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[milatovar]

Encased in a small shell, I wait for the signal, that gentle warmth that tells me to unfurl. I am the promise of new leaves, the first green in the forest’s awakening. For now, I am small, hidden, biding my time. But I know that soon I will open, a tiny miracle on the branch’s edge, breathing life into the tree’s bare bones, each of us buds adding our tender greens to the spring chorus.—Voices of the forest

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Eternity brews within the cauldron, where transformation refines essence into something everlasting.

This artwork, titled “Near Eternity,” aligns with Hexagram 50: Ting – The Cauldron. The central luminous core, surrounded by intricate textures and radiating symmetry, evokes the imagery of a sacred vessel—a cauldron that both holds and transforms. Hexagram 50 represents a powerful symbol of refinement, where elements are combined and transmuted into something purer and more meaningful. The artwork’s interplay of light and shadow, along with its ethereal forms that suggest both containment and expansion, mirrors the transformative process inherent in the cauldron’s function. It speaks to the alchemy of life’s experiences, culminating in spiritual and creative enlightenment. "Near Eternity" captures the essence of this refinement, where time and space converge in the crucible of creation.

[milatovar]

I am the delicate arm that curls and stretches, reaching out from the branches to grasp whatever I can. I am the seeker, feeling my way through the air, clinging to anything that can support my ascent. Through me, the tree explores its surroundings, its world expanded by my touch. I am the scout, the curiosity that extends beyond the bark, drawn to light, always searching.—Voices of the forest

[milatovar]

The Bridge Between Worlds: Embracing the In-Between (A reflection on hexagram 28, part 2)

In the quiet moments of reflection, I often find myself questioning the unspoken rules of stability, the expectations society impresses upon us to reach a place of certainty—be it in career, relationships, or identity. By now, they say, you should have arrived—arrived at a solid foundation, a defined place in the world. And yet, here I am, straddling the space between worlds, neither rooted firmly in one reality nor fully stepping into the next.

It’s not that I lack direction or purpose, but rather that my spirit resists the confines of what stability is supposed to look like. Around me, I see people who seem to have it all figured out—anchored in steady jobs, thriving in routines that appear, from the outside, like certainty. I do not begrudge them their choices, but being surrounded by such groundedness can sometimes cast my own path in shadow. It’s hard not to feel different, as if my yearning for exploration, my refusal to settle, is somehow a failure rather than a feature of my being.

But nature has a way of reframing what feels uncomfortable, reminding me that this state of in-betweenness is not only natural but necessary. Consider the mighty tree, bending under the weight of its own branches. In Hexagram 28 of the I Ching, this image is a poignant metaphor for a life that has grown overextended. The Tao reminds us that when the load becomes too great, collapse is not a disaster but a catalyst for renewal. The branches that snap under their own weight create space for new growth, new light, new life.

In this context, the in-between becomes less a purgatory and more a crucible for transformation. When I feel the weight of expectations—society’s, others’, my own—I remind myself of the wisdom of the Tao: that life is not a static entity but a flowing river. Stability, while comforting, is often an illusion. Beneath the surface of even the most stable-seeming lives, there are currents of doubt, compromise, and unspoken desires. Stability, when clung to out of fear or conformity, can become a prison.

The Tao teaches that the middle spaces—the transitions, the unknowns—are where life truly happens. It is in these moments of seeming imbalance that we have the greatest opportunity to align with our authentic selves. The tree that loses its branches does not despair; it adapts, using the loss to redirect its energy. Similarly, the river, when faced with an obstacle, does not stop flowing; it carves a new path.

I feel the pressure to “have it together,” to match the pace of those around me. But my nature rebels against such conformity. I crave the freedom to explore, to question, to wander—not aimlessly, but with the deep intuition that this wandering is part of my becoming. When others look at me and see uncertainty, I am learning to see possibility. The space in between one chapter and the next is not empty; it is alive with potential.

Patience, of course, is the hardest virtue to cultivate in this liminal space. The mind craves answers, direction, and the illusion of control. But nature reminds me that growth is often invisible before it is evident. Seeds germinate in darkness, the moon waxes and wanes, and the tides ebb before they surge. Trusting this process—trusting that the in-between is not a void but a bridge—is an act of courage.

