On the last entry, my Uncle Joe posted this comment:

You’ve changed a lot. More mature, more stable, more tolerant. 5 years back, you paid more attention to your appearance, now you care more about what you do, what you observe. Now you’re a bit sloppy …and I like that. Your spending habit is so much different.

I don’t know what caused all that…work experience? Parents’ divorce? Love life? Tai Chi and Taoism?

The causes of my changes were too big to cover in the small box, so I said I’d cover them in their own entry. Here goes.

Therapy

One of the significant things my therapist helped me with was the ability to not sweat the small stuff. It took a few thought records for me to realize that there are things out of my control. I used to be really moody, where if a small detail didn’t go right, I’d get really grumpy. Now that doesn’t anymore, although I do occasionally have to remind myself of this idea, as it’s not a completely natural reaction (yet). This is probably what Uncle Joe noticed as me being “sloppy”, as I’ve stopped worrying about things going wrong, so a bit more carefree when it comes to details. Even Bronwen said she’s noticed the change.

I also had intimacy issues, where I’d push my girlfriends away if they got too close. I’ve since learned to let someone in, even if it means it may hurt me in the end, and there’s a great comfort to be had in knowing this. In figuring out what went wrong, and being given the hope that my future relationships won’t end due to my old intimacy issues, which I’m sure was buried in my subconscious before.

Taoism

Taoism has given me the same rough mindset as therapy, in terms of letting go of the little things that don’t go my way. But it wasn’t just due to the fact that things are out of my control, but also the idea that things don’t really matter. I’m still working on other tenets, like spontaneity and wu wei, but what I’ve been able to understand and apply so far has helped a lot.

When I’m having a bad day, I can go to the Tao Te Ching, find a verse that’s appropriate to my situation, and for some reason my heart finds such contentment in the words. Perhaps it’s even more than the individual tenets, and the fact that I now have something to believe in that brings comfort, stability, and happiness. A non-religious opiate, if you will.

Relationships

Having been through two good relationships with two good people, especially with the memories I have now, has given me a lot of satisfaction. Sure, they may have ended, but I never thought I’d be in a good relationship, probably because of my childhood with my parents, along with confidence issues. I think some people go their whole lives without ever having the sort of love that I did, or being able to experience the same wonderfully intimate moments. This has given me a contentment I wouldn’t be able to find anywhere else.

As a Taoist, I felt it was only natural that I visit the most famous Taoist temple in Hong Kong while here.

Maybe I was being naïve, but I was picturing something like Washington Square Park, except instead of chess board tables, there would be people sitting around, discussing Chuang Tzu’s parables, or sprightly conversations about the happiness of fish. Instead, it was more like a gigantic fortune-telling, wishing well extravaganza. People go there to worship Taoist deities by burning incense, praying to them for their wishes to come true, and have their fortunes told through the practice of kau cim, which is when they shake a container full of bamboo sticks until one falls out, and the character on the stick is interpreted by a soothsayer¹.

It amazes me how vastly different the Taoist philosophy is from the religion. I couldn’t relate to any of this at all. The Taoists here are trying to get a holiday — on Lau Tzu’s birthday, if I understand correctly — because other religions get a day off. This strikes me as somewhat strange, since Lao Tzu is still disputed to be a mythical figure, with an unknown date of birth. I also have to wonder if Lao Tzu would approve of such a ritual.

At one point, there was an old lady worshiping at the entrance of a building, and a woman came out and said, “Ma’am, this is the information booth. You don’t need to worship us.” My uncle and I couldn’t stop laughing.

(This was a quiet day in the middle of the afternoon. Apparently, on special days of the Chinese lunar calendar, it’s packed, and the incense smoke too thick to breathe. Superstition has always been a part of the Chinese culture.)

1. That’s the part of the video where the people are kneeling, and you can hear the bamboo shakers. It’s a short clip because I wasn’t allowed to film there. [↑]

It’s been snowing for three days now, the first real snowfall of the season. It’s a wonderful feeling to look outside and see it falling¹. Winter brings it’s own sort of coziness, like the way sun is for sports and rain is for movies.

