taoism

The Tao of Health and Neuroses

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Let me cut to the chase – I’m a hypochondriac in that kind of “annoying worrying way.” You can guess COVID wasn’t a picnic for me, but let’s just say I also felt ahead of the curve. However I’ve also been working to address this as worrying about health too much really isn’t, well, healthy.

As of late, I’ve done a lot of “health maintenance” as assorted regular activities piled up in recent months. I had to catch up on my vaccines. I had a colonoscopy every five years as I’m an older gentleman and it’s good just in case. I’ve had some regular tests everyone goes through and just-in-case stuff.

The test part always gets on my nerves. You go in and give blood or get wired up or whatever and then after whatever indignities you go through you then wait for results. The waiting can be nerve wracking – I’m sure you’ve been there.

So as I waited for the last of my various accumulated tests, and of course worried, I speculated how I could handle this better. Something struck me from my studies of Taoism, meditation, and mysticism.

Good health does not come from just “being healthy.” It’s exercise and good attitude, appropriate food and activities, and of course checking relevant things like blood pressure or getting enough sleep. Good health is a kind of navigation.

The tests I take regularly (my doctor prefers to test early and often to prevent things) may be stressful but they’re ways to navigate to health. There’s no difference between sending blood to the lab and observing ideal conditions for good sleep – one just involves getting jabbed with needles by a very well-mannered medical professional.

Good health lies not just on practices, but checking on yourself. By acknowledging the possibility of ill health or less-than-ideal health, you then can practice good health. It’s very – and I hate to sound this tropey – Yin and Yang.

This further made me think about various Taoist energetic practices, how one cycles and balances energies. From the simple ones to the ones I would call “questionably elaborate” they treat the body as a system not a solid thing, aligning and guiding this process of being alive.

This re-envisioning made me feel at least somewhat better. Good health is based on the chance of bad health. It’s all a system, a kind of dialogue or navigation. These tests I was worried about were just part of the overall “Tao of Health.” Seeing how all these habits worked reminded me of the insights I’d have when meditating, seeing the “parts of myself.”

Everything turned out OK as the last of the data came in. Maybe next time I’m getting jabbed or whatever, I’ll remember these lessons.

(Note, if you do investigate Taoist health and energetic practice, get ready for a ride and to be skeptical. There’s some truly amazing stuff from over the centuries, some of which seems quite modern, and there’s also bizarre and dangerous bullshit. If you want to go beyond metaphors, do be careful.)

Tales of Taoist Weirdos

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As my friends and readers are doubtlessly aware, my spiritual practices are deeply influenced by Taoism. From breathing and energy practices, to philosophical advice, there’s a great deal to learn from the huge body of Taoist writings and lore. However, I’d like to discuss the various personalities of Taoist lore and history.

The greater body of Taoism lore and history contains a number of teachers, alchemists, mystics, and evolved human Immortals. Some are learned sages whose idols adorn temples all over the world. Others are acknowledged once in historical records or the credit of an obscure book. Most of them are just a delightful bunch of weirdos.

Gender-bending beloved flute-player Lan Caihe rubs shoulders with with Lü Dongbin, who achieved immortality after a kind of midlife crisis. There’s an alchemist-Prince who ascended to Heaven accompanies by cats and dogs because he spilled an bottle of immortality drugs. Lao-Tzu, creator of the Tao Te Ching, supposedly wrote his book when he just decided screw this and abandoned the corrupt time he lived in. More common tales might include old men with great physical powers, beggars obsessed with the Tao Te Ching, and more.

I adore this about Taoist lore because of how human is all is. A Taoist figure can be both an admirable role model and a cautionary tale separately or at the same time. Great Immortals come from humble beginnings, often learning from serious mistakes, sometimes with the help of more ancient teachers. Drunken poets spout brilliant prose between bouts of boozing in private groves. Even in more worshipful takes, the great figures of Taoism come off as relatable.

This makes Taoist tales and practices associated them more accessible in my opinion. The figures you encounter, historical and mystical, weren’t perfect in life and might even be eccentric in their divine state. If they can become better, if they can achieve peace or Immortality or just be better folks, so can you.

You also don’t feel judged by these diverse group of mystics and magicians. Their tales aren’t ones of moralizing and finger-wagging, but often of helpful figures who’ve “been there.” They’re not there to punish you – well usually, as some of them are willing to cut serious assholes down to size.

Finally, a lot of the tales of various Taoist figures are interesting and many are outright funny. There’s a reason you’ll see them pop in movies, films, television, etc.

The best way to spiritual practice is through being human – and a sense of humor as well.

– Xenofact

And So Words Become Part of Us

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I have many copies of the Tao Te Ching in my library.  I found joy in reading different translations because I found new insights each time and learned about the different translators.  One copy could provide lessons no other could, and together they were more powerful.

Regretfully, I had not read any of my copies in a while.  When I remediated this, I found something interesting happening after reading two or three translations – I felt the words in the book as much as I read them.  This feeling helped me gain insights and even led to some well-needed behavior and personal changes to deal with certain challenges.

(Specifically, this happened while reading the Red Pine translation, an excellent one, but one to read after you’ve gone through some easier translations)

In my younger years, I would read philosophical and meditative writings and then be frustrated at how hard it was to “change myself.”  With study and time, I found that personal growth or exploring mental and mystical spaces took work.  Mental and mystical journeys are oft one foot in front of another, and trying to jump ahead risks frustration or delusion.

Words inspire, guide, and inform but they are not a destination.  Now I saw they were also their own form of meditation.

I realized my reading of the Tao Te Ching had been a kind of exercise or meditation.  Anyone familiar with the book knows the small chapters, well-translated, can be very evocative.  I had soaked these in by reading and rereading nearly two dozen different copies, and now reading them brought forth lessons old and new.  The words had become part of me.

Reading words and trying to bash our thoughts into place to follow them is too easy to do and usually fails.  These experiences are a reminder that reading and rereading (or hearing and rehearing) wise words and transformative thoughts is a meditation.  We have to give words time to work their way into our minds, to be analyzed, felt, and understood.

I’m sure we’ve all heard stories of sages, holy men, hermits, and mystics who would read and reread a certain book.  Now I understand their efforts much more.

– Xenofact