Fill your bowl to the brim
and it will spill.
Keep sharpening your knife
and it will blunt.
Chase after money and security
and your heart will never unclench.
Care about people’s approval
and you will be their prisoner.
Do your work, then step back.
The only path to serenity.

The Tao is bigger than you. And much, much bigger than me.

So I have two choices; no, three:

I can seek to identify with the enormity of the Tao, edgeless though it may be. My ego chatters all day, however, telling me that I can be bigger better brighter or (perhaps even) the best.

I can also hear that same yin chatter in yang, too (and with equal clarity): stupid failure, inept fool, tiresome lout. Give up, give in, the Tao has no need for me.

Or, I can open my eyes to everything which is already mine. I can see the moonflowers unfolding in the darkness, and I can hear cicadas singing summer songs. I can taste the breeze. I can fill my hands with dog kisses and smell the photosynthetic smoke of green-burning pines.

And the Tao is in me now, and I am in the Tao. And words are only getting in the way.

The Way.