A lot of people don’t like the winter, whether it’s because they get tired shoveling, they’re late from cleaning the car, they don’t like dealing with the messiness, or they simply hate being cold. To me, it’s all part and parcel of living in the Great White North. The summer brings as many unpleasant issues — burning car seats, stifling heat, unavoidable sweat. I wouldn’t be able to appreciate one if it wasn’t for the other.

I tend to get tired of the weather only at the end of each season, because they seem to drag on for so long². It’s a never-ending cycle of enjoying the new season, then missing the next one.

There’s this great poem by Shioh T’ao I think of when trying to explain this:

Spring comes, and I look at the birds;
Summer comes, and I take a bath in the stream;
Autumn comes, and I climb to the top of the mountain;
Winter comes, and I make the most of the sunlight for warmth.
This is how I savor the passage of the seasons.

My version would go something like this:

Spring comes, and I admire the blossoming feminine beauty;
Summer comes, and I go for a drive;
Autumn comes, and I fall in love with everything;
Winter comes, and I cherish the warmth.
This is how I savor the passage of the seasons.

This is why I love Canada. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

For now, I’m enjoying the snow.

1. Admittedly, it’s been a mild winter so far; maybe I’ll feel differently when I have to scrape ice off my windshield at -40°C. [↑]
2. There’s a saying that Canada has only two seasons — winter and construction. [↑]

Another correlation between the physical expression of Tai Chi and philosophical ideas of Taoism is the ubiquitous existence of paradoxes in both. There are contradictory answers to many questions, and at the same time, the answers are very simple (a paradox in itself).

An example from Tai Chi is the posture of the p’eng shape. If you’re too stiff, you can be pushed over easily. If you’re too relaxed, you can be collapsed easily. People make the mistake of thinking that you have to be one or the either — that you’re either resisting a force or letting it move you — without understanding that there exists a “somewhere in between”. It’s difficult to explain how something can be structured and relaxed at the same time.

A Taoist example is the idea of wu wei, or “action without action”. Practically speaking, it’s the concept that you don’t do anything that isn’t necessary, and by remaining reactionary you let nature (or the interaction of Heaven and Earth, as Taoists romantically say) run it’s course. In doing so, “nothing is done yet nothing is left undone”.

Last class, my teacher said “Tai Chi is easy, that’s why so few people do it well.” His words reminded me of verse 70 of the Tao Te Ching.

My teachings are very easy to understand
  and very easy to teach
yet so few in this world understand
  and so few are able to practice

The answers remain elusive and difficult to explain because they must be felt, as in Tai Chi, or experienced, as in Taoism, a characteristic of the paradoxical nature of both the ancient Chinese martial art and philosophy.

The crooked become straight
The empty become full
The worn become new
Have little and gain much
Have much and be confused
So the Sage embraces the One and becomes a model for the world

—Verse 22, Tao Te Ching

Yesterday, I woke up from a nap at four in the afternoon. Usually, when I wake up from a long nap, I feel groggy and uneasy, but this time I was bright and rested.

When I went outside, the rain had stopped. It washed the bird poop off my windshield, it filled the air with the lingering scent of cleanliness. In my car, Becky started singing in the stereo.

And every time she hit me with the words “cavalry of light” in her wavering vibrato, I had to sing at the top of my lungs along with her, my voice cracking, my dignity left behind me.

This morning, I was running late for work. But by the time I got to the car, the sun had been out long enough to warm the breeze. I could roll the windows down and let the air in. The traffic made me even more late, but it let me take my time too. It gave me the chance to enjoy Lenny crooning to me about how true love leaves no traces.

It’s like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, because I’m not used to things going this well. But nothing’s going wrong. Things are be working out. Everything has a reason, no matter how small or trivial.

Taoist theory says that surrender brings perfection. Don’t force anything. Allow things to happen, and they’ll naturally balance out. Perhaps I’m finally believing this, instead of simply understanding it.