To live in this way, as Hexagram 28 suggests, requires balance and flexibility. The old self, the overextended identity, must be released to make way for something truer and stronger. This letting go is not easy, but it is essential. The tree cannot cling to its dying branches any more than the river can refuse to flow. And so, I try to emulate nature, allowing the inevitability of change to guide me rather than resisting it.

The in-between is a testing ground, yes, but it is also a place of profound beauty. It is where the caterpillar becomes the butterfly, where the storm gives way to a rainbow, where the fallen tree enriches the soil for new growth. To stand in this space is to embrace life in its raw, unpolished form—a life that is not yet stable, but undeniably alive.

So, I remind myself: I am not broken. I am not lost. I am simply becoming. This journey may not align with societal timelines or expectations, but it aligns with something far more important—my own rhythm, my own truth. And in that alignment, I find a stability that no external circumstance could ever provide.

As I navigate the bridge between worlds, I hold onto the quiet wisdom of the Tao, trusting that even in the midst of uncertainty, I am exactly where I need to be. 

[milatovar]

Navigating the In-Between: Poised on the Edge of Transformation (A reflection on hexagram 28)

There exists a space between what was and what will be—a liminal threshold where the old self begins to crumble, and the new has yet to emerge. This in-between is neither a destination nor a clearly marked path, but an enigmatic pause that asks for our patience and trust. It is a space that unsettles us, where clarity gives way to ambiguity, and where the instinct to act often clashes with the wisdom of waiting.

Hexagram 28 from the I Ching speaks to this delicate balance. It counsels us to acknowledge when the weight of the past has grown too heavy, urging us to release what is overextended. The structure of life, much like a tree burdened by its own branches, can become brittle and prone to breaking. But the collapse is not an ending; it is a reconfiguration—a gateway to transformation. Taoist philosophy reminds us that the universe flows with a rhythm we cannot force, and it is in surrendering to this rhythm that true strength arises.

To exist in this in-between space is to embody paradox. It is to stand amidst a quiet collapse while trusting in unseen renewal. This trust, however, does not come easily. The urge to repair, to cling to the old framework, is deeply ingrained. Yet, as in nature, growth often requires dissolution. The forest floor, rich with decay, becomes the cradle for new life. Rivers carve their way through stone not with haste but with persistence, teaching us that transformation unfolds on its own timeline.

The in-between can manifest in countless ways in modern life. A career that once felt like a calling might lose its meaning, leaving you adrift. The person you once were—a provider, a dreamer, a rebel—might feel foreign as life’s currents reshape your identity. Relationships, too, may find themselves suspended in this liminal space, caught between closeness and distance, between endings and beginnings.

What makes this state so difficult to navigate is the absence of certainty. The mind craves answers, a clear trajectory, and the illusion of control. But the wisdom of the Tao invites us to see this space not as a void but as a necessary pause. It is here that potential gathers, like clouds before the rain. To rush this process, to force clarity or resolution, is to interrupt the natural unfolding of what might be.

Patience, then, becomes the quiet act of courage. It is a surrender not to passivity, but to the rhythm of life itself. This patience is not idle waiting; it is an active stillness, an attunement to the subtle movements of transformation. Imagine the farmer who plants a seed. No amount of urging will hasten the sprout’s emergence. The farmer tends the soil, provides water and sunlight, and trusts that the seed will grow in its own time.

In our own lives, we too must nurture this in-between space. Rather than filling it with noise or action for its own sake, we can learn to sit with its uncertainty. Trust does not require us to know the outcome; it asks only that we believe in the process. And belief, as quiet as it may seem, has a power that shapes reality.

Examples abound, even in the smallest gestures. Consider the practice of building a new habit—strengthening the body or nurturing the mind. Progress does not come all at once; it emerges from steady, gentle commitment, often unseen until it suddenly blooms. Or think of relationships that drift into unfamiliar waters. Instead of grasping for what once was, allowing the connection to evolve can reveal something richer than before.

The in-between is not a place to fear but a place to honour. It is a teacher, showing us that life does not unfold in linear fashion but through cycles of growth, rest, collapse, and renewal. To resist these cycles is to invite struggle; to embrace them is to move with life’s flow.

Hexagram 28 reminds us that what is overextended must be released. Yet this release is not a loss; it is an opening—a clearing for new strength to emerge. Like the bending reed that withstands the storm, we too must find our balance, learning to yield without breaking, to trust without knowing.

