Let Simplicity Be

At dawn, by the still riverbank, reeds bend in the light breeze. They do not resist. They do not hold. They simply follow the wind, as if it were their own breath. In the mirror of the water, their reflection dissolves, then returns, with each ripple.

In an old dream, told by an old man—was it Zhuangzi or just a passerby?—a butterfly flew through a pale light, no longer knowing whether it was a man dreaming of a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming of the man. That dream, like a ring of silence, encircles all things without drawing any border.

Simplicity cannot be pursued. It arrives like the hush after rain. It cannot be conquered. It sheds itself.

Some pile up rules, twisting their nature to fit what they believe is good, righteous, or proper. They carve the tree into furniture, the river into a canal, the heart into a schedule.

But the more one adds, the more one loses. A bird does not learn to fly from manuals. It follows the openness of the sky.

In ancient texts, it is said: “The duck has short legs, the crane has long legs. To stretch or shorten them would bring grief.” So it is with human beings: to force them into shapes that are not their own is to injure simplicity.

The world spins around what shines. The sage sits beside what disappears.

Waves keep nothing of what they touch, yet they carve cliffs. The wind has no name, yet it moves through the forest. Clear water does not exhibit its purity—it simply flows.

When the bowl is too full, it spills. When words are too clever, they mislead. The true heart is like an empty room: not without form, but open to all forms.

There are days when one sheds things without effort: an object set aside, a word held back, a thought left behind. These gestures have no teacher, no method. They are like a falling leaf or a lizard resting on a warm stone.

When winter nears, trees do not protest. They let their leaves go. They are no less trees for it. Perhaps they become closer to the sky.

A disciple once asked, “How do I find peace?”

The master replied, “See what remains when you stop seeking.”

Some try to empty themselves. Others try to simplify their lives. But often, it is emptiness that calls to them, and life itself that simplifies—like water left undisturbed clears itself without instruction.

The greatest secret is not hidden. It is simply too simple for those who love mazes.

The butterfly of the dream keeps flying.

Perhaps it never landed.

Perhaps it never needed to understand.

And perhaps this is wisdom:

To no longer wish to add anything to the sky.

With Gratitude