The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao Podcast

This episode explores 玄 (xuan), a single Chinese character at the center of Daoist thought. Appearing in the opening lines of the Daodejing, xuan—most often translated as “dark,” “mysterious,” or “profound”—names not merely a feeling but a feature of reality: the quality of what exceeds ordinary knowing while remaining available to a different kind of awareness. Moving through the character’s etymology, its appearances across the Daodejing, and its resonances in other contemplative traditions, the essay traces how xuan functions as both threshold and method—the pivot on which the tradition turns, opening toward 妙 (miao), the wondrous. It closes in the forest, where the practice of forest therapy offers a contemporary form of the same ancient invitation: to release the “short and shallow ears and eyes” and enter, without grasping, the mystery that has always been there. Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

Where do thoughts come from? And how much should we trust them? Drawing on Daoist philosophy, the Dao De Jing's Valley Spirit (谷神), and the inner alchemy writings of Bai Yuchan, this post explores the dual nature of thought: its generative, creative power and its capacity to distort our perception of reality. Thoughts arise spontaneously, like life emerging from an empty valley, yet left unexamined they can quietly shape everything we do. Mindfulness of thought—a practice as central to Daoism as to any contemplative tradition—is what allows us to engage with thoughts discerningly rather than be ruled by them. Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

This post was spurred by a note from James Ford discussing a purported Rumi quote, “As you start to walk on the way, the way appears.”Many spiritual traditions speak of following a path. This is especially true of the teachings of Daoism as we follow “the Great Way.” Matching the Rumi saying, the Zhuangzi says, “A path is made by walking.” (道行之而成) This was also echoed by the Spanish poet Antonio Machado some two thousand years later, “Traveler, there is no path, the path is made by walking it.” As Daoists we follow the path trod by those who have come before us and we also walk arm in arm with our fellow “wayfarers”, our spiritual siblings following the same path. We could also read the Zhuangzi quote as, “The Dao is accomplished by practicing it.”The path is a useful framework for self-cultivation, but it can also become an impediment if we take the path as being something too straight and narrow that we can easily stray from. The path is not a razor’s edge, a tightrope, or a high-wire act. The Dao is perfect just as it is, with nothing lacking and nothing in excess. We can no more stray from the path in its widest sense than we can fall off the Earth. This isn’t something to worry about, unless perhaps you are a Flat Earther! As Lu Xisheng said in his commentary on the Daode Jing, “The great way is like a broad avenue. A broad avenue is smooth and easy to travel on, and no one can fail to reach their destination. Because it is straight and broad, don’t worry about minor detours.”Our path might seem straight at times, life may be going along smoothly and we may feel as though we are covering lots of ground in a short period of time. Or it may seem long and winding. It may form switchbacks like a mountain trail. For every mile walked we may gain little elevation. Life’s inevitable challenges may make us feel as though we’ve lost a step or fallen behind. Fortunately, life is not a race to the end. If it were, we’d all have already lost!We may forget from time to time that we are walking on the path at all, feeling lost in the thickets of habitual patterns of behavior and delusive thoughts. But as soon as we return to ourselves, return to the reality of the present, we realize we were always on the path. We have never left it.We might have gotten caught up in a “minor detour” on that broad avenue, we may have gotten lost in our smartphones or we may have started window shopping and forgotten where we are going. Despite all the twists and turns our path may have taken, we were always on that “broad avenue” of the Great Dao. We can forget the path, forget ourselves, and forget our lives, but as soon as we remember, we are right back on it. We never really left. We will continue to walk this path throughout our lives, right up until we take our last breath, because our life is our path and we’re all walking it together.How often do we see the car if front of us on the highway as an obstacle that is in our way, instead of as a fellow traveler? To see passersby as enemies, adversaries, or obstacles in this life is to lose sight of that broad avenue, to lose sight of the Great Dao. Some of those around us may be fighting over territory and resources, or hoarding wealth, myopically thinking they can somehow disentangle themselves from this great tapestry of life we’re all woven into, but the rest of us realize we’re all in this together, and that, as Ram Das said, “We’re all just walking each other home.” Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

I originally wrote this last year, several months after my father died (the anniversary of his death just passed). What I didn’t know at the time was that my mother would also die about two months after writing this. It was a helluva year, much of it a blur, alternating between numbness, grief, and respites where I was engrossed in working on the manuscript for my next book. Living in the Twin Cities, the last two months have brought a lot of those feelings back again for better and worse.As I’m sure many others here can tell you, it’s been a really intense time even for those of us whose neighborhoods haven’t been as actively targeted, for those of us who aren’t targets. That said, many of us who are white and citizens have family members who could be targeted, even if they are are also citizens. Those who don’t fit the bill of what this fascist regime envisions for the future of our country. Despite the farcical statements about how the surge has been a targeted operation, anyone with eyes can tell you that’s complete nonsense. They’ve been perfectly happy to look for targets of convenience, profiling anyone who might look Latino or Somali, or Hmong, even when they are at work at Target of all places.Those feelings of grief I experienced last year came rushing back with the very public killings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti and in sympathy with those whose family members have been snatched up and disappeared into the Whipple building and often quickly whisked away to a camp in Texas before the families even know they’ve been detained.It’s been a crazy time witnessing the best and worst of humanity from one day to the next. I’m sure I’ll have more to say about all that’s happened, but for now I’ll return to the original piece I wrote about my father’s death.I recently lost my father. He died from metastatic bladder cancer, which progressed rapidly. One day, we were told he’d fallen in the middle of the night and couldn’t get up, and that he was in the hospital. I imagined a short stay until he stabilized. Within a few days, we were hearing he was transitioning into “comfort care” (hospice), and we’d better come as soon as possible.In addition to the cancer which we were unaware of, he had also begun to suffer from Alzheimer’s over the last year or so, but other than some aphasia, grasping for words, and some memory lapses here and there, it wasn’t apparent how quickly it was progressing, at least from the remove of living in another state with the busy family life and often hectic schedule which comes with being married to a physician and raising two teenaged daughters. In hindsight and in closer proximity, it was clear his dementia was becoming more pronounced than we realized.After the initial conversations, I’d booked a flight for a few weeks out, when family responsibilities and schedules aligned. When the next call came, we dropped everything and went. We made it in time, in a manner of speaking. He was still conscious and relatively aware, at least for brief periods.What “making it in time” looked like was brief flashes of recognition of who was present, followed by his awareness inexorably drifting back to the soothing nature scenes playing on the television in his hospital room. He’d pretty much lost the ability to speak beyond a few mumbled phrases, mainly in response to his nurses’ questions. But what he lacked in words, he seemed to be trying to make up for in his facial expressions.When he saw my eldest daughter, his eyebrows rose and he seemed to communicate, mainly through his expressions and gestures, “You’ve grown so tall!” After which his focus drifted back to the nature scenes in short order.By the next day, he wasn’t really conscious anymore. We’d gone to dinner with my brother and his family, and then I’d returned to the hospital and sat with my father for several hours as it seemed his time was getting short. I was torn about staying with him that night. I vacillated until about 11:30 before deciding to get some sleep and return early in the morning. As I was getting ready to go the next morning, I got the call that he had just passed. I hadn’t made it in time.In Daoism, death isn’t regarded as an ending, but simply the last visible change in a series of natural transformations. However, this doesn’t mean we don’t grieve. Grieving is also a natural part of life. As the book of Zhuangzi acknowledges, we all naturally mourn the loss of a loved one, but it also reminds us that when we reflect on their lives, we realize that we all go through many transformations that follow a natural course, like the seasons.We are born and grow through the Spring of our lives. We reach maturity and our prime physical years in Summer. We reap the rewards of wisdom and experience gained over many years in Autumn, and we enjoy our hard-earned rest in the Winter of our lives when we leave our legacy and prepare for our final transformation back to the formless state we enjoyed before our birth. This isn’t necessarily seen as a leap of faith into the great unknown, but as a return or a homecoming.We have a series of ponds in our neighborhood. I’m not sure if they have always been there or if the creek, which now flows mostly underground, was integrated into the storm drainage system in the area, or used to flow above ground in their place. I walk our dogs around them frequently and stop often, looking for wildlife. Especially