A few weeks ago I was praised for my "blatant honesty and no holds barred attitude." My immediate silent response was, "I just don't have the time or energy for anything else." And that reminded me of a portion of The Tao of Inner Peace, in Chapter 2, in which Diane Dreher writes: "Men and women of Tao seek truth above all else. They have no time for pretense." [p.15] I also like this line: "Te means choosing truth above ego." [p.14]
I certainly haven't transcended ego, but I've always been a big advocate of the truth. As a little girl, as a teenager, and now. I rarely even think about it; speaking the truth comes naturally, and I always seek it from others even if it might upset me. What doesn't always come naturally though is knowing the truth. What's the truth? What's my truth? (And if you're familiar with Byron Katie's work: Is anything even true?!;))
I've been stuck on Chapter 2: Tao and Te for more than a month now. "Stuck" sounds negative, but I don't mean it like that. I think I've been lingering here for so long partially because of the explanation of the symbol for Te: "It's Chinese symbol combines the signs for "to go," "straight," and "the heart."And I think understanding more about, and cultivating te, will help me (already has been helping me), act and speak from the heart, to know what's true in the moment.
There are a couple of practices in my life that help me get in touch with my heart, speak my truth, be in the moment, and go with the flow: Continuum Movement and Sheng Zhen Qigong.
Sheng Zhen Qigong, the qigong of unconditional love, was what first started opening my heart. I hadn't even realized how closed off it was. I actually knew I was closed off, but I didn't realize that a movement and meditation practice could crack me open so gently and so deeply. Totally changed my life. And I am so grateful. Continuing to go deeper with this practice. And it's fun to see how Continuum and Qigong compliment one another too. In Qigong, the body is being moved by qi (well, after the mind gets out of the way, if it ever does!). In Continuum, the body is being moved by sound vibration and fluid (body is mostly fluid) (at least that's how I understand it). Continuum, like Sheng Zhen Qigong, has also deepened my connection with my heart.
I was recently at a Continuum workshop with a focus on the heart, breath, and grief. One of the exercises involved placing my hands on my heart and really feeling inside myself, deeply connecting with the physical organ, seeing if my heart could feel my hands and if my hands could feel my heart. Since then I've felt a shift-- actually the shift started in January at another workshop, but this one deepened my connection with my heart. In January the exercise had to do with really sensing, feeling, perceiving from the heart. Since then I've felt different. More in my body. Calmer. Quieter inside. Less fear. More love. More alive.
And all of this-- the qigong, the continuum, reading the tao of inner peace-- plus a recent death in the family and a friend in the hospital--- it's all been helping me quiet my mind, calm down, listen to my heart, and see and hear what's really important, and then speak my truth whether through words and action or just through action. Walking the talk as best I can....Because life's too short for anything less than blatant honesty and living as authentically and fully as possible.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Exit Wound
I was thinking about what I wrote the other day about leaving my business to focus on writing. I was thinking about how extreme that is. I was thinking there must be a way to do both, commit to writing and keep seeing clients and teaching students. I was thinking that I think too much. Tao is about flow. Living in the moment. Not over-thinking and over-planning.
But this morning I was reminded of why I think too much, why I spend so much time in my head, trying to plan out everything. Some part of me believes that's the safest place to be, and that planning and making the "right" choices will keep me safe. Understandable considering that some choices in the past led me to a nearly fatal car accident 14 years ago. And I've recently uncovered some feelings of guilt and shame around that. No wonder in the first chapter of "The Tao of Inner Peace" when I did the self-assessment, I was least at peace with myself. There have been all these feelings of guilt and shame holding me back, and I wasn't even fully aware of them until now. But that could be a whole other blog entry, and perhaps it will be. Now back to this morning's exit wound:
This morning I noticed a tender spot on the upper right side of my head. I was in the middle of a Continuum dive, lying on the floor, allowing my neck and head to move all around against the mat. And as I noticed this tender spot, my mind immediately concluded it was an exit wound; when I leave my body, that's the spot through which I exit.
