite, Death, and that third thing, that relation between them (a relation we might call the human) is neither an easy mentor nor a systematic friend.  Indeed, it may be no friend at all.  But friend or not, it teaches even those who claim to be teachers; it teaches the teachers partially because it does not claim to teach.

The Tao is nothing less than all things, their opposites (whether they exist in fact or fantasy), and that thing that is no-thing that is in everything.  Because it is absence and presence, root and manifestation—as well as whatever is beyond these words and the objects, feelings, and experiences related to these words—it is a totality without being a system, a fullness without being full.

We are reduced to speaking about the Tao by using opposition and contradiction, by using negation and absurdity, because only by understanding—not thinking—this way do we slip through the bars of the mind’s routines into life’s sprays and bubbles.

How do I live without and with desire?  Desire, which seems the marrow and lineaments of life?  Simply, I desire everything, which is nothing other than to desire life.  I desire wealth and poverty, orgies and chastity, fame and obscurity, chaos and calm, melancholy and joy, cruelty and compassion, desire and vision.  How then can I pursue satiation when deprivation holds equal appeal?  I allow the river I am placed in to decide what I am granted and withheld, and whatever happens to me is good.

Christianity, as most systems and individuals, limits desire to particular objects.  Good is better than evil, one lover or structure better than another, restraint better than promiscuity, caution than excess.  Opposite systems—whether hedonism, paganism, or Satanism—may differ superficially (by preferring promiscuity to restrain, excess to caution) but are identical in nature, by preferring certain portions of life to other portions.  The Tao does not prefer and the one who aligns herself with the Tao is subsumed not by any portion of life, but life.  Thus, while the CEO and plebian may be treated differently superficially, according to the requirements society demands of each role, the one who aligns herself with the Tao sees both as essentially the same:  both are necessary, both perform a required role, both are subject to laws—some distinct to their specific roles, some common to the culture they both belong to, some generic to humanity.

We don’t really know why or how things are created.  We can claw our way back to the very border of creation, but never fully enter.  Second zero is always just beyond our grasp.  It is certainly beyond our grasp technically and strangely beyond our grasp spiritually.  The scientists, like the philanderers and artists, crave it, but use improper means.  The mystics may see it—the best we can hope for—and the best scientists, philanderers and artists are mystics.  Creation—particularly human creation (the creation of the human, the human drive to create)—is the gateway and the mystery of the human.  We cannot hope to solve it, for that would mean stepping outside of ourselves … an act that would destroy the object of investigation.  Indeed, we may very well not want to solve it, for the incessant and futile investigation of why and how we are the way we are may be the center of what we are.