In this way, the in-between becomes not a space of emptiness but of profound potential. It is here, in the quiet tension between what was and what will be, that we discover the beauty of becoming.

[milatovar]

Tiny yet filled with endless potential, I lie beneath soil and shade, waiting for the right moment to emerge. I carry within me the blueprint of the whole, a miniature map of roots, trunk, and branches yet to come. I am the future encased in shell, the tree’s quiet hope planted in the earth. Though I seem small, within me is the power to reach the sky, to one day stand tall and shade the ground.—Voices of the forest

[milatovar]

In moments of great strain, the axis does not falter but transforms, bearing the weight of eternity within its core.

This artwork, titled “Axis Mundi,” resonates with Hexagram 28: Ta Kuo – Preponderance of the Great. The towering central form, radiating a luminous yet fragile energy, reflects the essence of Hexagram 28, which symbolises a moment when the weight of circumstances reaches a critical tipping point. The vertical beam in the composition embodies the "axis mundi," the world’s connective spine that supports and aligns both the celestial and the terrestrial. Its shimmering, almost overstretched appearance speaks to the hexagram's idea of exceeding limits—a juncture that demands adaptation and inner strength. Despite the tension, the piece suggests resilience, portraying a moment where transformation becomes inevitable and growth emerges through balance under pressure.

[milatovar]

I am the tree’s gift to the world, a sweet promise wrapped in vibrant skin. Within me lie seeds of future forests, a hidden story waiting to be written. I am more than nourishment; I am possibility, a message sent on the wind, or carried away by passing creatures. My flesh ripens in the sun, and when I fall, I carry forward the tree’s legacy, a continuation of life beyond my own.—Voices of the forest

[milatovar]

Within the web of subtle actions, even the smallest thread holds the weight of significance.

“Strands of Thought” captures the profound beauty and strength found in the quiet power of subtlety and mindfulness. It represents Hexagram 62 – Xiao Guo (Preponderance of the Small) from the I Ching, which speaks of meticulous attention to detail, valuing small yet pivotal actions that maintain balance in larger structures. The delicate, interwoven strands in this artwork mirror the intricate nature of thought processes and the interconnectedness of seemingly minor elements. The central symmetry signifies the precision and harmony that emerge when the small is acknowledged as essential. The ethereal overlays evoke a sense of fragility, yet they form a resilient framework, reminding us that even the most understated efforts can have profound impacts. “Strands of Thought” captures the profound beauty and strength found in the quiet power of subtlety and mindfulness.

[milatovar]

I am the tree’s outstretched arm, curving and bending toward the light. I grow slowly, extending inch by inch, bearing leaves, flowers, and fruits as they come and go. In my length and breadth, I am the keeper of nests, the bearer of new buds, the passage through which sap flows. I reach for the sky, yet I am rooted, forever bound to the trunk’s silent strength.—Voices of the forest

[milatovar]

Relativity and Perspective: (8) Taoist Wisdom on Seeing Beyond Fixed Realities

In Taoist philosophy, relativity and perspective serve as essential tools for understanding the world and our place within it. Unlike fixed notions of "right" and "wrong" or "good" and "bad," Taoism teaches that all things exist in a state of flux, where meaning is shaped by the context and perspective from which we view it. This is not mere subjectivity but a call to transcend the limits of personal judgement, embracing a deeper, more fluid vision of reality that acknowledges the interconnected nature of all things.

The Taoist concept of relativity is encapsulated in the parable of the farmer who experiences a series of events, each perceived differently by his neighbours. When his horse runs away, they declare it "bad luck." When the horse returns with a group of wild horses, they call it "good luck." When his son breaks his leg while training one of these horses, they mourn the "bad luck" again. But when soldiers come to recruit young men and skip his son because of his injury, they see the "good luck" anew. This story illustrates that events are neither inherently good nor bad—our perspectives assign meaning based on our position within time and circumstance.

Relativity in Taoism encourages us to look beyond binary thinking and embrace the complexity of life’s unfolding events. In nature, things are not fixed in static roles; instead, opposites like darkness and light, cold and warmth, passively coexist and transform into each other in endless cycles. What appears positive in one moment may reveal drawbacks in the next, and what seems adverse may eventually lead to growth or insight. Through this, Taoism reminds us that true wisdom lies not in judging but in accepting the shifting nature of things.