for the otters, which took up residence last fall.We spotted a family of four a few times in the waning days of autumn before they seemed to have disappeared over the winter. I’ve spotted at least one of them again this spring. Otherwise, I keep an eye out for the occasional muskrat or mink, blue or green heron, great egret, or painted turtle. From the woods around the ponds, a deer or three, or an owl, either great horned or barred, will sometimes appear. Recently,, I’ve been walking the ponds around sunset when the great egrets have been returning to the island they take up residence on for a few weeks every spring.One evening at sunset I was struck by the silhouette of an empty bench facing the brilliant display of color reflected in the pond and the overwhelming wish that I could sit on that bench with my dad and have just one more conversation.The conversation that so many of us wish we had. The one that we missed out on, whether because we didn’t arrive on time or that we simply didn’t take the initiative to have on countless occasions throughout our lives, or theirs. The one about what mattered most to that person who is now gone. The one that seems like it might somehow fill the hole left in our hearts.Of course it wouldn’t. It is their absence that we feel, and that won’t be filled. And yet, as with so many things in life, their absence also brings them back to us in the form of long-forgotten memories. Somehow, the idea of them becomes more and more vivid after their departure. We inevitably take people for granted when they are still with us. Especially our parents.For as long as we can remember, they’ve always been there, and so naturally a part of us assumes they always will. In a sense, they are, but not in a way we can see, hear, or touch. The Daode Jing says the Dao is invisible, inaudible, and formless. We understand it by observing its patterns and manifestations in the natural world around us and within us. This is also how we attempt to understand the impact of a life when someone we love has returned to the formless, through the patterns and manifestations they’ve left behind in the many lives they touched.My father always loomed large in my consciousness. Both physically and mentally. He was a relatively tall man at six foot three. Only a couple of inches taller than I am, and yet for much of my life, his presence seemed much larger. But by the time we saw him in the hospital, he’d grown gaunt and spare, despite how his long frame filled the length of the bed.He was born in 1940 and grew up in the small towns of the sagebrush and rimrock country of Eastern Oregon, playing basketball and football in high school and hunting deer with my grandfather. On the other hand, I have practically never met a team sport or activity I would participate in. He joined ROTC in high school with an eye on getting out of his small town and seeing the world, joined a fraternity in college, and ended up as a paratrooper with the 101st Airborne. I grew up skateboarding and listening to punk rock, alienated and aimless. On the surface, we couldn’t have been more different, or at least that’s how I felt growing up.As I’ve aged, and dare I say, matured (a little), I’ve come to see us as more alike than not. Our differences had more to do with the circumstances we grew up in rather than a difference in temperament. We both rebelled in our own ways. He rebelled against small town life and mentalities, and I rebelled against the corporate world he was a part of after the military, and which was all I could see growing up.My image of him from childhood was of a man in a suit going off to catch the BART train to his office in San Francisco, or later driving his sports car off to work in one of the many places we lived. I caught glimpses of his childhood mainly through stories told by my grandmother or aunt, but never really connected with it through him.That said, some of the decisions I made later in my own life, such as working on an organic farm, owed at least a little bit to the knowledge that he grew up in a farming and ranching community and that many generations of my family on both sides had done the same. We both forged our own paths in unexpected ways.He also served as an example in many ways in which I’ve since come to emulate consciously or unconsciously. He was a voracious reader and the consummate lifelong learner. After leaving the corporate world, he returned to academia, getting a PhD in his fifties and starting a new chapter of his life as a college professor, teaching in various places in the US as well as a decade in New Zealand, before semi-retiring to the Oregon Coast. He had begun teaching online classes for colleges in the US while still in New Zealand, and continued to teach until just a few years ago.In the early seventies, around the time I was born, we lived in Montreal. In the era of singer-songwriters like James Taylor, Jim Croce, and Gordon Lightfoot, he began writing songs as well. He was never the world’s greatest guitar player, but he learned to play well enough to play what he wanted and often brought out his guitar in the evenings after dinner or when friends came over to visit.The soundtrack of my childhood is equal parts hearing those records on the big seventies turntable and my dad singing and playing his guitar. He even managed to get a song on the radio when a neighbor in Montreal introduced him to Marty Butler, the Canadian pop singer. The result was a song called Once Loved Woman, Once Loved Man recorded by Butler, which made it to number 27 on the Canadian pop charts in 1973. I didn’t follow in his musical footsteps, but both of my daughters love music, and one has recently started to learn some of his songs on piano from the sheet music we found tucked away in an old wooden chest my parents bought in Abu Dhabi in the mid-seventies.I’ve never had his same discipline or focus or sense of direction in life. I’ve often felt like I’ve been wandering through life, for better or worse. As the only one of my siblings not to spend some time in the military, I sometimes think I might have benefitted from the discipline of it, but that ship sailed long ago and I was more likely to have ended up in a monastery than the military, but an ill-conceived first marriage in college changed that early trajectory.That said, my father did try to impart a sense of determination in us all, a sense that we could accomplish whatever we set out to do. He had a favorite quote which hung in his home office, long before the inspirational posters of rock climbers with quotes about reaching the top or cheesy pictures of mansions with three Lamborghinis telling us that, “He who dies with the most toys wins.”Before the pervasiveness of search engines and social media, and the endless inspirational memes we have available now. It was a simple framed printout on plain white paper of a quote from Calvin Coolidge, entitled Press On.“Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent.”And really, if we are to boil life down to its essence, what else is there to do? Whatever life throws at you, persist. Press on. Keep going. Everything else is built from this simple lesson.I’d forgotten about that quote for many years, only reminded of it after his passing, and yet I now realize I’ve spent much of my life searching for different ways to learn that same simple lesson over and over again. It’s a universally understood truth which many traditions have expressed in their own ways. In Daoism, one of the ways this lesson is taught is called the Three Hearts (sanxin). These three attitudes or mental qualities are trust, sincerity, and perseverance.In Daoist practice, these are interpreted in terms of following our spiritual path. We must have trust in our teachers and the teachings; we must be sincere in our learning, and we must persevere in our practice. Of course, one of the keys to spiritual practice, whether we are following the Daoist path, the Buddhist path, or any other, is to bring our whole lives onto the path. In other words, we recognize that our daily lives and our spiritual practice are one and the same. We realize that we will be following our path in each moment, in each situation we find ourselves in, until we take our last breath.When we extend these virtues to the rest of our lives, we trust in our families and communities, we are sincere in our interactions with others, and we practice perseverance in dealing with our daily responsibilities in life, whether that be dealing with the interpersonal drama of middle-schoolers or coworkers, or digging ourselves out of debt. Not to mention anything we hope to achieve beyond that, like building stronger community relationships, adapting to a changing climate or responding to the specter of fascism.Life requires perseverance.If we were able to have that conversation on that bench, I can’t imagine he’d have much more to add, other than to leave the world better than you found it, live a life you can be proud of, and spend it with those you love. Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