I started crying as I thought back to the first time I left, at least the first noticeable time, in that speeding car, knowing we were going to crash; I wanted out before it happened. And so I left. And then came back in. And then left again when it did happen.
Through CranioSacral sessions and Continuum Movement I've discovered that I never fully came back, and I'm still working on being more fully in my body. After going through something so frightening, violent, and damaging, it makes sense that my body didn't seem like a safe place to reside. But it is safe. And no amount of over-thinking and over-planning is going to do me any good.
What I feel today is that if I'm going to focus on, commit to, dive into anything, it's gotta be movement and embodiment. When I do these things to get me more into my body and into the flow, such as Continuum, qigong, or receiving CranioSacral, or dancing, that's when I'm inspired to write. That's when I follow through and actually do write. That's when I either have clarity or at least peace of mind rather than constant questioning and pressure to make the best decision. That's when I'm most in line with the principles of Tao and Te.
But this morning I was reminded of why I think too much, why I spend so much time in my head, trying to plan out everything. Some part of me believes that's the safest place to be, and that planning and making the "right" choices will keep me safe. Understandable considering that some choices in the past led me to a nearly fatal car accident 14 years ago. And I've recently uncovered some feelings of guilt and shame around that. No wonder in the first chapter of "The Tao of Inner Peace" when I did the self-assessment, I was least at peace with myself. There have been all these feelings of guilt and shame holding me back, and I wasn't even fully aware of them until now. But that could be a whole other blog entry, and perhaps it will be. Now back to this morning's exit wound:
This morning I noticed a tender spot on the upper right side of my head. I was in the middle of a Continuum dive, lying on the floor, allowing my neck and head to move all around against the mat. And as I noticed this tender spot, my mind immediately concluded it was an exit wound; when I leave my body, that's the spot through which I exit.
I started crying as I thought back to the first time I left, at least the first noticeable time, in that speeding car, knowing we were going to crash; I wanted out before it happened. And so I left. And then came back in. And then left again when it did happen.
Through CranioSacral sessions and Continuum Movement I've discovered that I never fully came back, and I'm still working on being more fully in my body. After going through something so frightening, violent, and damaging, it makes sense that my body didn't seem like a safe place to reside. But it is safe. And no amount of over-thinking and over-planning is going to do me any good.
What I feel today is that if I'm going to focus on, commit to, dive into anything, it's gotta be movement and embodiment. When I do these things to get me more into my body and into the flow, such as Continuum, qigong, or receiving CranioSacral, or dancing, that's when I'm inspired to write. That's when I follow through and actually do write. That's when I either have clarity or at least peace of mind rather than constant questioning and pressure to make the best decision. That's when I'm most in line with the principles of Tao and Te.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
The Tao of Yoda
Rereading Chapter 2 of "The Tao of Inner Peace." It says Te is about not trying but doing. This reminds me of Yoda saying, "Do, or do not. There is no 'try.'"
A couple of years ago it occurred to me that if I said I was "trying" something, it was like setting myself up for failure, not doing or liking the thing, lack of follow-through, half-assed attempt, etc. It was like an acknowledgment but then also rebellion against that inner knowing that whatever it was that I was "merely trying" wasn't right for me. Or perhaps just fear to fully dive in to something that was/is right for me....So I became very aware of word choice. Sometimes another word, such as "exploring," really fit better than "trying." ---- Ha! It's occurring to me now that by focusing more on semantics I missed the whole point, which was to listen to that inner knowing! Funny how I trick myself into and out of things when deep down I really know better....
Dreher writes that "tao people have no time for half-hearted attempts." And why bother doing anything half-heartedly, I wonder. It's not good for me or for anyone else involved. I'm feeling the need to pay more attention to this in my life.
There's an exercise in this chapter that asks you to look at any areas in your life where you've been holding back, trying instead of doing (p.19). This is really relevant in my life right now, as I think about living life to the fullest, in integrity, and as I contemplate leaving Anacortes, moving back to Seattle, and focusing on finishing my book and starting another one before I even think about putting any energy into building up my business in Seattle. To just leap, knowing that the net will appear. For years I've been saying I want to write a book. Never used the word "try," but it's definitely an area in my life in which I've been holding back.
