In Taoism, there is much emphasis placed on
stillness. I believe this is a mistake. True, stillness is an important
state; but it is not an end in itself: it is a beginning.
Stillness, in Taoist thought, has a counterpoint:
movement. The Earlier Heaven sequence of trigrams represents Tao in
static opposition. The Later Heaven sequence of trigrams represents Tao
in motion. However, one does not follow the other in a linear fashion.
We describe it in such a way so as to start to understand what is really
going on. In reality, however, stillness forms a constant hub about
which the spokes of change turn. They exist together. Within one can be
found the other.
Movement is something we do easily. Our minds are in
a constant state of flux with random thoughts, ideas, voices and
feelings bubbling up and disturbing the surface. It is very difficult
sometimes for us to tell them apart; to know which thought to trust or
idea to go with.
The Ta Chuan says of the superior person that he
'sets his person at rest before he moves; he composes his mind before he
speaks; he makes his relations firm before he asks for something . . .
But if a man is brusque in his movements, others will not cooperate. If
he is agitated in his words they awaken no echo in others. If he asks
for something without having first established relations, it will not be
given to him . . . He does not keep his heart constantly steady.
Misfortune'.
Here, stilling one's self is the preliminary to
movement. It is the solid base from which our words and actions may
safely spring.
I grow my own food and find the practice to be an
excellent analogy for Taoism and no less so in this matter. When I first
started out, I would plant seeds directly into the ground. The soil,
however, already had unwanted seeds in it, and after a couple of weeks,
I didn't know which were my vegetables and which were weeds. I couldn't
risk pulling up the wrong ones, but leaving weeds in the ground prevents
vegetables from growing properly.
So next time I bought a seed tray and filled it with
potting compost that I knew was clear of seeds. That meant that I could
plant my vegetable seeds and be absolutely confident that what grew was
suppose to be there. As soon as the seedlings grew big enough I
transplanted them into the ground and was able to keep the weeds at bay.
The seed tray with potting compost can be seen as a
still mind; but you do not stop there. What you have is a fertile plain
out of which thoughts, ideas, words and actions may flourish.
Another example in nature is the stork. It doesn't
splash about in the water looking for fish as it would scare them away.
It remains completely still until a fish comes near. It then chooses the
perfect moment to spring into action. Stillness alone would not have
caught the fish.
And so it is with us. We, as humans, are continuously
processing our environment. Our minds are always active. If we try to
screw a lid down on all of that we are denying our natures. More than
that, we are denying the truth of Tao, which is that it is in constant
flux. Nothing ever remains the same.
If we can, however, rid our minds of its weeds; if we
can ever get to a state where everything we do, say and think springs
out of stillness and not chaos, then we can be sure of ourselves.
Instead of breathlessly firing an arrow in all directions, we can learn
to hold our breath and shoot straight.
I am sure we have all been in a situation where
several people are trying to argue over each other. At some point you
shout for everyone to be quiet; and when all are silent you suggest all
present speak one at a time.
Well, stillness is a little like that.
Lao Tzu said that movement overcomes cold and
stillness overcomes heat. That is very true of our minds. If your mind
is a pot of water then there are times when you need to light a fire
beneath it to get it to boil. There will also be times when, as it
begins to boil over, you need to quench the fire and allow the water to
settle.
Taoism recognises the dynamic nature of the universe,
of the world we live in and of ourselves. The idea that we must always
be one thing or another is the antithesis of Taoism. Knowing when we
need to embrace one thing over another is an art. To be so pliant as to
always be perfect is one aim of the Taoist. Be neither this nor that.
Through meditation, diet, exercise and a myriad of
other practices, many of them Taoist in origin, you can return to that
solid base of stillness, free of the chaos of confusion; to that virgin,
fertile soil of the mind. There is no need to deny your essential
nature; just give it a better place to grow.