This article originally appeared in The Journal of Daoist Studies, Volume 17, 2024. The online version can be found here.Forest Bathing (Jap.: shinrin yoku 森林浴) is the practice of immersing oneself in nature expressly for its physical and psychological health benefits. The term was coined in Japan in 1982 by Tomohide Akiyama 秋山智英,, then Director General of the Ministry of Agriculture, Forestry, and Fisheries in Tokyo. The practice was envisioned as an antidote to the tech-boom and corporate burnout of Japanese office workers and the accompanying rise in cancer and autoimmune disorders. Research in Japan and elsewhere has since confirmed the health benefits of the practice, such as increased heart rate variability, lower blood pressure, increased "natural killer" T-cell production, stress reduction, and a greater sense of well-being, to name a few.Thanks for reading The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.The practice has come a long way since then, spreading worldwide, especially through the work of Amos Clifford and the organization he founded, the Association of Nature and Forest Therapy (ANFT). Forest Therapy involves a session of Forest Bathing led by a trained guide who offers "invitations," practices that invite the participants into a deeper relationship with nature. These invitations involve bringing awareness to the senses to cultivate an embodied sense of presence, then turning it outward to cultivate a deeper connection with nature through relationship and community with the more-than-human-world.The Daoist connection to Forest Bathing in China goes back to at least 2005 when Abbott Ren Xingzhi 任兴之 of the ancient Daoist temple Louguantai 樓觀台, established the Heavenly Harmony Garden Forest Bathing Area (Tianxie yuan senlin yuchang 天諧園—森林浴場) at Tiejia Ecological Daoist Temple 鐵甲生态道觀 on Mount Taibai 太白 near Xi'an. (Ren 2006)When I began training as a Nature and Forest Therapy Guide with the ANFT, I quickly noticed the many conceptual and practical similarities between Daoist practice and Forest Bathing. In this paper I outline a few.IntentionWhat turns a simple walk in nature into Forest Bathing? It is our intention. When we head out into nature specifically with its health benefits in mind, we are Forest Bathing. In Daoist terms this is a form of nourishing life (yangsheng 養生). When Forest Bathing, we also maintain an embodied sense of presence and walk slowly and mindfully, attuning our pace with the forest to receive the most beneficial effects of the practice.In terms of Daoist cultivation, our intention when we head out on a Forest Bathing walk is to return to our original nature (benxing 本性). We might also say we are returning to our "roots" (ben 本) in nature and "harmonizing our brilliance and joining with the dust" (heguang tongchen 和光同塵). We acknowledge that as humans we are part of nature, not something uniquely superior to the rest of life. Just as we evolved in a reciprocal relationship with nature, in Daoist terms we might say that we "mutually arose" (xiangsheng 相生) with it.This is the foundation of our spiritual journey. We seek to return to who we were before the conditioning of society and life's many travails created fictional narratives about ourselves, which we then internalized. When we begin to peel away the layers of stories and untruths about ourselves, we are returning to a state of natural simplicity (pu 樸) or what we sometimes think of as our "uncarved state" in Daoism.In terms of Forest Bathing, this is like the preliminary stage of a walk. It happens in the first few minutes when we go out into a natural area and we take some deep breaths, drawing the world of grasses and trees we are inextricably linked to into our lungs, pulling oxygen out of the air and into our bloodstream where it permeates our entire system. Then we release carbon dioxide and other waste gases back into the air, where they become available for the trees and plants around us in a symbiotic exchange that links us back to life on earth for millions of years. We embody "the unity of humankind and nature" (tianren he yi 天人合一). We can also become aware of the fact that we are "bathing" in the atmosphere (tian 天) like fish swim in water.The fresh air found in the forest has a great concentration of negatively charged ions; it also contains phytoncides released from trees, found to have beneficial effects on our immune systems. We might consider these microscopic beneficial airborne chemicals as a form of qi 氣 in the Daoist and traditional Chinese medical sense. We can also draw a parallel between the quality of the qi in the environment and modern systems like the Air Quality Index.As our breathing deepens and we take in the sights and sounds of the natural world around us, we begin to feel the stresses and strains, worries and anxieties of the work-a-day world loosen and dissolve. Our conditioning begins to drop away, if we allow it, and we begin to remember our original selves as we return to a naturally relaxed and alert state of awareness which we can equate with the Daoist idea of clarity and stillness (qingjing 清静).Nonaction and MysteryIn Forest Bathing, although we have a basic intention to undertake the practice, we should hold it lightly. We should let nonaction (wuwei 無為) inform our walk by not clinging too tightly to plans and ideas, or concepts of right and wrong. We can have a general idea of what we are doing but should not feel tied to a strict itinerary of tasks to be completed or accomplished. We let nature speak to us, surprise us, delight us! If we take any preconceived notions into the experience, we may spend the entire time in our heads instead of in the woods, entangled in the brambles of our own thoughts. We may miss the forest for the "trees" of ideas about whether we are doing it right or whether this a good use of our time. Pretty soon we are lost in thought and no longer present in the forest at all, even though it surrounds us.We want to embody that attitude of nonaction, of non-contrived action, on our walk by practicing carefree wandering (xiaoyao you 逍遥遊) as recommended by the Daoist sage Zhuangzi. This matches what later Daoists and Chan Buddhists call "cloud wandering" (yunyou 雲遊). It means drifting through the landscape in a light and relaxed manner. As Wang Chongyang 王重陽 (1113-1170), the founder of the Complete Perfection (Quanzhen 全真) school, recommends in his short treatise on basic practice, as we wander, we should not simply, "relish the spectacular scenery of mountains and rivers and enjoy the colorful blooms of flowers and trees," but also, "seek our inner nature and life destiny (xingming 性命) and search for mystery and wonder" (xuanmiao 玄妙) (Komjathy, 2013, 108)Another way to express this "wonder and mystery" is the experience of awe. In Japanese aesthetics this is called yugen 幽玄, an awareness of the universe that triggers an emotional response too deep and pro-found to put into words. Pronounced youxuan in Chinese, this term was used by Daoists and Buddhists to refer to profound mystery or truth beyond intellectual understanding.This kind of wandering was also beautifully described by our own American sages, Henry David Thoreau and John Muir. As Muir told the writer Albert W. Palmer,Do you know the origin of that word "saunter"? It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages, people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, "a la sainte terre," to the Holy Land. And so they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently, not "hike" through them. (1911)When we cloud wander or saunter through the forest, our walk takes on a different quality. We are in no hurry to reach our destination. Our journey becomes a sacred pilgrimage. Every step is a step deeper into what Daoists call a blessed land (fudi 福地). As Thoreau put it, "So we saunter toward the Holy Land, till one day the sun shall shine more brightly than ever he has done, shall perchance shine into our minds and hearts, and light up our whole lives with a great awakening light, as warm and serene and golden as on a bankside in autumn" (1914, 99).Thoreau also offers an alternate derivation for saunter which mirrors cloud wandering. "Some, however, would derive the word from sans terre, without land or home, which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of successful sauntering" (1914, 4). Every step, then, is a step closer to our true selves as we listen to nature's wordless teachings (buyan zhi jiao 不言之教) and the profound mystery (youxuan) beyond what we can adequately put into words.This "teaching without words" is what the natural world offers us when are able to listen. It happens when we make space in our lives for nature's wisdom to permeate our consciousness. Many people will be familiar with this idea of a "teaching without words" from the Zen tradition, called Chan in China. It is the form of Buddhism most heavily influenced by Daoism, especially as it expressed by the Daode jing and the Zhuangzi. The Daode jing stresses naturalness and spontaneity and flowing with the natural course of things. The Zhuangzi uses many colorful stories and examples from nature to make its points which are often paradoxical and iconoclastic in nature, much like the Zen literature of later centuries.This wisdom from the natural world or Dao sometimes resonates within us as a felt sense or an inner knowing which we may have trouble articulating. We "listen" (ting 聽) for the wordless teachings like a taijiquan practitioner "listens" with their whole body-mind. In Forest Therapy, this is called heart sense. We might see something in the woods which resonates with a particular problem or question we carry in our heart-minds. We may find that suddenly that question has been answered by the way a tree sways in the breeze or the way a stream meanders with the lay of the land and flows around boulders and feel a resonance in our bodies.The way water flows is an example of nonaction. Water has no intention. It just flows the way it flows, following gravity. Its own nature is to flow downwards, but its nature also changes with the conditions it finds itself in. If it is hot, water evaporates. When the conditions are right this water vapor forms into clouds which flow across the sky. Or it may form into dew, or frost, or fall from the clouds as rain, snow, or sleet. Daoists took this mercurial nature of water as an example because of its adaptability. If we can follow water's example and adapt to the changing conditions of life without struggling, without striving, we stand a much better chance of finding harmony and tranquility in our lives. We stand a greater chance of finding serenity in our relationships as well as in our own heart-minds. InvitationsThe basic building blocks of a Forest Bathing walk are invitations, prompts or pointers intended to give the participant or practitioner an entryway into a deeper experience of connection or relationship with nature through engendering a state of curiosity and open receptivity. All invitations are given in the spirit and expectation that the participant may or may not choose to follow them. Even if a practitioner follows them initially, the forest or nature itself may invite him or her into a completely different experience for the allotted time.One of the axioms of Forest Therapy says, "The Forest is the therapist. The guide opens the doors" (Clifford). We may think of these "doors" in terms of the senses, or the doors of perception as famously formulated by William Blake: "If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, Infinite" (Blake, 1790; 1988). In Daoist terms, the doors may be entry points to mystery and wonder, expressed in the first chapter of the Daode jing, "The mystery within the mystery, the gateway (or doorway) to all wonders." In Forest Bathing, the doors are more like thresholds. While individual invitations may serve as doors, the walk as a whole is a liminal journey of crossing over thresholds, both literally and figuratively.Each invitation experience is followed by a sharing circle. Practically