When things are going badly, you’re not really behind.

You’re just waiting for the good that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.

Part of The Tao Tattoo Series

1. The Meaning
2. The Experience
3. The Background
4. Tattwo

Concept

Some people ask me whether I feel more Chinese or Canadian. While some first-generation Canadians say that they’re neither, I feel like I’m both, because I appreciate and understand things from both cultures. I have the best of both worlds.

I already have a the hanzi character for “tao” on my right wrist, so I got the word “tao” on my left in English. This tattoo serves two purposes: as an expression of this dual heritage, and as another reminder for me to follow the tao.

The Operation

(Since Vimeo doesn’t support embedded HD videos yet, you can
watch me get inked in glorious High Definition on the Vimeo site. The quality is so good, you can see the needle!)

I went back to Jay at New Moon, who did an awesome job on my first tattoo. When I walked in, he had the latest Mars Volta album on, which I didn’t even know was out until that day. Most of the time was passed comparing them to Tool, two of our favourite bands¹.

Can you tell when he’s going over my artery? (Hint: I start to swear)

Typography

The three-letter word is written in Avenir. As the Humanist, sans-serif typeface designed by Adrian Fruitiger (also used for the title and menu of this site), it’s my favourite font. Clean, sharp, minimalist, and legible. The most distinguishing part, as with most good fonts, is the double-story “a”, which increases legibility.

I had over a dozen variations, at different point sizes, kerning values, and weights. I wanted the weight, size, and position to balance with the one on my right wrist. In the end, I went with one that was 63.78 points, and the 35 “light” weight.

Continue reading

1. Tool was a favourite until Lateralus came out, and I discovered Dream Theater. Ænima remains one of my top albums though. [↑]

I was late for work this morning. The weather was beautiful on the drive in. There were thick, dark clouds hanging ominously in the distance and high in the sky, but the sun was out, bathing everything in brightness. The wind was refreshingly cool, so I had to roll the windows down.

In another weird phase lately. Hyper again. Currently feeling this part from verse 35 of the Tao Te Jing:

Hold fast to the Great Form within and let the world pass as it may
Then the changes of life will not bring pain but contentment, joy, and well-being

Sometimes, I feel like I’m being tested. It hasn’t really been going badly, but it’s certainly a mix of ups and downs, resolutions and frustrations.

I started to notice that I’ve been talking to myself when alone. Sometimes I laugh aloud too. I once read an article about a young man who did a solo transatlantic journey by boat that took several weeks, and he said that talking to yourself is normal; it’s when you start to answer your own questions that you should be worried. I think I’ll be alright.

I’ve come to accept the way things have turned out. I’ve felt this way before, but it never lasted more than a couple months, something that happens when I lose sight of the tao. Hopefully it won’t be so ephemeral this time. I just need to remember that things will continue to work out on their own. To stop trying to force things to happen. To breathe.

And to hold fast to the way that cannot be walked.

My therapist is on vacation now. When he gets back, I’ll start to see him on a bi-monthly instead of weekly basis. At first he suggested that we slow down only once I get a handle on my anxiety, but when I explained that the sessions were putting me in a negative cash-flow scenario, he understood and agreed¹.

• My depression is gone. Most likely, it was a side effect of my anxiety, or generalized anxiety disorder, which is mostly gone now.
  • The root of this is from my habit of predicting negative outcomes and asking too many “what ifs”, which I’m still learning to control.
• There’s this idea of learned helplessness that I struggle with. The bigger issue is that when I feel helpless, I get depressed as a result, about things out of my control such as the weather.
  • I love how the practical side of psychology falls in line with Taoism. In this case, I think of verse 29 of the Tao Te Ching:

    Allow your life to unfold naturally
    Know that it too is a vessel of perfection
    Just as you breathe in and out
    Sometimes you’re ahead and other times behind
    Sometimes you’re strong and other times weak
    Sometimes you’re with people and other times alone
    To the Sage all of life is a movement toward perfection

