Lost

As anyone reading this blog will recall, not so long ago I felt a strong need to revisit the Tao te Ching, and I retrieved my copy from my daughter, who had stashed it, unread so far as I know, somewhere in her bookcases. As I re-read the book, a coffee-table paperback copyright 1973 with considerable water damage, strong memories rose up. I felt again the mysterious but compelling power of the words and ideas. I resolved to spend this next year trying to re-read and make some connection with it, to perhaps sort out what I'm feeling and maybe, just maybe, gain something of value or lose something that weighs me down.

One thing that has welled up is a sense of loss, ironically loss of something I never had. It seems to me that all those years ago I had been so close to making choices that could have pushed my life in a far different direction than things turned out. So close. My 2018 self could see the 1973 self embracing those ideas more fully and living a wholly different life. I was seeking then, I vividly recall, casting my literary net wide, finding alternate views of life. I visited different groups -- some of which I now know to have been cults (can anyone say "Moonies"?) -- and even hitchiked halfway across the country to spend several days at a counter-culture commune. I visited California's Big Sur and spent a week at a Gestalt therapy workshop where, against a background of crashing surf, I explored the edges of my psyche. I was so close to something, and then I drew back. Why, I'm not sure. Fear of the unknown and the risk of loss of certainty played a part in it. Part of it was need to find more solid meaning in a traditional sense, part of it a compulsion to "grow up," to "set aside childish things," and part of it was just making choices that drew me further and further from the Tao and its simple but compelling call.

Now here I am, half-a-century later, with a feeling of loss, lost chances and lost time.

But I also know that feeling of loss is primarily a mental construct, based on the present me looking back. Because the truth is, if back then I'd been able to grasp and act on the truths I now sense, I'd have done so. Those truths haven't changed, but I have. It's easy to look back and say that one should have done, but the fact is one didn't, and those days are long gone.

But these days are here, now.

And so is that feeling of loss. But that's not unaccounted for. Chapter 23 of the TtC says that

"He who loses the way/Feels lost." So that's a good sign, right, perhaps a sign of things to come? Maybe, maybe not.

Chaung Tzu makes it sound pretty bleak in one of his commentaries on the TtC:

"You are trying to sound
The middle of the ocean
With a six-foot pole.
You have got lost, and are trying
To find your way back
To your own true self.
You find nothing
But illegible signposts
Pointing in all directions.
I pity you."

"Keng's Disciple", in The Way of Chuang Tsu.

So. Here I am, and there doesn't seem much to be done about it. Lost with no legible way back. An object of pity, even. What do I do? How do I get back to this Tao that I know I almost knew? Chuang Tsu's advice?

"Do not try
To hold on to Tao--
Just hope that Tao
Will keep hold of you!"

Lao Tsu is a bit more encouraging:

"When you are at one with the Tao
The Tao welcomes you."

So here I am. Closer or not closer, I can't tell. I simply know that something somewhere is calling me.

And all I can do is "wait quietly while the mud settles." (Ch. 15)