Reflections on the Dao of Nature

By Sharon Newman

May 6, 2021

The Vermont winter was beginning to wane as I walked along the trail still thick with snow. I savored the beaming sun as if it were my first time soaking in the warm rays. A small, partially frozen creek lined with leafless oak trees guided my path. My crampons balanced me as I edged along narrow stretches of ice and made my way closer to the waterfall. Grateful for these spikes that protected me from slipping and irritating my injured knee, I thought about how my knee injury made me truly appreciate my ability to hike here on this beautiful day. 

This thought reminded me of an old Daoist proverb I’ve heard about an ancient Chinese farmer. This farmer owned a strong, snow-white stallion. His neighbors would often visit and praise him for having such a sturdy and beautiful animal. He would respond stating simply, “good or bad, who’s to say?” One morning, he went outside to his fields and noticed his horse had run away. The neighbors returned, this time to console him for his loss. However, to their confusion, he was not upset. He only remarked, “good or bad, who’s to say?” A few days after that, the horse returned, this time bringing a herd of wild horses along with him. Once again, the villagers came by to congratulate him on his good fortune. To this, he once again responded “good or bad, who’s to say?” The next day, while training these horses, the farmer’s son was thrown off one of their backs and broke his leg. The neighbors came by, upset and feeling sorry for the family, but the farmer only said, “good or bad, who’s to say?” Much later, army recruiters came by to gather young men to serve. The son was excused due to his injury and to the neighbors surprise, when they came to celebrate, the farmer once again calmly returned with, “good or bad, who’s to say?” 

This proverb reminds me that we can never judge single moments. The universe is complex and it is impossible to tell if a situation is inherently good or bad; we never know what fortunes may come from a misfortunate event.

Daoism is a religion and philosophy that originated in China in the sixth century. Its wisdom has helped guide and center me, especially during the time I spend in solitude outdoors. Daoism is guided by the Tao Te Ching, a text consisting of riddled guidance for living according to the Tao. The book is said to be written by a man called Lao Tzu, who left his position in the government to seek solace in the mountains. As he rode horseback into the wilderness, he was recognized by a guard who implored him to write down his wisdom and thus the book came into being.

As a westerner, it is impossible to fully comprehend the depths and dimensions of Daoism; however, I have found peace in its philosophies, which I’ve begun to practice in my own life. Growing up outside Washington D.C., I felt weighed down by the pressure to abide by societal norms. These expectations encouraged me to eat fast food, minimize sleep in order to be productive, find a job that allowed me to work my way to the top, and one day, move to a suburban neighborhood and continue this human-centric cycle by raising children with these same values. I have long felt the need to stop and think deeply about the impacts my lifestyle has on the environment and whether I truly enjoy following this mechanized American track. In my own life, Daoism has provided an alternative path, a way of connecting to cycles in nature and my place within them. It has helped me to maintain calmness and joy, especially in the wilderness. In hopes of gaining more background knowledge on Daoism, I talked with Sin yee Chan, a professor of Chinese philosophy at the University of Vermont. Daoism is more of a felt philosophy than one with a true written doctrine. Even so, I hope to provide my own perspective (which in no way can capture the elusive essence of Daoism).

In Chinese, each character represents a small story, so words are much more complex than words in English. That is what makes defining the title of Lao Tzu’s book so difficult. With that said, Tao represents the way of all things, the way the universe flows. Te is virtue, the essence of things, the magic within everything, and Ching is book. 

Tao: I continued my hike walking along the stream, which wove between icicles and snow-covered stones. The stream was gentle as it careened over sleek ice, but strong as it carved its name upon impenetrable rocks. When frozen, its waters were strong enough to support my body weight, but when melted, they were gentle enough to fill my water bottle and nourish me. Water is a key teacher in Daoism. Daoist philosophy holds many teachings of how humans can embody the Tao of water. It works in harmony with all that surrounds it, freezing in winter, rushing in spring, and nourishing plants with warm rain in summer. Like water, I think about the flexibility that I can have when I don’t try to change what is already there, but instead flow and adapt to my surroundings as they are. The environment is constantly changing and accepting this change allows me to enjoy things as they presently exist, and not become hung-up on the way I hope they could be. This idea is central to Daoism and is called wu wei. When we understand our own inner nature, then we can learn to work with the natural laws around us. Instead of fighting the way things are, we accept them and use them to support us.