speaking, this allows the guide to reassemble the group, making sure they have not lost anyone. It also allows the participants to share any insights or experiences they wish to express in a safe, non-judgmental environment. The shared experience of participation in the invitations as well the opportunity to be heard in the circle contribute to a sense of community among the participants.Typically, a guide will pass a "talking piece" of some kind around the circle to designate a speaker. If participants do not feel like sharing, they simply pass it on. During my guide training, this reminded me of the Daoist inspired tradition of "pure conversation" (qingtan 淸談), when ancient Chinese literati, such as the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, used a ruyi 如意 scepter as a "lecture baton" (tanbing 談柄). Ruyi literally means "as you wish" and symbolizes that the bearer "has the floor," so to speak. While also symbolizing royal authority they were commonly used by Daoists, Buddhists, and court officials. They can also be seen in Daoist iconography. They were made of precious or semiprecious materials such as jade, crystal, or gold, but most often produced from wood and carved into motifs that evoke nature, such as mushrooms, flowers, trees, or animals.The Threshold of ConnectionA Forest Therapy session in the tradition of the ANFT typically divides into three stages, demarcated by crossing thresholds—physically, symbolically, or both.First is the Threshold of Connection. Traditionally the beginning of a liminal journey, as outlined by anthropologist Arnold van Gennep (1960), is called the main threshold or "rite of separation." It happens when we consciously step out of our everyday lives and the world we are accustomed to. We set aside our to-do lists, plans, anxiety about the future, and regrets of the past, and step into the present moment. When practicing Forest Bathing, we view our usual everyday mindset in human civilization as one of separation from the more-than-human-world and so we view this threshold as one of connection rather than separation. It is returning rather than leaving and as such similar to the idea of Daoism as a path of return. As the Daode jing says, "Return is the movement of Dao."In a sense, we make this transition as soon as we decide to venture forth into nature and rekindle our connection with it, both with nature as a whole and our relationships with the many individual beings we encounter there. But most of us have a hard time turning off the monkey mind and letting go of day-to-day worries.The Threshold of Connection facilitates this process. It begins with a few invitations aimed at rooting us in our body and in the earth. In the world today, we typically find ourselves living from our heads. We may be so disconnected from the rest of our being that we feel like a disembodied head much of the time, as if our body is just a vehicle that moves our head around from place to place, like a fleshy Uber. When we slow down and pay attention to our breathing and become aware of our bodies again, our experience of life shifts. If we have become numb to life, this shift can be quite dramatic, and the renewed sense of embodiment can be quite intense. If we have not been completely cut off from a lived sense of embodiment, the shift is not quite as dramatic, but we still enjoy a deeper sense of being and connection to the world around us. Instead of nature seeming like simply an inanimate background or stage upon which we move, we begin to sense life all around us. We may feel the breeze on our skin, then notice that the same breeze rustles the leaves of a nearby tree. Next, we may notice a bird chirping in that tree. As we pay keen attention to our senses, our awareness grows to encompass everything around us and we begin to return to a sense of place, a sense of being embedded in the world.A liminal space is an in-between space. In Forest Therapy, we usually think of this as between our usual state of mind, that is, the stories that inform our awareness or worldview, and the wild world of nature. On the one side are the stories that go far back in human civilization, of which we may be completely unaware, yet they structure many of our views. On the other side is the wildness of nature. We do not aim to go completely feral on a walk of Forest Bathing, yet we are opening ourselves to hearing new stories, to another way of viewing things than the stories we live by in our daily lives.Entering the forest in this manner is like undertaking a liminal journey: you get to have one foot in each of these worlds. If you are being guided on a walk, there can be a little more freedom to let yourself go. You can immerse yourself in that "otherworld" and allow your guide to keep tabs on you. If walking by yourself, this is also possible assuming that you know the area well enough not to get lost or, if lost, can reorient yourself and find your way back.The Threshold of LiminalityThe middle part of the journey is the Threshold of Liminality. This is where we explore our connection to the more-than-human-world and cultivate relationships with the many non-human beings with whom we share the earth. While we may find ourselves enjoying an experience of oneness with nature as a whole, it is also important to cultivate relationships with individual beings.If we only relate to nature as a whole, we can easily fall into the familiar habit of viewing it in an abstract and impersonal way, albeit a more mystical one. This is often our default mode in the day-to-day world of human society, so it is important that we are also open to meeting (and greeting) individual beings in nature. Thus, we build community: by becoming aware of the individuals within that community and entering into reciprocal relationships with them. If we only focus on the whole, we can remain trapped in the familiar experience of what has been called "plant blindness" where we are unable to distinguish different plants from each other.When we come into relationship with individual beings on a walk, we begin to recognize them and notice what makes them distinct from other species and even unique as individuals. This is not an analytic observation or a checking off boxes for a taxonomic classification, however. Rather, it is a form of direct perception. We may experience a type of nondual awareness through our experience of an individual being in nature. At times like these we may feel like we are in relationship or even identify with the whole of nature through an individual being. But it is also helpful to remind ourselves that the space we occupy on our walk, a particular forest, meadow, or the like, is home to the beings who live there. When we remember this, we can be good guests while visiting.There are times when we can be overwhelmed with a sense of awe when immersed in nature; this is often what happens when we first let our day-to-day thoughts and worries drop away. When our minds quiet down and the mental chatter subsides, we may feel as though we are seeing the world for the first time or at least in a much deeper, richer way than usual: all our senses are heightened. The world around us has not suddenly become a "blessed land" or magical realm—rather, we are open to it and aware of it in a way like never before. When we experience a sense of awe at the mystery of life, we are experiencing youxuan, a profound sense of awe at the mystery of life that is beyond words.Another name for Daoism is "gateway to the mystery" or "mystery school" (xuanmen 玄門), implying a sense of threshold or liminality. When we enter the forest in such a way that we open ourselves to the mystery of life and enter into a liminal state, we are entering the gateway to the mystery. We can find this anywhere in nature: it need not be deep in the forest. It could be in our own backyard. As John Muir famously said, "Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life" (Berg, 1978).Daoism also has a form of meditation that matches the idea of stepping out of our usual frame of mind and our stories about our lives and the world: sitting and forgetting (zuowang 坐忘). It means to sit still and let go of all our usual ideas about life. As we release our usual thought patterns and all the various unexamined ideas that shape our way of being, we may experience new insights. We may have epiphanies, or eureka moments. We may even forget our sense of self as a separate isolated individual, at least while meditating.The classical passage appears in the Zhuangzi, where Yan Hui reports to his teacher Confucius.Yan Hui said, "I'm getting there!""How so?" Confucius asked."I can sit and forget!"Confucius was startled: "What do you mean, 'sit and forget'?""I let my limbs and physical structure fall away, do away with perception and intellect, separate myself from body-form and let go of all knowledge, thus joining Great Pervasion. This is what I mean by 'sit and forget'."(ch. 6; Watson 1968, 90; Graham 1981, 92)While Daoists may release all awareness of their surroundings in this practice, during Forest Bathing, we do not go quite this far. Still, the process begins in a similar manner. As we immerse ourselves in the forest, we forget the stories we tell ourselves, the concepts, ideas, and knowledge we hold. We open to new stories and the "teachings without words" that bubble up in our consciousness through our relationship to the more-than-human-world. We may also forget ourselves and join the Great Pervasion (datong 大通) of nature or of Dao. We may find the forest acting as a mirror for our minds which only shows us what is genuine, authentic, or true (zhen 真), our perception stripped of fantasy and delusion. Just as meditation or pure awareness is often likened to a clean or clear mirror, Forest Therapy can serve in a similar manner. We might also think of this "mirroring" as a sympathetic resonance (ganying 感應) between the macrocosm of nature and the microcosm of our own body-mind. Those familiar with Zen practice may find that the ideas of dropping off body and mind, forgetting the self, and wordless teachings sound very familiar. The Japanese Zen master Dogen said, "To study the self is to forget the self. To forget the self is to be verified by all things. To be verified by all things is to let the body and mind of the self and the body and mind of others drop off" (Okumura 2010). When we forget the stories of our disconnected selves and join with the Great Pervasion of nature during Forest Bathing, we can receive the wordless teachings of connection and be verified by the community