Dreher poses the questions:
What would happen if you really committed yourself?
Have you been afraid of failure or success?
What would happen if you failed?
What changes would success bring to your life?
"Ask yourself if you really WANT to follow through with this activity. If so, stop trying. Do it."
I feel I'm being spoken to here, and it's time to listen. What would happen if I really committed myself to writing? Well, there's only one way to find out. So that's what I'm going to do. Time to give notice to my clients and students in Anacortes. Time to replace my seemingly broken printer. Time to commit to writing. I've also been talking about "trying" out living in Seattle again, before deciding to make the full move. But I don't need to try. I need to do. I don't have time to try. Just time to do. Life is short, and I've just been reminded of this, as my grandfather was just admitted to hospice yesterday, and as I visited a friend at the hospital this morning, and as I've often wondered what I'd do if I only had a year to live. Writing a book is the main thing that comes to mind. Since I did face death 14 years ago, I've lived my life pretty darn well. But now it's time to crank it up a notch. So, here I go. Taking the leap. Diving in.
A couple of years ago it occurred to me that if I said I was "trying" something, it was like setting myself up for failure, not doing or liking the thing, lack of follow-through, half-assed attempt, etc. It was like an acknowledgment but then also rebellion against that inner knowing that whatever it was that I was "merely trying" wasn't right for me. Or perhaps just fear to fully dive in to something that was/is right for me....So I became very aware of word choice. Sometimes another word, such as "exploring," really fit better than "trying." ---- Ha! It's occurring to me now that by focusing more on semantics I missed the whole point, which was to listen to that inner knowing! Funny how I trick myself into and out of things when deep down I really know better....
Dreher writes that "tao people have no time for half-hearted attempts." And why bother doing anything half-heartedly, I wonder. It's not good for me or for anyone else involved. I'm feeling the need to pay more attention to this in my life.
There's an exercise in this chapter that asks you to look at any areas in your life where you've been holding back, trying instead of doing (p.19). This is really relevant in my life right now, as I think about living life to the fullest, in integrity, and as I contemplate leaving Anacortes, moving back to Seattle, and focusing on finishing my book and starting another one before I even think about putting any energy into building up my business in Seattle. To just leap, knowing that the net will appear. For years I've been saying I want to write a book. Never used the word "try," but it's definitely an area in my life in which I've been holding back.
Dreher poses the questions:
What would happen if you really committed yourself?
Have you been afraid of failure or success?
What would happen if you failed?
What changes would success bring to your life?
"Ask yourself if you really WANT to follow through with this activity. If so, stop trying. Do it."
I feel I'm being spoken to here, and it's time to listen. What would happen if I really committed myself to writing? Well, there's only one way to find out. So that's what I'm going to do. Time to give notice to my clients and students in Anacortes. Time to replace my seemingly broken printer. Time to commit to writing. I've also been talking about "trying" out living in Seattle again, before deciding to make the full move. But I don't need to try. I need to do. I don't have time to try. Just time to do. Life is short, and I've just been reminded of this, as my grandfather was just admitted to hospice yesterday, and as I visited a friend at the hospital this morning, and as I've often wondered what I'd do if I only had a year to live. Writing a book is the main thing that comes to mind. Since I did face death 14 years ago, I've lived my life pretty darn well. But now it's time to crank it up a notch. So, here I go. Taking the leap. Diving in.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Back to the Beginning, again....
Today I picked up "The Tao of Inner Peace" after a week of not touching it. I've been processing my Continuum Retreat experiences and the personal life events that preceded it, forgetting that the messages in this book, the messages of Taoism, would actually serve as a life raft during this week of processing and integration. Oh, how easily I forget! Silly me. So once again, I return. To the Tao. To the beginning. Again. And again. And again. I'll return.
