a wise man does not think first and then act
when the tao way of life presents itself

thinking first stops the moment from unfolding

when a mystery appears
he experiences it as completely as he is able
drawing no conclusions about it

when his heart and mind are uplifted
he feels
that dreams are far more tangible
than waking truths

he treat everyone and every thing
with equanimity

he declares
I hold the good and able
as good and able

I hold the bad and inept
as good and able

to hold them all
as equal and excellent
is to gain virtue
exponentially

for one person or thing
is not
more or less
important
than any other
person or thing

truth is truth
lies are truth

experiencing life in this way
trains the bodymind
to be united
with the virtuous way of experiencing life

you become peaceful and reserved
drifting
within the field of all possibilities

playing like a child

—Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching; An authentic Taoist translation. translated by John Bright-Fey

In Tsunetomo Yamamoto’s Hagakure, the samurai warns against teaching Buddhism to young people. He was afraid that, in their inexperience, they would misunderstand. I myself have noticed this danger in studying English translations of east Asian religion’s and philosophies. Even without the bias of the translator, my own experiences and education color what is meant in texts written as partial prose, partial poetry, and partial stream-of-consciousness. However, this awareness of the fact of a lack of possible perfect objectivity is no reason not to try my best at discovering how the wisdom of other’s might be applicable and beneficial to my own life—and, I hope, to the lives of those who read this as well.

With all of that being said, I am going to interpret Chapter Forty-Nine through the lens of my own experiences, particularly in regard to martial arts and writing. You reading this likely stand at a different position from which to understand what is written above. To you I say, take what is useful and leave behind the rest.

Now, let’s begin: thinking—conscious human thought is akin to the discovery of time. Thinking allows us to review our pasts, and it allows us to plan for the future; but thinking is not designed for the present. Moment to moment, taking the time to think only gets in the way. For instance, when engaged in a sparring match in which every fraction of every second counts, in which self-doubt not only slows you movements but also telegraphs them to your opponent, thinking is the enemy. In the midst of the fight, your mind should be empty—like a cup—ready to receive information as to what is happening, ready to be spontaneously filled with creative strategies and tactics. In this context, thoughts are but noise that drown out your instinctive reactions—instincts you’re counting on, instincts you’ve trained toiling away for hours on end—you did your thinking then so that in the moment you don’t have to because you won’t have the chance. Thinking is for the future, but you’ll be in the now.

The same can be said for creative writing. Though I’ve been instructed otherwise by authority figures and academics, I’ve experienced (as have other writers who are actually in the trenches) that thinking is best minimized during the drafting phases of a manuscript. Creativity is an unconscious function. Ideas are emergent; they bubble up to the surface, into the light of consciousness from somewhere else. They are not constructs of the ego, out of accord with reality, out of accord with human nature and the Natural world. And while this is not to say that just any spontaneous ramblings are always or even often better than the contrivances of an arrogant nihilist, I am arguing that the humble man in pursuit of his potential self will make for a superior conduit for artistic expression—he knows that the art does not belong to him and so can quiet himself as to hear the Tao source of life whispering.

In either of these processes, in writing or in martial arts, they key is the dissolution of preconception—what some might call the dissolution of ego or the conscious self. The conscious eye criticizes, and when aimed inside creates self-doubt. Self-doubt becomes despair and then self-rejection; self-rejection then becomes resentment, then either stultification or destruction. Therefore, it is better to deconstruct notions of good and bad, of desire and aversion. But this leaves you at a cross-roads. Because we are conscious beings whose actions are predicated on value hierarchies, we cannot act until the erased lines are redrawn. You must decide on new lines to divide what is good and desirable from what is bad. He who walks the Tao way of life decides that what is, is what is good. In martial arts, this means seeing an opponents punch as an opening; in writing, it means seeing a plot hole or block as an opportunity for a novel solution. In life, it means seeing failures and set backs as places from which to grow. In your relationship it means seeing the faults in others as facets that your influence might one day be able to polish—and in philosophy and religion, it means accepting imperfect explanations for the elements that ring true. Mythology is not history, but that does not mean it has nothing to teach you.

Lao-tzu. “Chapter Forty-Nine”. Tao Te Ching; An Authentic Taoist Translation, translated by John Bright-Fey, Sweetwater Press, 2014. pp.97-8