of the more-than-human-world.The Threshold of IncorporationThe final phase of a walk of Forest Bathing typically consists of an invitation of "sit spot" followed by "forest tea." Many people will be familiar with the idea of a sit spot. This is a place we go to sit and observe nature. Outside the context of a Forest Therapy walk, this could be a spot we return to frequently in a local nature center or park, or even our own backyard. As I write this I am sitting on my front porch, listening to the hum of crickets and cicadas, punctuated by the squawking of blue jays and crows. Every so often a chipmunk runs past, returning some gathered food to its burrow under the porch.Often, we think of meditation as a turning inward, and it usually is. But we can also meditate by turning outward. In the context of a walk, we simply find a spot that attracts or calls to us and spend the allotted time there observing nature and see what happens. When we relax in a sit spot, we can easily forget our usual sense of self and become absorbed in the natural world around us. We may be drawn to the sound of the breeze through the leaves of a tree or the call of a bird. We may watch a squirrel as it sits on a fallen log, nibbling a maple seed. When we become absorbed in the world around us, especially in a natural setting, it is easy to forget the self and be verified by all things. When our world becomes small and ego-driven, we often pay attention to the thoughts in our heads as if they were real and feel as though things around us do not actually exist or are not important. Similarly, when we lose ourselves in an activity or in the world, we see life as real, yet it does not often require conscious thought on our part. On the other hand, when we relax in a sit spot and just observe the natural world, we engage in a timeless activity that our ancestors undertook for as long as our species has existed. In Daoism this is called observation (guan 觀). The character consists of two parts. The left shows a stork or heron, while the right is the word for "to see," "to observe," "to perceive." When we are as still and observant as a heron in the shallows, watching for a fish, we certainly experience a deeper perception of the natural world. We can begin to perceive the patterns (li 理) of Dao manifest in the natural world and the cycles of nature.Sit spot also marks the winding down of a walk, which then ends with a forest tea. This serves as a final opportunity for participants to share their experiences before heading home. It is the end of the walk and the beginning of the Threshold of Incorporation. This "incorporation" may be literal if the guide has foraged ingredients for the tea from the surrounding area. Guides often look for ingredients such as spruce tips, pine needles, or other herbs or flowers to be used in the tea. In this way we "incorporate" the forest and our experience by literally bringing it into our bodies. Even when this is not possible, the final tea serves as a time to transition back into ordinary consciousness before we drive home and return to our everyday lives. The walk may have ended, but the process of incorporation may continue long after we've left the forest as any insights gained during the walk continue to integrate themselves into our lives.Two Chinese characters seem appropriate to sum up this process, both pronounced xiang, 相 and 想. The first means mutual: it consists of the words for "tree" 木 on the left and "eye" 目 on the right. The second means "to imagine," "to have a mental vision of something." It has the same elements as the first plus the word for "heart-mind." The mutual seeing we experience in the forest as we both see and are seen by the beings who live there can resonate in our heart-minds, spurring new thoughts and visions about our lives and a deeper sense of community with the more-than-human-world. As Frank Inzan Owen says, "We can go into the trees (木) to look (目) with our heart-minds (心)" (2023)Although a single walk of Forest Bathing can be profound, to continue cultivating our relationship with the more-than-human-world, it is important to return often so that, like Woodcarver Qing in the Zhuangzi (ch. 19), we can "return and immerse ourselves in the mountains and forests and continue to observe their heavenly nature."ReferencesBerg, Peter, ed. 1978. Reinhabiting a Separate Country: A Bioregional Anthology of Northern. San Francisco, California: Planet Drum Foundation.Google ScholarBlake, William. 1988. The Complete Poetry and Prose of William Blake, edited by David V. Erdman. New York: Anchor Books.Google ScholarClifford, M. Amos. 2018. Your Guide to Forest Bathing: Experience the Healing Power of Nature. Newburyport, Mass.: Red Wheel Books.Google ScholarGennep, Arnold van. 1960 [1919]. The Rites of Passage. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.Google ScholarGraham, A. C. 1981. Chuang-tzu: The Seven Inner Chapters and Other Writings from the Book of Chuang-tzu. London: Allan & Unwin.Google ScholarKomjathy, Louis. 2013. The Way of Complete Perfection: A Quanzhen Daoist Anthology. Albany: State University of New York Press.Google ScholarOkumura, Shohaku. 2010 Realizing Genjokoan: The Key to Dogen's Shobogenzo. Boston: Wisdom PublicationsGoogle ScholarOwen, Frank Inzan. 2023. "Shinrin-Yoku and the Forest-Spirit Way." Wayfarer Magazine, October 25, 2023. Homebound Publications.Google ScholarPalmer, Albert W. 1911. The Mountain Trail and Its Message. Boston, New York, Chicago: Pilgrim PressGoogle ScholarRen, Xingzhi. 2006. "Daoist Monk Describes His Ecological Awakening." July 2006 Daoism and Conservation Workshop. Alliance of Religions and Conservation. http://www.arcworld.org/projectsf782.html?projectID=288Google ScholarThoreau, Henry David. 1914. Walking. Cambridge, Mass.: Riverside Press.Google ScholarWatson, Burton. 1968. The Complete Works of Chuang-tzu. New York: Columbia University Press.Google Scholar Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

Note: This essay was written before the pandemic. The cabin fever it talks about became even more pronounced for many of us during the two years of lock downs, and various levels of social distancing, especially if we live in urban environments. Here’s hoping we all have many more opportunities to experience and remember our deep connection with nature in the coming years. It was also written long before the current administration’s roll backs of environmental protections, attacks on our National Parks, and purported plans sell off our public lands. With all that, awareness of our connection to nature becomes ever more vital. We have no choice but to face the realities of climate change. For a livable planet for future generations, we simply must center this awareness at the heart of human culture. This essay was originally published on The Center for Humans and Nature website at https://humansandnature.org/the-eyes-of-an-owl/I didn’t know what the woods had in store for me when I set out that day. I only knew that I’d been cooped up too long and I was feeling a bit of cabin fever. Not the kind you get from being stuck inside during a blizzard in the Rockies, or the kind you get during a long, cold Minnesota winter, but the kind you get being a typical member of modern American society where we spend close to ninety percent of our time indoors.Thanks for reading The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.I also felt like I needed to burn off some steam. We’re fortunate in our neighborhood to have wooded trails around two ponds — where much of the run-off of our watershed collects — just a short distance from our house. My plan was to take a good long walk around those ponds.It was chilly for late fall. Highs weren’t much above freezing, there was a slight breeze, and my body had yet to acclimate to the change of season. I chuckled at myself; by early spring those same temperatures would feel downright balmy. I was determined to set a vigorous pace to get my blood pumping and warm up. But as I walked a short distance into the woods, I stopped to take in the stillness. There was a sudden, silent flash of wings from the forest floor ten feet away. All thoughts of a vigorous walk, let alone the stresses of daily life, the push and pull of work and family, were forgotten in an instant.A large northern barred owl, Strix varia, had startled at my approach and flown up to perch on the horizontal trunk of a storm-toppled tree. I stood transfixed at the sight as she turned her gaze my way, flooding me with a familiar sense of joy and connection. Looking into her eyes, I was looking into the eyes of nature herself. In that mutual gaze, the owl and I, and the rest of nature were not separate. I say familiar, because I experience a similar feeling any time I encounter nonhuman beings in nature.We don’t think of these kinds of experiences, these moments of deep connection with nature as something that typically happens in an urban environment, but they can, and do, if we allow them to. This requires us to pay attention to something other than our smartphones for a moment and get out of our boxes, whether our homes, offices, or cars. Urban planning that allows for the interpenetration of nature with our cities can certainly help in this endeavor, but whether we reconnect with nature individually or as a society, the same thing is required — a change in consciousness.Fortunately, this isn’t as daunting as it might sound. This isn’t a new state of consciousness, something we’ve never experienced and might have a hard time recognizing, but simply a remembrance of what it means to be human. What it means to be alive on planet earth. Daoism, the ancient spiritual tradition of China, frames the spiritual quest not as a linear progression, or an evolutionary branching as we are used to thinking of it, but as “a path of return.” A return to our own individual true nature and a return to the true nature of existence, the ground of being. As Laozi says about this ground of being in the Dao De Jing, “There is something before Heaven and Earth, undifferentiated and whole… It may be considered the mother of all things. I do not know its name, but I call it Dao.”There are many techniques or activities that can help us on this path of return to nature. One of the simplest is “free and easy wandering” inspired by another ancient Daoist text, the Book of Zhuangzi, which has a chapter named after this idea. A later Daoist, Wang Chongyang, had this to say about it, “There are two ways of wandering. The first is to relish the spectacular scenery of