And today I returned to Chapter 1 instead of picking up where I'd left off in Chapter 2. Reading Chapter 1 today felt as if I were reading it for the first time. In reality, it was my fourth time, and the first three times were less than a month ago. How strange....But what stood out today was:
"...we wrestle with the contradiction of what we are and what we 'should' be. We live in the richest nation in the world, and yet we are chronically insecure and defensive." (p.4) This jumps out at me because it hits close to home. Recently I've been looking at my history of "shoulds," looking at how "shoulds" bog me down and get in my way, even when I think I've done away with them! Turns out there are some hidden shoulds programmed deep down inside of me. And the lack of security I feel despite this "rich" life of mine-- it's almost embarrassing. It doesn't make sense. Logically, no sense at all. But it's felt and manifests in self-limiting choices. Luckily, one part of being a Tao person that I've got down pretty good is the ability to laugh. And so I do. I might cry a little too. But then I laugh. I always return to laughter. And begin again on this path of acceptance and flow.
And today I returned to Chapter 1 instead of picking up where I'd left off in Chapter 2. Reading Chapter 1 today felt as if I were reading it for the first time. In reality, it was my fourth time, and the first three times were less than a month ago. How strange....But what stood out today was:
"...we wrestle with the contradiction of what we are and what we 'should' be. We live in the richest nation in the world, and yet we are chronically insecure and defensive." (p.4) This jumps out at me because it hits close to home. Recently I've been looking at my history of "shoulds," looking at how "shoulds" bog me down and get in my way, even when I think I've done away with them! Turns out there are some hidden shoulds programmed deep down inside of me. And the lack of security I feel despite this "rich" life of mine-- it's almost embarrassing. It doesn't make sense. Logically, no sense at all. But it's felt and manifests in self-limiting choices. Luckily, one part of being a Tao person that I've got down pretty good is the ability to laugh. And so I do. I might cry a little too. But then I laugh. I always return to laughter. And begin again on this path of acceptance and flow.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Te and Seeing Clearly
Daring to live authentically and fulfilling our greatest potential. Ahhhh, I like the sound of that. Being flexible, spontaneous, and optimistic. Centered, creative, dynamic. Living in faith and loving service. All sounds good to me! These are aspects of “the Tao person,” and cultivating Te is how one becomes a person of the Tao. (Dreher, p.12-13)
One thing Te is about is seeing clearly, without illusions about ourselves or the world. Part of this is about admitting to what we do NOT know.
“Those who know they don’t know
Gain wisdom.
Those who pretend they know
Remain ignorant….” (TAO 71)
I’ve always loved that message. The first thing it reminds me of is when others impose what they know onto others, in a narrow-minded way. Drives me a bit crazy in some situations, with some people. But what a great opportunity for me to practice compassion when I am on the receiving end of other people’s knowing. It’s also an opportunity to look beyond the trigger and decipher if the other’s “knowing” is knowledge worth adopting, or if it’s more of an opinion or maybe not an opinion but not the whole story either. (perhaps a bit of a tangent….)
The other thing this speaks of is the opportunity to learn in the absence of knowledge.
There’s a lot I don’t know, and I usually don’t hesitate to admit to it. But sometimes I remain quiet; my silence and/or head-nod and/or “uh-huh” implying that I DO know. Typically it’s not out of embarrassment or pertaining to ego; I am comfortable with not knowing. Typically it’s out of not wanting to disrupt the flow of conversation, and I’ve assessed that the person or thing being mentioned (that I don’t know about) really doesn’t need to be explained for me to understand the general topic of conversation/presentation/etc. And sometimes that assessment is what serves me best. There’s not always time, or a genuine desire, to ask for clarification about (i.e.) who some supposedly famous author is (who I’ve never heard of) if whatever’s being said about him or her makes sense anyway. Does that make sense??
But sometimes it would be good for me to say (and sometimes I do), “Who/what is that? Could you explain? I don’t understand.” Sometimes it would be better for me to say, “huh?” instead of “uh-huh” while nodding my head in false understanding (really just indicating that I’m listening, not that I’m understanding!).
Reading about this in The Tao of Inner Peace motivates me to pay more attention to this matter. Although Dreher focuses more on the ego’s role in this, and my tendencies have more to do with presence, time, and authentic interest (or lack thereof), I do feel I’m being asked to raise my awareness and raise the bar, both in one-on-one conversations and as a student or workshop/lecture-participant.
