Taoism: The Philosophy of Flow

Your alarm rings, waking you up from an unrestful sleep. You stretch across the bed and tap your phone to silence the disturbing noise. You're tempted to pick it up and see what's going on in the world, but you try really hard to stay away from it. Reminded of all the videos you've watched and podcasts you've listened to that preach the importance of a healthy morning routine, instead, you lay in bed hoping for a few more minutes of bliss.

You try to relax, to remember the strange dream you had in the fun evening the night before, but instead of your eyes resting half closed, your brain turns on. You may not be feeding your anxiety with the social media or emails, but a different type of worry sets in—a worry far greater than the project update request from your boss or a vacation post from your friend that makes you jealous. It's a feeling of unrest, a feeling that things aren't quite right. You ask yourself, "When will this feeling end? When will I finally have peace in my life?"

Most of us, on some level, are chasing this feeling of peace. We seek out expensive therapists, read self-help books, and listen to happiness and wellness gurus. We're searching for answers that would hopefully make us better, more connected, more tranquil human beings. But what if it's simpler than all that? What if the endless availability of tools for self-improvement has taken us away from the greatest teacher of all—nature?

By nature, I don't mean just trees, animals, and oceans. I'm talking about flow, harmony, and peace. These are the principles of the ancient Chinese philosophy of Taoism, also known as Daoism. The idea of human existence is one that relates strictly to nature and the universe. It stresses that to truly live well, we must be in harmony with nature, not fight it. Taoists strive to find the simplest form of all things, the natural clay that gathers on a cliffside rather than the sculpture it can be molded into, or the bark of a tree rather than the block of wood that it becomes.

The origins of Taoism date back to the 6th century BCE and begin with a figure named Laozi. Laozi was a Chinese philosopher who some believe was one of Confucius's early teachers, a name you're perhaps more familiar with. Confucius founded the other reigning philosophical belief in China, Confucianism. Laozi had a different approach than the morality and human connection-based ideas of Confucianism.

The story goes that Laozi decided to leave China because the Zao dynasty was in decline. On his way out of the country, he was stopped by a guard who begged him to leave behind his teachings, and so the "Laozi," the first Taoist text, was born. The caveat to all of this is that there's no concrete proof that Laozi even ever existed. But as with all ancient legends, the factuality of the story is less important than the lessons it teaches us. Because whether or not Laozi existed as a person, the lessons that Taoism teaches still lead many into a peaceful and meaningful life.

According to the "Laozi," the Tao, or way of nature, refers to the energies and vibrations of natural matter and how we connect to and are affected by those energies and vibrations. This is the practice of Taoism. So how do we find Tao? And more importantly, is finding Dao the key to a peaceful life?

Let's look at one of the main and perhaps most popularized symbols of Taoism—the yin yang. You've seen it on tapestries, in mediocre tattoos, and in the doodles of middle school textbooks: black and white teardrop shapes hugging each other, forming a simple eternal circle. The white teardrop represents the Yang. Yang energy is associated with masculinity, activity, light, and penetration. It is the jutting of mountains piercing up high into the clouds and exerting their dominance over the valleys below. It is the breath of a dragon burning through everything in its path.

The black teardrop represents the Yin, in opposition to the Yang. Yin is feminine, passive, and dark; it absorbs the light that the Yang gives off. It is the rivers and streams that run at the base of the mountain range, accepting the water that melts down the slopes. The slow slinking movements of a tiger. Much more...