It had been a long time since I visited Li Tzu, the Taoist master. At the first opportunity, I travelled to the small Chinese village on the way up to the Himalayas. When I got off the bus, after leaving my suitcase at the only inn in the area, I headed to my friend’s house. As the gates were always open, I entered. The sweet fragrance from the bonsai garden delighted me. I stepped into the kitchen. Midnight, the black cat that also lived there, was sleeping on top of the fridge. He dispensed me a sleepy glance and closed its eyes again. There was no one else around. Before sitting at the table to wait, I heard the sound of a car parking on the quiet street. I listened to a door open and close. The car drove away. After a few moments, Li Tzu entered. He seemed happy to see me. Then, he put some herbs to infuse for our tea. While we waited, he said he had been visiting a plot of land not far from there, where a park inspired by the Hanging Gardens of Babylon would be built. According to the few accounts from that time, the gardens were of exceptional beauty. Among tree-lined avenues, the flowerbeds would be raised on stone pillars, under which there would be benches, tables, and more flowerbeds, featuring various flowers and plants that, unlike the others, would be sensitive to the sun. He took a large project sheet from inside a tube and spread it out on the kitchen table. It was a spectacle. He told me the park would be built with the kind assistance of several people.
He was excited: “It’s an old idea that is beginning to take shape. We’ve secured the donation of a generously sized piece of land. The next step will be clearing the tall grass before we start building the stone avenues. We will do it very carefully, so that all the trees are preserved. Some of them are older than the village and deserve special attention in the park. It wouldn’t make sense to uproot trees to create a garden.” Then he added: “That’s why I went to the land today. A businessman from a nearby town has promised to lend the necessary machinery for the job.” I said that everything seemed perfect. Li Tzu clarified: “Yes, but perfect doesn’t mean without difficulties. As there are many trees, the businessman proposed removing some to speed up the work. He would use large tractors, which, due to their size, can’t manoeuvre between the trees. If we work with smaller machines, we can keep all the trees, but it will take much longer. This might make the businessman’s help unfeasible. He can’t provide machines and operators for so many days.” He then invited me to join him at a meeting where they would discuss this issue with the businessman. The aim was to find a solution to the problem.
The meeting ended late. It was deep into the night when I dropped the Taoist master at his house before heading back to the inn. The conversation had been disastrous, to the point that I thought the park would never come to fruition. The businessman had been uncompromising. If the villagers wanted his help, it would have to be on his terms; if not, they would have to find another way to build the park. Accepting the businessman’s offer seemed the easiest solution, which would mean uprooting most of the trees to save time and secure his assistance. The villagers became divided. On one side were those who believed the ends justified the means; on the other, those who wanted to build the Hanging Gardens of Babylon without sacrificing the region’s ancient trees. There was no agreement. After the businessman withdrew his offer, many became discouraged about continuing the project. They believed it would be impossible to prepare the land without the help of modern, efficient machinery. I saw the discouragement in many eyes. Li Tzu remained impassive. His expression stayed serene. As I said goodbye, I asked if he was upset with the businessman’s stance. The Taoist master replied: “Not at all. It’s up to him to decide what to do with his machines. As for me, I have the will to seek, and the creativity to find, another solution. In this way, each person creates the reality in which they live, in their own way and according to their own preferences.”
I questioned him about the many people who seemed discouraged about continuing. He explained, “There is a gap between knowing and living. Action is the vessel that will carry us from one point to the other.”
I said I understood the general discouragement. Solving the problem with the land wouldn’t be easy. I mentioned that most of the people involved in the project, besides having their own professional responsibilities, were already too old to deal with such a headache. Perhaps it would be wise to pass on the dream of the park to future generations. They would have more time. The Taoist master corrected me: “Regardless of age, it doesn’t seem sensible to give up on projects that speak to the soul.” Then he left me with a question: “What are the days worth when there are no more dreams?”
The next day, early in the morning, I returned to Li Tzu’s house. I found him in his morning yoga practice. After that, I joined him for a brief meditation, as there was soon to be a class on the Tao Te Ching. The Taoist master was in his usual state of serene joy and discreet good humour. I thought he had abandoned the idea of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon at the foot of the Himalayas. A mad dream, I mused to myself, without saying anything. I was surprised when, as we drank tea before the class began, he mentioned the area reserved for bonsais in the park. Later that day, he would plant a few more saplings for that purpose. I understood then that he hadn’t given up. I found it strange but said nothing.