• One issue I had a hard time understanding was my belief that attempting something is a waste of time if I don’t succeed. I suppose that it seems rather silly now that I think about it (such as avoiding getting in a relationship just for the fact that one may get hurt), but I spent an entire session on this subject alone. It’s a problem because I give up on certain things before I try, and lose important opportunities as a result.
• I’m starting to become more aware of my automatic thought patterns. I’d automatically avoid certain situations because they would give me anxiety, or predict how other people would react based on past experiences, without even realizing it. This is wrong.
• I was a little skeptical about the usefulness of thought records at first, but now that I’ve finished about a half-dozen, I notice a change in my thought process. Every time I get flustered, I think in my head of what I’ll write down later (simply because I don’t have time to write it in the moment) and just doing this helps a great deal.
• My therapist is a fan of Chappelle’s Show (which is generally considered to be a low-class and crude form of humour), because it breaks social barriers by making fun of stereotypes, thereby robbing them of their significance. This makes him the coolest middle-aged white guy ever, and makes me want to smoke a spliff with him.
  • He also calls weed, “grass”, which is cute.

1. We’re both baffled by the fact that the sessions aren’t covered by OHIP, whereas physical health problems are. [↑]

It’s a full seven days between sessions, and at this point, my pschologist is just starting to know me. In between, I can never stop reflecting. I’ve always believed that I know myself well, but these sessions are probing ideas and memories I haven’t thought of in a while, and opening up completely new areas of reflection.

And while I could write for days about these thoughts and epiphanies, I simply don’t have the time, so I figured I’d briefly touch on them in point form.

• I need to respect my psychologist in order to accept help from him. i.e. If he was a Freudian and I was a Jungian, I wouldn’t be able to agree with any of his methods.
• I get very anxious when I’m in his office. This is because I don’t like to admit to myself that something’s wrong with me, but when I’m in there, it’s a very tangible reminder that I have mental problems.
• I’m very conflicted on several issues.
  • I don’t want to lose my emotions because I need to suffer to create. Yet the emotions are bad enough that I don’t want to have them anymore (or have them in moderation at least).
  • I want to love and be in a relationship, and at the same time I cling to being single because I’m scared of being hurt (in addition to the fact that the freedom is intoxicating). I do this by pushing others away from me or cutting them off.
    • This stems from two significant childhood memories, where I felt betrayed in friendship, as well as my relationship with my parents.
  • I want to be settled and have some stability (in terms of schedule, relationships, finances etc.), but the struggle to be settled is what makes me grow and be stronger.
  • Many of these issues can only be resolved from decisions I should make. (i.e. No one else can make the decision for me)
  • Turning to Taoism, which is very paradoxical in itself, has only helped so much.
• Without my creativity, or my desire to express myself, I’m nothing.
• I don’t want to “blame” my parents for confidence problems or perfectionist tendencies, but I’m slowly starting to find out that they’ve affected me even more than I thought before.
• As a hedonist, my greatest fear is losing my joie de vivre. If this happened (and it has once), I would consider killing myself. This is because the joys of life balance out all the bad and makes it worth living.
• I’m dependent on other people for happiness. I don’t see my friends often enough for me to be satisfied, and it’s a simple fact of life. They all have significant others, and I’m the only one left single. I don’t blame them for not spending enough time with me, but it makes me very sad.

At the core of our beings, Pat and I are the same person.

What separates us is our emotion, or lack thereof. Pat’s the logical one, I’m the emotional one. I’ve always looked up to him — his strength, his morals, his personality — without really understanding why.

It’s only in the last year that I’ve come to realize Pat is a Taoist. This comes with the realization that I’m a Taoist myself, and explains why I try to be more like him.

The interesting part is that he doesn’t even know that he’s a Taoist — sort of like Winnie the Pooh — which is exactly what makes him a true Taoist.