mountains and rivers and enjoy the colorful bloom of flowers and trees. The second way of wandering is to pursue inner nature and destiny and search for mystery and wonder.” Or in other words, a nature walk. I didn’t set out to have an encounter with another being that day. But it was a welcome wake up call. A reminder to rouse myself from the sleepwalking state that we can often find ourselves in. Asleep to the natural world around us, wrapped up in the drama of our daily lives.Owls have often played a role in our myths and stories. Some cultures see them as symbols of wisdom or good fortune, others as harbingers of doom. I’ve always tended to view them as the former rather than the latter. Although, the next time I returned to those woods, hoping I might spot the owl again, the only trace I found was an imprint of her wings in the snow where she found prey. Good news for the owl, doom for the rabbit who had become dinner.Reflecting on my experience with the northern barred owl near my home, I recalled another owl I’d heard about a few years back, a blind western screech owl named Zeus. Zeus greets the children and adults that visit the Wildlife Learning Center in Sylmar, California. His unseeing eyes hold a surprise for those who meet him — his dark eyes look like the star-filled night sky. Like a blind oracle, he reminded me that when we look within, we can see a whole universe inside us, and when we experience the natural world around us, we may gain insight into our selves. Zeus’s distant cousin, the barred owl I encountered on my walk in the woods, left me with a similar feeling. Her gaze affirmed that “free and easy wandering” is not only a cure for cabin fever; it is a pathway to the universe without and within. Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

Qiu Chuji, also known by his Daoist name Qiu Changchun is considered the founder of the Longmen (Dragon Gate) lineage of Daoism. He was the youngest of the group of disciples of Wang Chongyang known as the “Seven Perfected”. There are many interesting stories about Qiu, from his traveling for three years to visit Genghis Khan in the Hindu Kush, to his practice of carrying a stone up the mountain like a Daoist Sisyphus.His legacy also includes texts on neidan or internal alchemy style meditation, but one of his most important writings for our current times might be his text, Qiuzu Chan Hui Wen (Ancestor Qiu’s Repentance Text). This text forms a part of the Morning Liturgy of Longmen Daoism and serves as a moment of reflection and repentance of our shortcomings. It allows us to acknowledge that ignorance is difficult to overcome and that we all have fallen short of our own ideals many times in the past. We have all behaved in ways that we regret and we all hope to do better in the future.Thanks for reading The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.SubscribedRepentance in Daoism is a little different than what we might typically think of if we have been raised in a Judeo-Christian society. We aren’t confessing our sins to a priest or other intercessor but are acknowledging our own mistakes to ourselves. We are seeking to be completely honest with ourselves so that we can move forward from an accurate perception of our lives.This practice is often done daily, so with that we are acknowledging that we will surely mess up tomorrow and the next day (and probably every day after that). We might be aiming at some ideal of “perfection” but we don’t necessarily expect to get there any time soon. Whether we think of it as spiritual practice, self-cultivation, or simply refining our character, it is a journey, not a destination. It is a path we will continue to walk until we take our last breath and the only destination we can arrive at is here and now, in the eternity of the present moment.As we practice, we remind ourselves to be mindful of our thought patterns and behaviors that we so often take for granted, unraveling the tangled ball of yarn made up of our unconscious habits and conditioning, the narratives we’ve told ourselves and the stories we’ve internalized from others. We then dedicate ourselves to doing better in the future, by reciting a series of vows, aspirations, or what I like to call “auspicious wishes.” A few of these that are especially relevant to online communications are included at the end of this post.As we all know online communications are fraught with the dangers of misunderstandings, knee-jerk reactions, and the verbal violence of flame wars. The silent words on the screen of our computer or smartphone can resonate in our minds as though someone is actually there in person, insulting us or screaming in our face.Couple this with the fact that it can be hard to discern when someone is trying to have a real discussion with us or is simply trying to score rhetorical points, or even just trolling to get a rise out of us. Add in the fact that social media algorithms love a good click bait hot take designed to get us all riled up, and it can be a recipe for disaster. The most well-intentioned post can become like chum in the digital currents attracting the most intense emotions to a discussion like moths to a flame. In that light we need to approach online communications with a cool head and an open receptive heart. We must sweep out any delusive thoughts and nonsensical views we may be holding onto and approach each online interaction with the freshness of Spring. (Changchun means Eternal Spring)“Sweep, sweep, sweep!Sweep clear the heart till there is nothing left.He with a heart that is clean-swept is called a ‘good man.”[1]This Spring cleaning of the mind is something we can do in every moment. When we do this before engaging with others, it allows us to take a step back and make sure we are using our words carefully and communicating clearly, and that we are actually seeking to understand each other in a meaningful dialogue, not the dueling monologues which so much of our online communications devolve into. While a conversation might begin like discordant dueling banjos, we eventually want to harmonize so that we resonate with new understanding, transforming our duel into a duet.Returning to Qiu’s text, the following are some of the aspirational prayers which I find particularly relevant to good communication, especially online. Reciting these to ourselves, silently or aloud, or simply just reading them before we head into the fray of social media can ground us and remind us to keep a cool head and an open heart.May these verses help you on your path, whether virtual or IRL.In my online communications:May I not speak rashly or deceptively and behave with honor and sincerity.May I submerge the ego and forgive others, conceal my own anger, and tolerate that of others’.May I have a compassionate heart, and humbly treat all with respect.May I not lose balance and follow distorted views.[1] The Travels of an Alchemist (1931), by Li Chih-Ch’ang, tr. Arthur Waley Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” So ends Albert Camus’ famous essay, The Myth of Sisyphus. Camus sees the myth of Sisyphus as a parable about the absurdity of life and how even in the face of drudgery we must all decide that life is worth living and carry on. I agree with Camus on this point, yet we might ask, how can he be happy? Is there a mechanism or a practice through which this happiness can be attained? Surely it can’t be resignation? Resignation is not happiness, though perhaps acceptance may be a first step.The key for my own understanding of how we might imagine Sisyphus happy lies in another tradition, far removed from either Greek mythology or European Existentialism. It lies in a little-known spiritual practice attributed to Qiu Chuji (aka Qui Changchun), the founder of the Dragon Gate lineage of Daoism in China called “the Heart Polishing Stone”. (Note: I’ve heard this called both moxinshi 磨心石 “heart polishing stone” and moxingshi 磨性石 “stone for polishing one’s inner nature”, but the meaning is essentially the same.)Thanks for reading The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.SubscribedQiu Chuji was the youngest student of Wang Chongyang, founder of the Complete Reality or Quanzhen school of Daoism. Each of Wang’s seven main disciples founded their own lineages with Qiu’s becoming the most well-known. Today it is one of the two main schools of Daoism in China.The early Complete Reality Daoists (Qiu and his fellow disciples) lived a fairly austere lifestyle. They wandered like clouds through the mountains of China, practicing various forms of meditation and giving teachings to those they met along the way. Qiu became well known later after being summoned to see Genghis Khan in what is now Afghanistan. He travelled with a group of disciples and the journey there and back took three years. When Qiu arrived, the Khan asked him if he knew the secret of immortality. Qiu replied that there was no secret and went on to explain the Daoist view of life. Qiu engaged in a series of twelve in-depth conversations with the Khan and Ghengis was apparently so pleased with Qiu that he put him in charge of all Daoist temples in China.Qiu’s lineage, Dragon Gate or Longmen is named for the Longmen caves where he spent many years practicing meditation and cultivating the Dao. It may have been during this time that the practice of the Heart Polishing Stone was developed. To “polish the heart” is another way of saying to ‘refine one’s character”. Just as many a father has given their children menial chores as a way to “build character”, we might view the myth of Sisyphus through this lens. Perhaps Sisyphus’ perceived punishment was actually an opportunity? Perhaps Sisyphus was given this seemingly meaningless “chore” to do to refine his character?The practice of the Heart Polishing Stone involves a physical practice, but like much of Daoist practice, it involves both the mind and the body. They are seen as one unified whole. The main practice involves carrying a heavy stone up a mountain and throwing it down, only to walk back down and pick it up again. One can immediately see the similarity to Sisyphus’ punishment, yet this isn’t a punishment. This is a vehicle for self-transformation. As the stone rolls down the hill it gradually becomes rounder and smoother. As we continue the practice, the rough edges of our own character become smoothed out as well. This is a meditative practice which also provides ample opportunity to building a strong foundation in the body. This type of mind-body practice is called the “dual cultivation of life and inner nature” in Daoism.In