Perhaps this extends beyond conversation as well, such as taking the time and interest to research/read about things that I don’t fully understand but that pertain to some of my passions and interests. Like Qigong. And CranioSacral Therapy. And Continuum Movement. Time for a more well-rounded understanding of these things. Although I’m a big advocate of experience being a great source of knowledge, it might be nice to be able to explain some of these things to other people, especially some of the science. Or not…. ☺
The focus in Dreher’s personal exercise here (asking for clarification next time presented with something you don’t know) is to abandon pretense and open up to seeing more clearly. I like it. And I have a feeling I’ll be presented with the opportunity to practice this tonight and/or tomorrow, as we wrap up this Continuum Movement depths retreat. And then perhaps I will be better able to explain what it is I’ve been doing here all week! ;)
I'd also like to explore how the various aspects of Te mentioned in Chapter 2 support each other. Interesting to see my tendency to break things down, focus on one thing at a time, and then see more clearly how they all go together (i.e. self-acceptance allows us to admit to what we don't know which allows us to see more clearly, etcetera, etcetera....)
One thing Te is about is seeing clearly, without illusions about ourselves or the world. Part of this is about admitting to what we do NOT know.
“Those who know they don’t know
Gain wisdom.
Those who pretend they know
Remain ignorant….” (TAO 71)
I’ve always loved that message. The first thing it reminds me of is when others impose what they know onto others, in a narrow-minded way. Drives me a bit crazy in some situations, with some people. But what a great opportunity for me to practice compassion when I am on the receiving end of other people’s knowing. It’s also an opportunity to look beyond the trigger and decipher if the other’s “knowing” is knowledge worth adopting, or if it’s more of an opinion or maybe not an opinion but not the whole story either. (perhaps a bit of a tangent….)
The other thing this speaks of is the opportunity to learn in the absence of knowledge.
There’s a lot I don’t know, and I usually don’t hesitate to admit to it. But sometimes I remain quiet; my silence and/or head-nod and/or “uh-huh” implying that I DO know. Typically it’s not out of embarrassment or pertaining to ego; I am comfortable with not knowing. Typically it’s out of not wanting to disrupt the flow of conversation, and I’ve assessed that the person or thing being mentioned (that I don’t know about) really doesn’t need to be explained for me to understand the general topic of conversation/presentation/etc. And sometimes that assessment is what serves me best. There’s not always time, or a genuine desire, to ask for clarification about (i.e.) who some supposedly famous author is (who I’ve never heard of) if whatever’s being said about him or her makes sense anyway. Does that make sense??
But sometimes it would be good for me to say (and sometimes I do), “Who/what is that? Could you explain? I don’t understand.” Sometimes it would be better for me to say, “huh?” instead of “uh-huh” while nodding my head in false understanding (really just indicating that I’m listening, not that I’m understanding!).
Reading about this in The Tao of Inner Peace motivates me to pay more attention to this matter. Although Dreher focuses more on the ego’s role in this, and my tendencies have more to do with presence, time, and authentic interest (or lack thereof), I do feel I’m being asked to raise my awareness and raise the bar, both in one-on-one conversations and as a student or workshop/lecture-participant.
Perhaps this extends beyond conversation as well, such as taking the time and interest to research/read about things that I don’t fully understand but that pertain to some of my passions and interests. Like Qigong. And CranioSacral Therapy. And Continuum Movement. Time for a more well-rounded understanding of these things. Although I’m a big advocate of experience being a great source of knowledge, it might be nice to be able to explain some of these things to other people, especially some of the science. Or not…. ☺
The focus in Dreher’s personal exercise here (asking for clarification next time presented with something you don’t know) is to abandon pretense and open up to seeing more clearly. I like it. And I have a feeling I’ll be presented with the opportunity to practice this tonight and/or tomorrow, as we wrap up this Continuum Movement depths retreat. And then perhaps I will be better able to explain what it is I’ve been doing here all week! ;)
I'd also like to explore how the various aspects of Te mentioned in Chapter 2 support each other. Interesting to see my tendency to break things down, focus on one thing at a time, and then see more clearly how they all go together (i.e. self-acceptance allows us to admit to what we don't know which allows us to see more clearly, etcetera, etcetera....)