One of Chuang Tzŭ’s parables illustrates this point. In an abbreviated version, Knowledge seeks a conscious reflection to know the Tao, and asked Silent Do Nothing and Reckless Blurter, before asking The Yellow Emperor (ahhh, the Romantic personification of Chinese fables):

Knowledge said to The Yellow Emperor, “I asked Silent Do Nothing and he kept quiet. Not only didn’t he answer me, but he didn’t even know how to answer. I asked Reckless Blurter, and though he wanted to tell me, he didn’t, and even forgot my questions. Now I’ve asked you, and you know all about it. Why do you say that you’re far from it?”.

The Yellow Emperor said, “Silent Do Nothing was truly right, because he didn’t know anything. Reckless Blurter was nearly right, because he’d forgotten it. You and I are far from right, because we know far too much“.

The same is true for Tai Chi¹, or any martial art for that matter. Dissect it too much, and you lose the meaning. Think about it too much, and you don’t react. As Michael Babin wrote in his article on self-defense training:

It is sad but true that real skill comes from seemingly endless drilling of the basics and then learning how to transcend/forget most of what you have so patiently learned.

In other words, learning structure is essential to learning to react to a complete lack of structure (i.e. a real fight); but if you focus on structure for too long it becomes counter-productive to “being without structure” in martial terms. One of the many annoying paradoxes in the internal arts.

One of the many paradoxes in the Taoist philosophy as well. As much as I try to study it, learn it, and apply it, I find myself thinking about it too much. As a result, I occasionally stray from being centered, and lose my balance.

It’s the conscious reflection which Knowledge is seeking that preemptively dooms his search. This is my problem as well. I buy Taoist books with a thirst for knowledge, but they’re all telling me the same thing now. Not that the books haven’t helped at all, but I feel like I’ve reached a limit. Perhaps even the simple act of writing about this is counter-productive.

I have the understanding, but I can’t apply it without thinking about it first, and it’s the attempt to apply it that ruins the point. I’ve yet to reach a stage of pure reaction and spontaneity, like Pat.

But I’m getting there.

1. Yet another example of how Tai Chi is the physical expression of the philosophy. Or perhaps this could be reverse-generalized, and said that the Taoist philosophy is reflected in everything, such as martial arts. [↑]

I’ve been in the strangest mood lately. Killing my Top Rated playlist everywhere I go, yet I skip through 90% of the songs, trying to find the right one. Talking to myself. Replaying conversations in my head.

I don’t quite feel at one with the Tao. I’ve been letting small things get to me. It’s as if I’m falling back into my old destructive habits, but upon realizing this, I fight against it. The struggle, when observed objectively, is quite amusing.

These are exciting times. Along with the excitement comes nervousness. It’s turned me into a jumble of emotions, bittersweet, and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

Wish I could do something with this feeling.

One of my daily rituals used to be lighting a joint when I got home from work, and riding off the weed for the rest of the evening. It was the only thing that could relax me; otherwise, I was tense and uptight. I couldn’t just sit and watch a movie, read a book, listen to an album without it because I felt too guilty, as if I wasn’t getting enough done.

For the first year that I quit, I missed it terribly. Not because I couldn’t sleep, not because food became bland, not because music didn’t sound as good, but because I couldn’t calm down. I was always trying to get things done, constantly depriving myself of pleasure to accomplish things without an end.

Following Taoism has changed that. Taoists value becoming as a child. Having no extraneous thoughts, and living in the now.

Unless stopped by adults, children live life to the full, whereas for most adults existence seems more of a near-life experience where we resemble actors rehearsing for a play that never quite begins, instead of playing fully, as children do, in a performance that has no beginning or end.

—Mark Forstater, The Tao

In doing so, I’ve begun to live every day as if it was my last. I don’t worry about running out of my good tea anymore, and just drink it. I don’t feel guilty about doing nothing, about letting my mind wander. I do what I feel like, when I feel like it. I’ve been able to let go. I stopped sweating the small stuff, and started enjoying life.

An ex-smoker once told me that the part he missed the most about smoking was the ritual. The early-morning-coffee or the after-dinner smoke. He felt a lot better after quitting, but if he found out the world was going to end in a week, the first thing he would do is go to the corner store and buy a pack of smokes. I used to think that I’d do the same with weed. Not so, anymore.