This perspective invites us to cultivate compassionate understanding toward others. When we realise that every person’s actions and thoughts are shaped by their unique perspective and life experiences, we begin to see beyond surface judgements. By recognising the relativity of experiences, we allow room for tolerance, empathy, and a broader comprehension of human behaviour, seeing each person as part of a greater whole, shaped by the Tao’s flow in varied, sometimes seemingly contradictory, ways.

Taoism also suggests that attachment to a single perspective hinders growth. By becoming fixated on a specific outcome or clinging to one way of seeing a situation, we close ourselves off to new insights. Taoist sages often advise adopting a more flexible approach, allowing perspective to shift as circumstances evolve. This adaptability mirrors the Tao itself, which flows freely, unhindered by rigid constructs, and shows that wisdom arises not from rigid answers but from the willingness to see things anew, from varied angles, again and again.

Relativity is not just a mental exercise but a path to inner freedom. When we cease to classify every experience or person as "good" or "bad," we release ourselves from the burden of constant judgement. This opens space for acceptance, peace, and the ability to experience life with curiosity rather than resistance. Through this lens, each moment becomes a learning experience, each encounter a chance to broaden our understanding, and each challenge an opportunity to grow beyond limited perspectives.

In daily life, this concept encourages us to shift our viewpoints when faced with conflict or hardship. Instead of resisting challenges, Taoism suggests leaning into them, exploring different ways to interpret and respond to events. In a disagreement, consider the other person’s viewpoint as a reflection of their own journey. By broadening our frame of reference, we align ourselves with the Tao, allowing its wisdom to guide our actions in more harmonious ways.

How can you cultivate a more open perspective in your daily interactions? Are there situations where a shift in viewpoint could ease conflict or reveal new solutions? Consider how adopting the Taoist view of relativity and perspective might allow you to navigate life’s challenges with greater flexibility, curiosity, and compassion. In what ways could this approach deepen your connection to the unfolding flow of the Tao?

[milatovar]

The wellspring of life is constant, yet only those who seek deeply may draw its wisdom.

This artwork called “A Percolation of Sorts” represents Hexagram 48 – Jing (The Well) from the I Ching, encapsulating the idea of tapping into timeless reservoirs of energy and insight, reminding us of the eternal flow beneath the chaos of life. Hexagram 48 symbolises the well as a source of sustenance, nourishment, and connection to deeper truths. The intricate and layered structure of this piece visually evokes the descending motion of drawing water, or ideas, from a profound source. The pulsating and ripple-like elements suggest movement through strata, symbolising the journey to uncover essential truths hidden beneath the surface. The symmetry at its core reflects the constancy and universality of the well's offering, while the subtle distortions convey the challenges of accessing its wisdom.

[milatovar]

Chi: (7) The Invisible Flow of Life Energy in Taoist Thought

In Taoist philosophy, Chi (or Qi) represents the fundamental life energy that flows through all things, animating and connecting the natural world in an invisible web of vitality. This concept of Chi lies at the heart of many Eastern philosophies and practices, viewed as the essence of life itself. From the energy that sustains the cosmos to the breath that fills our lungs, Chi is a dynamic force that transcends the physical and material realms, guiding the way Taoists understand health, harmony, and the interconnectedness of existence.

Chi is both subtle and powerful, present in everything but perceived most fully through heightened awareness and mindfulness. It moves in rhythmic patterns through nature, from the cycles of the seasons to the gentle flow of rivers and the silent growth of trees. Ancient Taoists believed that by harmonising with Chi, people could achieve optimal physical, mental, and spiritual health. This life force does not merely power the body but also connects individuals to the greater Tao, the ultimate reality and source of all life.

In Taoist medicine and philosophy, balance of Chi within the body is essential for health. Chi flows along pathways in the body known as meridians, and practices such as acupuncture, tai chi, and qigong are designed to align and strengthen this flow, preventing blockages that can lead to physical or mental distress. These practices cultivate a deeper awareness of Chi, allowing practitioners to sense and manage the movement of this energy within themselves. When Chi flows smoothly, the body is in harmony; when it stagnates or becomes blocked, illness can ensue.