That morning, the class was about decoding the fifty-first poem from the Tao Te Ching. The room was filled with students from various corners of the world, a testament to the growing interest that Lao Tzu’s ancient work was sparking in the modern audience. Li Tzu began explaining the verses: “We are not what we think. Without denying the importance of ideas, as well as the feelings and emotions that sometimes drive them, sometimes restrain them, it is our actions that define us. They tell the story of each individual. Everything else is mere speculation and empty rhetoric. Being distant from the truth we believe in but fail to live by, they represent our mistakes.”
He paused before continuing: “Action builds our personal truth. Only action changes reality. Nothing else. Without action, reality consumes us. Through action, reality strengthens us. Without action, the brilliant idea remains an unproductive seed, love stays confined to poetry, and lips will never meet in a kiss. Life is more; it demands movement.” He furrowed his brow and deepened his tone: “Action is the perfect measure of the mature truth that exists within us. On the other hand, it also reveals part of the truth that doesn’t yet have the strength to change reality. Action shows the exact point where we are. Only through action will we move beyond where we have always been.”
Li Tzu added a caveat: “Remember that in the essential balance of movement, where Yang is expansion, action in the world, there is also the need for stillness and silence, action of the spirit, through meditation, prayer, reflection, and study; the Yin movement of contraction. A better elaboration to improve our labour.”
The Taoist master continued: “Action requires refinement, otherwise it will become impoverished action, incapable of generating forward movement. Acting without improving oneself is like walking in circles. Those who live this way go nowhere.” He made a gesture with his hand and said, “The Tao, or the Way, is created through understanding. Between intrinsic understanding and extrinsic action lies the will—the soul of creation and creativity. It is the force that transforms knowledge into reality through action. Knowledge shows the doors; the will pushes them; action makes us cross them. This is the equation of the Way—the sacred trinity of movement. We are its travellers; there are a thousand possible ways to live the journey. The way we walk makes all the difference. It defines the step and the pace, the rhythm and the direction. Perfecting the walk is the traveller’s art. It transforms the traveller. This is done through virtues. There is no other method.”
He spread his arms as if solving the equation and clarified: “Humility, simplicity, and compassion offer clarity. Joy, gentleness, generosity, and mercy allow me to live every moment through the lens of love. Sincerity, honesty, firmness, and justice bring the immeasurable strength of truth. Forgiveness, meekness, and purity offer the marvellous balance of serenity. Through faith, I can bring my soul to the heart of the world and, thus, reach unity with the Light as I channel it through me. By making virtues present in every action, the traveller becomes enchanted with the journey, both inside and outside of themselves.”
It was a wonderful lesson. There was a subliminal message that needed deeper reflection. As part of my plans, I would be away for three weeks. During that time, literary events would take place in Beijing and Shanghai. I would use the opportunity to reflect on these new ideas. After the events, I would return to the Chinese village to learn more about the Tao Te Ching. And so it was.
Upon my return, I learned that significant changes had taken place regarding the park. The innkeeper suggested I visit the site where it would be built and mentioned that Li Tzu would be there. When I arrived, I was astonished. The land was cleared, the trees were preserved, and a truck was delivering the first load of stones to start building the avenues. I asked the Taoist master how they had managed to prepare the land as planned without losing the trees. He pointed to a corner where there were hoes, shovels, rakes, and other tools for clearing. With simple tools, they had done the same work that modern machines could have done. With a smile, Li Tzu explained: “We could have wallowed in complaints over the difficulties; we could have accepted conditions that would have made us lose our connection to the dream park. Willpower is the connection between knowing and being. It dissolves problems and dismantles obstacles. It keeps us moving forward, unhindered by anything or anyone. It took us three weeks to do by hand what tractors would have done in three days. We were few, but enough. It wasn’t easy, but it became wonderful. We did it our way, in our time and truth. We created reality.”
He then added: “Once it’s finished, many will come to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. They will praise the beauty of the flowers, the colours of the plants, the architecture of the avenues, the stone pillars, and the ancient trees with their robust trunks and wide canopies. Although it will become an attraction for those visiting the Himalayas, something invisible will enchant the hearts of the visitors, though most will not be able to pinpoint the reason.” He paused and explained: “The story of its construction will shape the park’s soul. To distracted eyes, we built a beautiful park. To attentive eyes, we created a fantastic reality. The same goes for you and me.” Then he concluded: “Understanding this difference grants access to the magic of life.”
I didn’t say a word. I just observed. Later, I approached the Taoist master and asked if the Tao Te Ching was a religion, given its reach into other existential spheres. He shook his head. I asked if it was a philosophy. He shook his head again. I asked what the Tao was. Li Tzu taught: “The Way is a journey of refinement; that is why it is sacred. However, refining oneself is creating the reality of the soul’s enchantment.” Then he finished: “That’s all, and nothing more.”
Translated by Cazmilian Zórdic.