Not that I don’t miss it every now and then. There are certain things that can only be experienced through mind-tripping highs. It’s something I’d like to keep for special occasions. When I go to see Darren, or when John comes down, but even those seldom times aren’t worth it anymore. I know I’ll never do it again, but I don’t mind because I know I’ve been fortunate enough to experience it already. The important part is that I’m not dependent on it.

Taoist hedonism has set me free.

I’m exhausted. It’s late. I should be going to bed, but I want to write. Here I am.

Vanilla chai, this time. I never drink this tea, so it seemed somewhat appropriate.

My limbs are sore. I’ve been practicing my Tai Chi on a regular basis, and my understanding has surpassed my physical ability. I’m starting to over-exert myself. I’ve also been using my arms instead of my whole body when advancing in single push hands, causing my arms to work more than they should. Tonight, it got to the point where they were completely weak. I suspect Elizabeth could feel this, and she switched arms before I had the good sense to do it myself.

It’s getting cold in the house¹. The thermostat says 20, but it feels more like 18. I stood in the shower for a good 15 minutes, letting my skin burn under the hot water, to the point where I stepped out of the shower into the cold air and started to sweat.

No editing. No backtracking. Just type, and publish.

I happened to come across a video today by the Grass Roots.

When I think of all the worries people seem to find
And how they’re in a hurry to complicate their minds
By chasing after money and dreams that can’t come true
I’m glad that we are different, we’ve better things to do
The others plan their future, I’m busy loving you

One, two, three, four
Sha-la-la-la-la-la live for today.
Sha-la-la-la-la-la live for today.

And don’t worry ’bout tomorrow, hey hey hey hey.

Maybe I’m just reading into it, like a born-again, but the lyrics struck me as very Taoist, and the idea of detachment in particular². Darren jokes that I’ll start preaching to him the next time I visit him because our conversations always stray to Taoism.

I’ve been feeling decidedly dark, decidedly yin, lately. Not sad or upset, but in an energetic way. I’m bouncy. Maybe this is the way my brain adjusts to my previously cheerful upswing. The funny thing is that I’m no less cheerful, just in a different way. I feel more balanced. It’s as if the mind aches from some unknown force, expressed through an emotional state, yet relishes and wallows in this.

And I’m loving every minute of it.

1. I’m trying to wait as long as possible before turning the heat on [↑]
2. Something I’ve only recently been able to achieve to any relative degree of success. [↑]

Yes, I’m up again. Not even, but up.

I think it’s pretty obvious that I don’t think straight when lacking sleep. I get very grumpy, and Bronwen knows not to get in my way when that happens (and not to call me “Mr. Grumpykins“). Still, even with enough sleep, I don’t think it would have changed how I was feeling.

So I picked myself up by reading the parables of Chuang Tzŭ¹. Though it’s still well beyond my grasp, I’m slowly learning how to achieve utter emptiness and single-minded stillness.

Sometimes I wonder if I sound like a born-again Christian, only with Taoism. One of those people who gets preachy, where everything they say relates to their new-found faith. It’s as if my brain processes everything through a Tao filter, and I see everything in a different way. I try to be conscious of it in conversation, to avoid boring someone who wouldn’t really understand anyway, but I can’t help but write about it here.

Nevertheless, I feel enlightened, though still human²; I’m not sure if I’ll get the rug pulled out from under me again. It’s a strange feeling. In this mindset, it’s as if nothing can stop you. Until something happens.

Part of me wishes I wasn’t feeling this high. That I was more even, like Pat. It’s a balance of emotion that I seek, not the dramatic ups and downs. I’ll be content when I can achieve that.

Hence it is paradoxically said, “Perfect happiness is to be without happiness; the highest praise is to be without praise”.

1. Dave helped talk some sense into me as well. I think part of my recovery was that our discussion led me to feel as if he’s a kindred spirit. [↑]
2. When looking back on this entry, I realized that I wrote about picking myself up twice in one month. I don’t even remember writing it the first time. [↑]