Thursday, January 21, 2010
From the Heart
She guides us through a heart meditation. Cradle your heart with your hands. Feel your heart beat. Allow your palms to receive the sensation. The beat. The pulsation. Listen. Feel.
I follow her lead, placing my hands on myself as she has placed her hands on herself. “She must know what she’s doing. She must be feeling her own heart beat,” I think to myself. “So why can’t I feel mine?”
All I feel is heat and a solid stillness. All I hear is a voice in my head, questioning my experience, or what I consider a lack thereof. I think of the times that I do hear or feel my heartbeat, and how it elicits momentary panic. Why is this? I don’t know. Probably has something to do with the trauma of my car accident, but that’s a whole other story.
During the meditation, I think of the definition of Te in The Tao of Inner Peace; I think about the "going straight from the heart." I think about my tendency to question what is heart vs. what is ego, to question what is fear-based vs. what is love-based. How can I live from my heart if I cannot physically feel it beat, and if the sound of my heart-beat freaks me out?
And how is it that I, someone who practices and teaches a form of qigong that focuses on opening the heart, is so uncomfortable with this deep, embodied, heart meditation?
Clearly I am giving myself a hard time over this.
And as soon as I realize that, I soften into self-acceptance. Seeing clearly. Self-acceptance. Finding my way back to at least those two aspects of te. I settle into the meditation, I settle into the feelings. I settle into the lack of feelings. I know my heart is there. I know it is beating. I even feel it from time to time throughout the remainder of the meditation. And so I open up to new sensations. Get out of my head and more into my body again.
It helps to stop focusing on the heart in my chest and instead to expand my awareness into my entire body. Today I learned to think of the heart as actually being throughout the entire body, thanks to the thousands of miles of heart capillaries from head to toe. As I feel my heart in the centers of the soles of my feet, the centers of the palms of my hands, and so on, I see the bigger picture. I feel at peace.
And yet-- SURPRISE!-- I leave the meditation full of anger.
I pulsate. Like a heartbeat. Open. Close. Open. Close. Peace. Frustration. Peace. Frustration. Acceptance. Judgment. Acceptance. Judgment.
Is this just part of riding the waves?
I share my experience with my peers and workshop leaders. I’m asked what I need. I don’t know. Nothing. Just to acknowledge both sides of the coin. Just the time and space to breathe through it, to move with it, to write it out, to feel it, and release it. And then return to the middle. Which is where I am now. Constantly returning. Returning to the Tao.
I follow her lead, placing my hands on myself as she has placed her hands on herself. “She must know what she’s doing. She must be feeling her own heart beat,” I think to myself. “So why can’t I feel mine?”
All I feel is heat and a solid stillness. All I hear is a voice in my head, questioning my experience, or what I consider a lack thereof. I think of the times that I do hear or feel my heartbeat, and how it elicits momentary panic. Why is this? I don’t know. Probably has something to do with the trauma of my car accident, but that’s a whole other story.
During the meditation, I think of the definition of Te in The Tao of Inner Peace; I think about the "going straight from the heart." I think about my tendency to question what is heart vs. what is ego, to question what is fear-based vs. what is love-based. How can I live from my heart if I cannot physically feel it beat, and if the sound of my heart-beat freaks me out?
And how is it that I, someone who practices and teaches a form of qigong that focuses on opening the heart, is so uncomfortable with this deep, embodied, heart meditation?
Clearly I am giving myself a hard time over this.
And as soon as I realize that, I soften into self-acceptance. Seeing clearly. Self-acceptance. Finding my way back to at least those two aspects of te. I settle into the meditation, I settle into the feelings. I settle into the lack of feelings. I know my heart is there. I know it is beating. I even feel it from time to time throughout the remainder of the meditation. And so I open up to new sensations. Get out of my head and more into my body again.