Te: As I followed the creek around the corner of the towering shale cliffs, I felt delighted as if a little frog was leaping around in my chest. My vision blurred as I stood before Moss Glen Falls, colossal and completely frozen. Icicles ranging between sizes of a pinky finger and a baseball bat hung from every possible place. A horsetail-like stream trickled and splashed down from the highest point, feeding into the ice. Water passed swiftly through an icicle veil, pouring into a larger partially frozen-over pool. Each droplet of descending water was freezing one by one, a magical force whose power resides in change, or Te.

There is an effortless beauty and grace alive in nature, and I saw this as I watched these tiny droplets fall. In nature, flowers blossom from leafed plants, and fruit ripens on vines, seemingly like magic. Alan Watts, a British philosopher who studied Daoism, explained magic as the wonderful and felicitous events which come about spontaneously, without the direct effort of humans. Although this magic is obvious when witnessing the awe-inspiring way of nature, I like to remember that as a part of nature, I embody this magic too. There are times when I fear change in my life. I fear losing a loved one; while delighting in a delicious meal, I fear finishing the food and ending my satisfaction. However, I have begun to think about change in a new light. Change is what brings excitement and opportunity, and when I am open to it, change and opportunities come about freely and on their own. Fear lives in the future, worry lives in the past, and we live in the present. Change also lives in the present, and represents potential. Within our lives this force is just as beautiful as a patch of summer strawberries ripening, or winter coming and turning a cascading waterfall into an icy wonderland.

Ching: My frozen fingers squeezed tightly to my copy of the Tao Te Ching. For the past few months, beginning after my knee injury, I read a passage of this book every morning, throughout the day contemplating what I read.

Allow yourself to yield, and

You can stay centered.

Allow yourself to bend, and

You will stay straight.

Allow yourself to be empty, and

You’ll get filled up.

Allow yourself to be exhausted, and

You’ll be renewed.

Having little, you can receive much.

Having much, you’ll just become confused.

I deliberated this verse as I backpacked through Yosemite last summer. Seeing the ancient strength of the titanic waterfalls, I thought about the cyclical, yin-yang nature of all things. Yin and Yang are two principles relative to one another and present in all aspects of experience. They constantly build and collapse into one another. As the pools under a waterfall empty into rivers, they are refilled by the ever-pouring stream. The difficult and meandering terrain that the water follows gives it strength, creating the rushing roar that can be heard far away. Observing this reminds me that yielding and bending to circumstances makes difficult situations easier and adds dimension to our lives, and that emptiness creates opportunity. 

As I swam in the freezing Yosemite falls, chilly water pounded behind me while I made smaller splashes in a pool nestled between large boulders. I felt trivial, like one of the tiny droplets that made up the massive fall. Sin yee Chan talked about Holism, which is the Daoist idea that all things in the world are connected, and humans are a tiny part of nature. Feeling small in the face of the sublime gave me perspective on how relatively meaningless my hang-ups were in the face of a rushing waterfall. Like all parts of nature, our troubles too ebb and flow. Remembering that I am part of these greater cycles brings me peace of mind.

Humans exist and play a role within cycles that allow all living beings to survive. Patterns of life and decomposition, day and night, the earth’s rotation around the sun are ingrained within us, and Daoism suggests that aligning our lives to them leads to greater happiness and deeper connection to the sources of life. I strive to fall asleep and wake up according to the times of sunset and sunrise, paying attention to the vibrant shades of color that wash over the sky each morning and night. Eating foods that align with the seasons where I live also gives me a sense of place and alignment with cycles of growth. Our bodies are reflections of nature, so living in accordance with nature puts me in a more comfortable and natural state.

Yin and Yang are the sources responsible for all changes in these cycles, representing the balanced relationship between opposites. They symbolize that ultimately, everything is interrelated and connected. I am just a tiny droplet of water in a waterfall, flowing in the direction I must flow whether I like it or not. Tao is the energy that moves the waterfall forward. Allowing it to move me and becoming united with the water droplets around me creates meaning out of meaninglessness and peacefulness within chaos. In nature, I can experience the Te, the magic in the ordinary. I have found that through my breath I can observe the flow of all things, yin as I breathe in, yang as I breathe out. The sage knows the way without stepping out of the door, the way of nature lies inside of all of us.