Chinese the heart is called xin. Xin contains aspects of both thought and emotion and so is often translated into English as heart-mind. Meditation in both Buddhism and Daoism is sometimes likened to “polishing the mirror of the heart-mind” so that it reflects reality clearly and accurately. This is another way of ‘polishing the heart”. In the Daode Jing, the most foundational text of Daoism, we find allusions to this polishing. In Chapter 4 we are told to “blunt our sharp edges, untangle our knots, dim our brightness, and unite with the dust.” We can easily read this as advice on polishing our heart-mind or refining our character.Daoism views human nature as inherently good. There isn’t an idea of original sin. We are born into this world with an inner nature which is naturally pure and good just as it is. The world shares this nature too. It is good and pure and whole, just as it is. As we grow and develop, this inner nature may be obscured by what we are taught or experience. If we have a rough life, full of conflict, we may begin to think that’s how life is for everyone. We may begin to project our inner turmoil onto the world around us and view it as a living hell. If you’re not familiar with this view of the world, simply spend a day on social media.The project of self-cultivation in Daoism is one of return, a return to our true nature. This is spoken of throughout the Daode Jing as well as later scriptures and meditation texts. So, we might think of that heart stone as one that is originally smooth, like a river rock or highly polished gem. As life throws things our way, our heart stone may become chipped and fractured. We may develop a rough exterior and sharp edges or even a sharp tongue. We may need to spend some time in the rock tumbler of self-reflection and meditation in order to return to that smooth inner nature we were born with.So how do we imagine Sisyphus happy? Perhaps the part of the myth that has been forgotten is the part where Sisyphus figuratively hits bottom. The part where he falls into despair until he is shown the key to this practice. Just as Mr. Miyagi gave Daniel LaRusso the key to ‘wax on wax off’ and ‘paint the fence’ in The Karate Kid, perhaps one day Mercury flies down to explain the key to Sisyphus. Or perhaps through repetition and practice of “the heart polishing stone” he comes to realization on his own. When our perception of the world changes it seems as though the world itself has changed. Perhaps when Sisyphus sees things in a new light, his whole world transforms as well, and his personal hell is revealed to be a paradise, radiant, and bursting with life, just as it is. Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

Epidsode 2“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” So ends Albert Camus’ famous essay, The Myth of Sisyphus. Camus sees the myth of Sisyphus as a parable about the absurdity of life and how even in the face of drudgery we must all decide that life is worth living and carry on. I agree with Camus on this point, yet we might ask, how can he be happy? Is there a mechanism or a practice through which this happiness can be attained? Surely it can’t be resignation? Resignation is not happiness, though perhaps acceptance may be a first step.The key for my own understanding of how we might imagine Sisyphus happy lies in another tradition, far removed from either Greek mythology or European Existentialism. It lies in a little-known spiritual practice attributed to Qiu Chuji (aka Qui Changchun), the founder of the Dragon Gate lineage of Daoism in China called “the Heart Polishing Stone”. (Note: I’ve heard this called both moxinshi 磨心石 “heart polishing stone” and moxingshi 磨性石 “stone for polishing one’s inner nature”, but the meaning is essentially the same.)Qiu Chuji was the youngest student of Wang Chongyang, founder of the Complete Reality or Quanzhen school of Daoism. Each of Wang’s seven main disciples founded their own lineages with Qiu’s becoming the most well-known. Today it is one of the two main schools of Daoism in China.The early Complete Reality Daoists (Qiu and his fellow disciples) lived a fairly austere lifestyle. They wandered like clouds through the mountains of China, practicing various forms of meditation and giving teachings to those they met along the way. Qiu became well known later after being summoned to see Genghis Khan in what is now Afghanistan. He travelled with a group of disciples and the journey there and back took three years. When Qiu arrived, the Khan asked him if he knew the secret of immortality. Qiu replied that there was no secret and went on to explain the Daoist view of life. Qiu engaged in a series of twelve in-depth conversations with the Khan and Ghengis was apparently so pleased with Qiu that he put him in charge of all Daoist temples in China.Qiu’s lineage, Dragon Gate or Longmen is named for the Longmen caves where he spent many years practicing meditation and cultivating the Dao. It may have been during this time that the practice of the Heart Polishing Stone was developed. To “polish the heart” is another way of saying to ‘refine one’s character”. Just as many a father has given their children menial chores as a way to “build character”, we might view the myth of Sisyphus through this lens. Perhaps Sisyphus’ perceived punishment was actually an opportunity? Perhaps Sisyphus was given this seemingly meaningless “chore” to do to refine his character?The practice of the Heart Polishing Stone involves a physical practice, but like much of Daoist practice, it involves both the mind and the body. They are seen as one unified whole. The main practice involves carrying a heavy stone up a mountain and throwing it down, only to walk back down and pick it up again. One can immediately see the similarity to Sisyphus’ punishment, yet this isn’t a punishment. This is a vehicle for self-transformation. As the stone rolls down the hill it gradually becomes rounder and smoother. As we continue the practice, the rough edges of our own character become smoothed out as well. This is a meditative practice which also provides ample opportunity to building a strong foundation in the body. This type of mind-body practice is called the “dual cultivation of life and inner nature” in Daoism.In Chinese the heart is called xin. Xin contains aspects of both thought and emotion and so is often translated into English as heart-mind. Meditation in both Buddhism and Daoism is sometimes likened to “polishing the mirror of the heart-mind” so that it reflects reality clearly and accurately. This is another way of ‘polishing the heart”. In the Daode Jing, the most foundational text of Daoism, we find allusions to this polishing. In Chapter 4 we are told to “blunt our sharp edges, untangle our knots, dim our brightness, and unite with the dust.” We can easily read this as advice on polishing our heart-mind or refining our character.Daoism views human nature as inherently good. There isn’t an idea of original sin. We are born into this world with an inner nature which is naturally pure and good just as it is. The world shares this nature too. It is good and pure and whole, just as it is. As we grow and develop, this inner nature may be obscured by what we are taught or experience. If we have a rough life, full of conflict, we may begin to think that’s how life is for everyone. We may begin to project our inner turmoil onto the world around us and view it as a living hell. If you’re not familiar with this view of the world, simply spend a day on social media.The project of self-cultivation in Daoism is one of return, a return to our true nature. This is spoken of throughout the Daode Jing as well as later scriptures and meditation texts. So, we might think of that heart stone as one that is originally smooth, like a river rock or highly polished gem. As life throws things our way, our heart stone may become chipped and fractured. We may develop a rough exterior and sharp edges or even a sharp tongue. We may need to spend some time in the rock tumbler of self-reflection and meditation in order to return to that smooth inner nature we were born with.So how do we imagine Sisyphus happy? Perhaps the part of the myth that has been forgotten is the part where Sisyphus figuratively hits bottom. The part where he falls into despair until he is shown the key to this practice. Just as Mr. Miyagi gave Daniel LaRusso the key to ‘wax on wax off’ and ‘paint the fence’ in The Karate Kid, perhaps one day Mercury flies down to explain the key to Sisyphus. Or perhaps through repetition and practice of “the heart polishing stone” he comes to realization on his own. When our perception of the world changes it seems as though the world itself has changed. Perhaps when Sisyphus sees things in a new light, his whole world transforms as well, and his personal hell is revealed to be a paradise, radiant, and bursting with life, just as it is.Thanks for listening to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe

This is the audio version of a post on substack. The full piece is in the show notes below.Hey folks,I’m going to try to get this publication up and running. I’ll mainly be writing about the place where I find myself, at the intersection of Daoism and Forest Therapy. I’ll talk about each separately as well as where they overlap and influence each other. That said, the state of the world being what it is currently, I’m sure I’ll be writing about it as well. To avoid the orange fascist elephant in the room and simply “stay in my lane” isn’t really in my DNA.To begin I’ll be posting some writing I’ve done elsewhere, but I’ll be aiming at writing some new content here soon, as well as keeping you informed about what I’ve got going on like upcoming Forest Therapy walks, podcast appearances, or news like the recent publication of a Slovak language translation of my book, The Hundred Remedies of the Tao. Thanks for checking out the The Dao of Nature and the Nature of Dao.Take Care,GregoryThe Dao of Nature: Daoist Principles for a Sustainable FutureDaoism is an ancient philosophical and religious tradition which developed in China over 2000 years ago. While mainly known in the West through its most foundational text, the Daode Jing, Daoism is a living tradition which has always valued a harmonious relationship with the natural world. The core of its teachings has remained through its many historical developments and Daoists have always sought to maintain this relationship. This continues into the present day. As we seek to adapt to the realities of climate change and mitigate, if not reverse the worst effects of human driven global warming and habitat destruction, Daoist principles and ethical values have much wisdom to offer towards building a sustainable future.Daoists in China have been among the leaders in serving as role models for sustainable solutions in modern times, formulating a statement on ecology as well and developing a network of “Daoist Ecological Temples” some of which double in function as ecological education centers. The Daoist Faith Statement on Ecology lists four guiding principles beneficial to the relationship between humanity and nature.* Follow the Earth: Human beings should help everything grow according to its own way. We should cultivate the way of non-action and let nature be itself.* Harmonize with Nature: Someone who understands this point does not exploit nature but will treat it well and learn from it. It is obvious that in the long run, the excessive use of nature will bring about disaster, even the extinction of humanity.* Avoid Too Much Success: If the pursuit of development runs counter to the harmony and balance of nature, even if it is of great immediate interest and profit, people should restrain themselves from it. Insatiable human desire will lead to the over-exploitation of natural resources.* Find Affluence in Biodiversity: Daoism has a unique sense of value in that it judges affluence by the number of different species. If all things in the universe grow well, then a society is a community of affluence. If not, this country is on the decline. This view encourages both government and people to take good care of nature. This thought is a special contribution by Daoism to the conservation of nature.While a modern formulation, these four principles harken back to the roots of Daoism and the first Daoist values explicitly expressed as such, often referred to as “Laozi’s Three Treasures” from Chapter 67 of the Daode Jing. “I have three treasures which I cherish and hold dear; compassion, simplicity, and humility.”Compassion for other beings — humans as well as other life forms—and humility would go a long way toward solving our environmental challenges. If we don’t feel a sense of love and compassion for life, we won’t be motivated to care for it. As the Senegalese environmentalist Baba Dioum said, “In the end we will conserve only what we love; we will love only what we understand; and we will understand only what we are taught.”Simplicity in the above quote can also be translated as frugality or economy. Nature is frugal in the sense that it does not waste anything. Everything is recycled. Because it is frugal it can also be generous. Think of the way a maple or cottonwood tree throws out thousands of seeds. This “generosity” ensures the next generation of trees, but it also provides food for animals, insects, and so on, as the nutrients go back into the rest of the system. When we lead simpler, more frugal lives, we free up more resources for others.Being humble as a species we can regain a place in the greater system of nature which does not throw off the equilibrium of the biosphere. An example of this humility could be looking to nature for inspiration when trying to find solutions to our environmental or technological challenges as with biomimicry (and the second principle above). Modern people in the Industrial Age took an immensely arrogant stance in the world. We thought we could do a better job designing things than nature, often with unintended consequences which proved detrimental to the health of the biosphere. In fact, the phrase translated above as “humility” is more literally “not daring to be first in the world” or “not putting oneself above the world”. The well-known meme of ego vs eco might come to mind here.We can also think about humility in terms of possessions. We tend to become very attached to things that we “own.” We tend to think if we own something we can do whatever we want with it, even extending this to the earth itself through owning a parcel of land. A more realistic and sustainable attitude might be that we are simply caretakers while we own something. If we are fortunate enough to own a piece of land, we bear some responsibility for the health and welfare of that land and the many beings that dwell there.Daoism has traditionally included rules and guidelines among its ethical teachings which show a concern for the more-than-human world. For example, The 180 Precepts of Lord Lao from the fifth or sixth century contains many precepts that promote an attitude of conservation and preservation of the natural world.* Do not burn fields, wild lands, mountains, or forests.* Do not carelessly cut down trees.* Do not carelessly pick herbs or flowers.* Do not throw poison into wells, ponds, rivers, or the ocean.* Do not wantonly dig holes in the earth and thereby destroy mountains and rivers.* Do not drain waterways and marshes.* Do not fish or hunt and thereby harm and kill living beings.* Do not dig up insects hibernating in the earth in winter.* Do not carelessly climb trees to plunder nests and disturb birds’ eggs.* Do not catch birds or animals in cages or nets.* Do not startle birds or animals.Sometimes it’s thought that these precepts only reflect a concern for the environment insomuch as harm to the environment could harm the community itself. We might compare this to the founder of Deep Ecology, Arne Naess’ idea of “shallow ecology” which is primarily geared towards the health and affluence of people in the developed world. However, Daoism views humans as embedded in the world, not as separate from it as environmental thought in the West historically has. These precepts go beyond a sense of separation, reflecting a concern for animals and for the earth itself for their own sake, not because of what they provide us. While Daoism does see humans as holding a unique place in nature because of our powerful ability to impact the world for better or worse, perhaps it is more a difference in magnitude rather than a difference in kind. This view would be closer to the ecological egalitarianism of Deep Ecology as Naess saw it, in which all life on earth had a right to exist and thrive. In Daoist thinking we refer to this as an attitude of “nurturing life” (yangsheng 养生).Ecologist Stephan Harding also pointed out this similarity in an interview with Tom Levitt. “Deep Ecology is a kind of western Daoism. It focuses on the notion of simple in means, but rich in ends. You live a very materially simple life, but you have really rich experiences living very simply. This requires a deep connection with nature.”1 The ancient Daoists developed a deep connection with nature and a keen knowledge of the natural world through close observation (guan 觀) in which they sought to understand the underlying patterns and laws of nature (li 理). This has influenced Daoist practice ever since, as guan still refers to a type of meditation where the powers of observation are also turned within. It also became a name for monasteries or places of meditation. Daoists have often lived their lives in proximity to and even among Indigenous communities in China who lived in much closer relationship with the earth, just as Indigenous peoples the world over have done since time immemorial. Allusions to the natural world abound in Daoist teachings. We find references to valleys, mountains, plants, trees, caves, numerous animals, and the like.Perhaps the most well-known allusion to nature in Daoism is water and the many ways it is used in the tradition. In the Daode Jing, chapter 8 says, “The highest good is like water. It excels in benefiting all beings without contending with them. It dwells in low places that people disdain, hence it is near to the Dao.” Water is used as an example to be emulated for its flexibility, adaptability, and humility, yet we also see in this quote that its highest good is in its ability to benefit all beings. If we are to take water as an example to follow then we should also seek to benefit all beings, in other words, seek the highest good for ecosystems and the biosphere as a whole. Non-contention (buzheng 不爭) is another traditional Daoist value also mentioned in this passage. If we follow this principle, we will refrain from fighting wars over resources and scraps of land, instead seeking to find solutions which aim for the best outcome for all parties involved.​The modern practice of Shinrinyoku or forest bathing, while not directly inspired by Daoist practice, shares many similarities. So much so that one of the Daoist priests responsible for developing the “Daoist Ecological Temples” in China, Ren Xing Zhi, Abott of the ancient Daoist Temple of Louguantai, created the Heavenly Harmony Garden Forest Bathing Area (天谐园森林浴场) at Tiejieshu Temple on Mt. Taibai near Xian in 2005. Forest bathing in Japan was originally envisioned as a way to tackle the physical and psychological health problems plaguing Japanese office workers in the 1980s. Again, we might compare this early motivation to Naess’ “shallow ecology”.The practice has grown to concern itself with finding a deeper sense of connection with nature and a deeper relationship with the more-than-human world and the many other beings which call our planet home. It has evolved to have an outlook more in line with the Daoist and Deep Ecology view of nurturing life for its own sake. There are many parallels and similarities between Daoism and Forest bathing practice such as carefree wandering (xiaoyao you 逍遥游), observation (guan 觀) in a sit spot, listening to the wordless teachings of nature (buyan zhi jiao 不言之教), and perhaps above all, returning to a natural state of simplicity (fanpu 返樸). I’ve discussed these and other similarities in greater depth elsewhere.2While Daoism is typically seen as a path to inner peace for individuals, it has much to offer the modern world in terms of outer peace as well — peace and harmony between individuals, nations, and above all with the more-than-human world.Some of this material was adapted from my books Tao of Sustainability (Three Pines Press, 2016) and The Hundred Remedies of the Tao (Inner Traditions, 2023)This article originally appeared in Pathways MagazineNotes1. https://chinadialogue.net/en/nature/7343-the-deep-ecology-movement-a-western-daoism/#:~:text=Deep%20ecology%20is%20a%20kind,a%20deep%20connection%20with%20natur.2. Ripley, Gregory. “Daoist Forest Bathing: Finding Community with the More-than-Human World.” Journal of Daoist Studies 17 (2024): 186–198 Get full access to The Dao of Nature & The Nature of Dao at gregoryripley.substack.com/subscribe