It helps to stop focusing on the heart in my chest and instead to expand my awareness into my entire body. Today I learned to think of the heart as actually being throughout the entire body, thanks to the thousands of miles of heart capillaries from head to toe. As I feel my heart in the centers of the soles of my feet, the centers of the palms of my hands, and so on, I see the bigger picture. I feel at peace.
And yet-- SURPRISE!-- I leave the meditation full of anger.
I pulsate. Like a heartbeat. Open. Close. Open. Close. Peace. Frustration. Peace. Frustration. Acceptance. Judgment. Acceptance. Judgment.
Is this just part of riding the waves?
I share my experience with my peers and workshop leaders. I’m asked what I need. I don’t know. Nothing. Just to acknowledge both sides of the coin. Just the time and space to breathe through it, to move with it, to write it out, to feel it, and release it. And then return to the middle. Which is where I am now. Constantly returning. Returning to the Tao.
Chapter 2: Tao and Te
“Follow the Tao
And live in harmony.
Cultivate character (Te)
And develop your highest potential.
Te and Tao
Are the way of life.
Abandon either
And the Tao abandons you.” (Tao 23)
Cultivate character and develop your highest potential. This line sticks with me. I immediately feel what it means for me: stop questioning what is my highest potential and what to do with it or how to reach it; instead just be here now, cultivating character, strengthening foundation, and let all else flow naturally from there.
As I read about Te in this chapter, my eyes widen, and then my brow sort of furrows. How is it that all these years I never really knew what the “Te” of “Tao Te Ching” meant? As I read about what it is though, it turns out that I have been cultivating it and talk about it often, but without the label.
So what is Te? Te is virtue or character. Te is about living authentically, combining intuition and compassion. Dreher writes that “The Tao Te Ching is the path that leads straight from the heart.” (tao = path) (te = to go straight from the heart) (ching = sacred book)
This chapter is so rich that I could post a blog entry in response to every page or two.
According to Dreher, Te is about seeing clearly, self-acceptance, detachment, not trying but doing, thinking independently, expanding our self, faith in life, living here and now, and embracing life joyously....
Speaking of living here and now, I am currently half-way through a week-long Continuum Movement retreat and going into silence tomorrow. Part of me is dying to write about it, especially as I’m seeing more and more just how much Continuum and Taoism go hand in hand. Also, there was also a lot coming up today about the heart, so I was relating it back to the definition of te. I just might stay up now to write about that. But must not force it-- it’s funny how often I have to remind myself not to force things, but the more I do, the less I need to. So it’s working. I’m on my way. On the way. Straight from the heart.
And live in harmony.
Cultivate character (Te)
And develop your highest potential.
Te and Tao
Are the way of life.
Abandon either
And the Tao abandons you.” (Tao 23)
Cultivate character and develop your highest potential. This line sticks with me. I immediately feel what it means for me: stop questioning what is my highest potential and what to do with it or how to reach it; instead just be here now, cultivating character, strengthening foundation, and let all else flow naturally from there.
As I read about Te in this chapter, my eyes widen, and then my brow sort of furrows. How is it that all these years I never really knew what the “Te” of “Tao Te Ching” meant? As I read about what it is though, it turns out that I have been cultivating it and talk about it often, but without the label.
So what is Te? Te is virtue or character. Te is about living authentically, combining intuition and compassion. Dreher writes that “The Tao Te Ching is the path that leads straight from the heart.” (tao = path) (te = to go straight from the heart) (ching = sacred book)
This chapter is so rich that I could post a blog entry in response to every page or two.
According to Dreher, Te is about seeing clearly, self-acceptance, detachment, not trying but doing, thinking independently, expanding our self, faith in life, living here and now, and embracing life joyously....
Speaking of living here and now, I am currently half-way through a week-long Continuum Movement retreat and going into silence tomorrow. Part of me is dying to write about it, especially as I’m seeing more and more just how much Continuum and Taoism go hand in hand. Also, there was also a lot coming up today about the heart, so I was relating it back to the definition of te. I just might stay up now to write about that. But must not force it-- it’s funny how often I have to remind myself not to force things, but the more I do, the less I need to. So it’s working. I’m on my way. On the way. Straight from the heart.
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