Understanding Chi also means acknowledging that this energy is not personal but is part of a larger universal cycle. Chi is influenced by environmental factors, emotions, and even thoughts. Taoist masters teach that aligning one’s own energy with the natural world enables one to resonate with its rhythm, allowing the flow of Chi to be balanced and unrestricted. This harmony extends beyond the individual, impacting relationships, communities, and even the broader environment.

The Taoist perspective on Chi also links directly to the breath. In fact, “Qi” can be interpreted as both “air” and “breath,” reflecting the importance of breathing in Taoist practice. By focusing on slow, mindful breaths, practitioners can tap into a calm, steady energy that grounds them, fostering greater awareness of the present moment. This breathing practice also serves as a reminder of the intimate relationship between the physical body and the spiritual essence of Chi, connecting the inner self with the external world.

Moreover, Taoist philosophy recognises that Chi can be cultivated and strengthened. Practices such as meditation, mindful movement, and inner stillness enable individuals to harness Chi, redirecting it toward health, resilience, and emotional clarity. Taoism posits that each person is endowed with a unique composition of Chi, and thus, there is no single pathway to harnessing it—every journey toward understanding and balancing Chi is individual, reflecting personal characteristics and experiences.

In our modern lives, where stress, restlessness, and disconnection often prevail, the concept of Chi reminds us of the importance of subtlety, presence, and natural flow. By reconnecting with Chi, we learn to perceive life beyond the physical, moving into the subtle layers of energy that infuse our every action, thought, and feeling. With mindful cultivation, Chi can lead us to profound peace, balance, and alignment with the greater Tao.

Consider the flow of Chi in your own life. Do you feel harmony in your surroundings, health, and daily rhythms? How might you engage with practices—such as mindful breathing or gentle movement—to enhance the flow of energy within you? Reflecting on these practices may help to reveal Chi’s subtle presence, inviting a renewed awareness of your connection to both body and spirit. How can the concept of Chi transform the way you experience each moment?

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A Reflection on The Quiet Power of Gentle Change

There was a time when I believed that transformation had to be bold and immediate—like a storm sweeping across the landscape, tearing up everything in its path. I thought progress demanded dramatic gestures and relentless effort, that true change could only emerge from visible struggle. But life has a way of softening rigid perspectives, and I’ve come to see that lasting change often whispers rather than roars.

The wisdom of Hexagram 57, The Gentle (Penetrating), resonates deeply with me now. It teaches that transformation, whether internal or external, is not always achieved through force or dominance but through steady, almost imperceptible influence. Like the wind that carves mountains and bends trees over time, there’s an elegance in gradual, deliberate progress that avoids the destructive force of a tempest.

This philosophy has reshaped how I approach so many aspects of my life. Take habits, for example. I used to expect immediate results from new routines—a sprint toward a goal. But this only led to frustration and burnout. Now I’ve adopted what I think of as a “wind-like” approach. Each small, deliberate action becomes a gentle breeze, gradually reshaping the contours of my life.

In my workouts, I no longer focus on dramatic gains but on showing up daily with quiet consistency. Over time, my strength and endurance have grown naturally. Similarly, I’ve shifted my nutrition to something sustainable, building habits like preparing a large, nutrient-rich salad each day. It’s simple, unremarkable, but profoundly transformative over time.

This way of living isn’t just about physical habits—it extends to relationships, work, and even my internal dialogue. Rather than forcing connections or imposing expectations on others, I’ve started to embrace being present without attachment. I see my family and friends not as obligations but as an ecosystem of connections that thrives best when tended gently. It’s astonishing how much can flourish when you resist the impulse to control.

Nature, too, is full of these quiet lessons. The wind doesn’t demand obedience from the trees, nor does the river insist on carving its course in a day. They persist, unyielding yet unobtrusive, and over time, their influence shapes the world around them. This isn’t just poetic observation; it’s a fundamental truth about how change occurs.

What I find most liberating about this perspective is its patience. The pressure to force change, to sprint toward success, melts away when you realise the power of small, intentional steps. Hexagram 57 reminds me that true power lies in subtleties, in cultivating habits and rhythms that feel natural rather than imposed.

Through this lens, life feels less like a battle and more like a collaboration with time itself. The beauty of this approach is that it doesn’t rely on bursts of energy or fleeting motivation. Instead, it’s about creating a steady, unshakable current—one that quietly carries you forward without resistance.

