A Taoist perspective

A buddhist monk went into the river - submerged his entire body in the water - then came out on shore. A moment later he went back into the water. Did the monk go into the same river? It's a Tibetan proverb designed to quiet the thinking process and eliminate the concept of space and time within the human mind.

I was on the red-dotted carpet floor of barnes&nobles (a place where I spend my lofty time while listing through novels), reading Dennis Lehane's latest mystery, Shutter Island, when suddenly I could no longer read the words from the book. Ohh ohh. Panic. I closed the book, saving the page numbers between my thumb and index finger, and quickly shifted my gaze. I blinked in despiration. Eyesight normal. Relief. I went back to the book. My eyes blurred again - only this time the fuzziness was accompanied by fatigue and a mild headache. I cautiously dismissed the pain in my head, hoping it would pass if I didn't pain attention to it. I struggled for the third time to concentrate on the content of the novel. Yawn. Another yawn. My brain and body were telling me to take a break, a deep breath, walk out for a latte or something - anything - just stop reading. Well, I diiidn't liiiisteen (sing-song). I'm a thick-headed, stubborn capricorn. I let my focus dwidle to such a point where I couldn't even remember what book I had in front of me. Shutter Island. Right.

I put the mystery to the side and suddenly remembered the Tao - "go with the flow." As soon as I uttered the quote in my head, the languish had left my body. I was again focused on my novel. I noticed my surroundings. My hands. My breath. I looked around the bookstore with new vigor. The quote served like an adrenaline shop up my hiney. Or like a nutritious meal packed with B-vitamins. Or an eight-hour sleep in which you dream you're the king of Atlantis. If I could feel this energetic punch every time I remembered the quote, and live by its principle, I could revitalize my mental state no matter what circumstance I find myself in. I was determined to take the tao for a test-drive.

I collected the books off of the floor, stuffed them back on the shelves, and stepped onto the ascending escalator in a busy barnes&nobles on Union Turnpike - all while running a Taoist creed in my head. I walked outside, and instead of driving or taking the bus, I decided to trek on foot towards my house. I filled my lungs with fresh air, and minimize my carbon footprint on the planet. As I made the thirty-minute journey home I practiced seeing the world through a fresh Taoist perspective. I don't know how fast I got home that night, or what happened to me on the dark sidewalks, but I remember walking and feeling every step underneath my feet. The wind picked up and I reminded myself - "go with the flow." Suddenly, the wind became a friend, an element of nature. I wasn't afraid of chills. I "merged" with the wind and experienced its mysterious ways.

As I walked home I thought about the proverb. In my opinion, the monk did not walk into the same river. Since every body of water undergoes changes in temperature, current, and wave patterns, the river had fundamentally changed when the monk submerged himself in it the second time. The waves have shifted their positions. The wind patterns have changed. Temperature has flunctuated. Hydrogen and oxygen atoms broke off and binded with new atoms and created fresh molecules in the process. We can see this pattern in our everyday life: when we walk towards our home, or the subway, or the store, notice your step - no two steps are the same. When the rain falls - no two raindrops (or snowflakes) are identicle. No two jump shots, homeruns, touchdowns, are the same. Each has its own life and vigor - like the vigor I felt in b&n when I reminded myself of the quote - "Artur, go with the flow."