Birth is the harbinger of death,
and light the mother of darkness.
Beauty is the child of ugliness,
and ecstacy the handmaid of misery.
Partners in the dance.
Water hints at the mystery.
Humble and mighty in concert.
On the path to low places,
it becomes vast oceans.
Stones that block its flow
are skirted.
In quietly yielding,
canyons are carved.
An unsung process
with no goal.
The Dao does not defy description,
yet is ineffable, making no effort.
In trying to understand it,
do nothing.
John Walter Taylor
© All rights reserved
27 December 2025