It’s strange how something so gentle can be so transformative. But perhaps that’s the paradox of all meaningful change: it doesn’t arrive with fanfare. It sneaks up on you, shaped by the quiet habits you’ve nurtured and the winds of your own intention. I’ve come to see that this is how life becomes not just sustainable but profoundly joyful.

Every day, I remind myself to trust the process. To let the wind of my efforts flow steadily, shaping my path with patience and purpose. This is the lesson of The Gentle, and it’s one I’m grateful to embrace.

[milatovar]

Like the wind, unseen yet persistent, true influence arises not through force but through quiet, steady presence.

This artwork called “Seikon” represents Hexagram 57 – Xun (The Gentle, the Penetrating) from the I Ching. Hexagram 57 embodies the qualities of the wind: gentle yet unrelenting, penetrating every corner over time. This piece visually mirrors the subtle power of influence and gradual change. The symmetrical, woven patterns evoke the natural flow of air currents, softly radiating and expanding outward. The gradient of light to dark suggests a subtle infiltration—an energy that spreads without abruptness, creating harmony through perseverance. Just as the wind carves mountains and shapes landscapes with patient insistence, “Seikon” reminds us of the transformative strength that lies in calm persistence and unwavering grace.

[milatovar]

In the Spirit of Pu: (6) Finding Strength in Simplicity and Authenticity

Pu, often translated as "simplicity" or "uncarved wood," symbolises the natural state of all things, unshaped by external influence. In Taoism, pu is the principle of returning to a state of purity and potential, where one exists without artificiality or pretence. The term "uncarved block" suggests that there is inherent power in retaining one's original nature, without succumbing to societal conditioning, ego, or the pursuit of perfection. Pu encourages us to embrace our true essence, free from unnecessary adornment.

Living with pu as a guiding principle invites clarity of mind and action. When we strip away the layers of complexity we often impose on ourselves—through expectations, ambitions, or societal demands—we access a clearer understanding of our true desires and needs. By returning to simplicity, we can better perceive the world as it is rather than as we project onto it. This uncluttered approach helps align us with the Tao, leading to greater ease and authenticity in life.

In a world that often equates complexity with intelligence or sophistication, Taoism’s concept of pu serves as a reminder that over-complication can obscure true understanding. When we adorn ourselves with ideas, titles, or material possessions, we sometimes lose sight of the deeper self that exists beneath these layers. Pu suggests that we remove the metaphorical "carving" that the world imposes and instead embrace a life of modesty and simplicity. This is not about rejecting advancement but about shedding what does not serve our truest self.

In Taoist thought, the uncarved block represents potential and openness to the myriad possibilities of life. Just as an unshaped block of wood can be made into anything yet remains most powerful in its natural state, individuals, too, retain their greatest strength in a state of unaltered simplicity. When we are uncarved by rigid beliefs or external expectations, we are free to grow naturally, allowing life to shape us in alignment with our true nature.

To embody pu is to relinquish attachment to things, status, and even identity constructs. Rather than seeking value in what one accumulates, pu encourages a sense of contentment with the essentials. This might mean practicing restraint in consumption, simplifying one’s commitments, or reframing goals to focus on inner satisfaction rather than external approval. Pu, in this way, becomes a conscious practice of choosing simplicity, which often brings an unexpected richness to life.

By aligning with pu, one experiences an inner freedom that comes from letting go of excessive desire, pride, or the need to control. When we surrender these burdens, we allow ourselves to experience life in its most genuine form, unhindered by the pressure to be or achieve more. This form of simplicity brings an effortless joy, as it fosters a sense of harmony between oneself and the natural world. In this way, pu provides a form of liberation that is rooted in being rather than doing.

In Taoism, pu is often linked to mindfulness and presence. By embracing simplicity, we connect more fully to each moment, unburdened by the distractions of past regrets or future ambitions. Living in accordance with pu does not mean ignoring one’s responsibilities or goals; rather, it involves experiencing each moment as it comes, without adding unnecessary layers. In this state, life feels fuller because it is lived in harmony with the Tao, where everything has its place and time.

What might you experience if you allowed yourself to live as an uncarved block, embracing simplicity in your daily life and seeing the value in your natural self, untouched by societal demands?