#the dao

[barghestia]

[celestial-ceremony]

the Tao te Ching - Ursula le guin translation

[finder-of-things]

The Earbuds, the Nails, the Wallet, and the Dao

Blue, Lavender, Burgundy

There’s a kind of fight I’ve been in for years. Quiet. Constant. Largely invisible to the world.

Some of that fight has been about desire. What I want. Why I want it. And where those wants even come from.

For a long time, I lived inside a marriage that left me small. My sexuality, my softness, even my sense of worth, became part of how I degraded myself. Not because I wanted to, but because I had absorbed the belief that pain was what I deserved. I used those parts of me against myself and called it control, because admitting how lost I was felt worse than clinging to punishment.

I built a life of compromises because I had convinced myself that’s what I deserved. I let outside voices chip away at me until I couldn’t tell where their judgment ended and my self-worth began. And when I finally started naming what I wanted—gentleness, beauty, care—I didn’t trust any of it.

I thought maybe those wants were just scars reshaped into cravings. Some were. I fought them hard. Because some of them weren’t born from joy or freedom, they were built in the face of survival and shaped by harm. Some may stick with me forever, etched too deeply into my psyche to fully shed.

But instead of rejecting them outright, I’m learning to see them clearly. To ask whether they’re still hurting me, or whether I can reclaim them as part of something healthier, something mine. I don’t need to throw everything away. I need to know what still belongs. Over the last six months, I’ve been quietly testing that through the smallest of things. In doing so, I’ve begun to feel something shifting. Not abruptly. But undeniably.

Not all at once. Not loudly. But in those small choices, I’ve started to see just how deep the conflict runs—and how much I still long for softness in a world that has always rewarded hardness.

This story isn’t a confession or a revelation, it’s a slow, deliberate reclamation, not from others, but within myself.

The earbuds came first. And they shouldn’t have mattered.

But they did.

Because by the time I sat staring at that Amazon page, something inside me was already unraveling. Years of self-denial, masked desire, and learned restraint were beginning to loosen their hold. I wasn’t just choosing a color. I was confronting a wall I’d built brick by brick over the years. The typical choices were black and white. And the safe choice, the one I would’ve made without thinking, was black. There was a third option. A light blue. Not quite sky blue, but soft, subtle, and shiny. The color I was drawn to felt honest in a way I couldn’t explain.

The anxiety wasn’t rational. It crept in as hesitation, shallow breath, the urge to click black and move on. Safe. Invisible. Normal.

I asked myself questions I didn’t want to answer. Is this too much? Am I trying to be something I’m not? Will people see this and assume something about me, I’m not ready to face myself? Will they be right? And underneath all that, one question lingered. Am I allowed to want this?

The hardest part wasn’t choosing the light blue. It was daring to believe I could choose at all.

Next were my nails.

Matte Ash lavender. Not bold. Not flashy. A quiet shift on the surface, but a quiet storm within.

The truth is, I never had the desire to paint my nails until long after I had become deeply entrenched in a cycle of self-erasure. That desire didn’t grow from freedom or playfulness. It was seeded in humiliation. In the media I consumed when I was at my lowest, the fantasies were meant to emasculate and degrade. I internalized it. I made it part of how I endured inside a broken life. I told myself I liked it because it hurt. Because I deserved it.

Was I reclaiming something, or was I just repeating harm? Was this self-expression or another echo of self-erasure? I fought with them in silence, circling around shame and survival and something that looked like want. But when the polish dried, those questions didn’t matter the same way. They had already done their work.

And now, I don’t ask them anymore.

Only one person has asked me about them. A friend in his late seventies. I told him I painted them to go to Pride, and because I envied the ease with which others seemed to move in their own expression. He just nodded and said, “Cool.” That was it. And somehow, it meant everything. He asked if I did them myself or had them done. I said I paid someone. That was the end of it.

But I still find myself waiting. Waiting for someone to make a big deal. Waiting for the judgment I’ve trained myself to expect. And at the same time, I’m amazed I didn’t back out. I found a thread of confidence in myself and followed it. That I didn’t make a public declaration or post a picture:I didn’t tell anyone the day I did it. Because it wasn’t for them; it was for me.

What helped most came before. A friend reminded me of the Dao. She called me Pooh in the gentlest, most grounding way, referencing The Tao of Pooh. Maybe, she said, I didn’t need to fight every question. Perhaps I could just be.

So I’m trying.

Trying to let the struggle quiet itself. Trying to live what feels right.

But I have kept them painted. Because it was the first time I felt a hint of choice inside a story I used to believe had already been written for me.

That feeling has quieted. As I settle into the Dao, I’ve stopped questioning the desire. I have it. It doesn’t cause harm. And more often than not, it feels good. Some days, there’s still a hum of doubt in the background. But mostly, I’m just living it now.

Then came the wallet.

By then, the quiet had settled into my bones. Just last night, I bought a burgundy leather wallet. It hasn’t even arrived yet, and still, I know exactly why I chose it.

For the last week, I had been researching wallets—scrolling past minimalist designs made of plastic, webbing, and metal. Cold. Hard. EDC-style things that looked tactical and sharp. Wallets made to feel rugged, impersonal, even aggressive. And I couldn’t picture enjoying a single one of them.

Then I stumbled on leather wallets made in Arizona by Lost Dutchman Leather. Suddenly, something shifted. These weren’t soft in a traditionally feminine way, but they carried a warmth that still felt grounded. I could already picture the feel of it. Supple leather, molded over time by the shape of my body and touched by the patina of daily use. I could smell it. Its warmth lived in my imagination. And I hadn’t even received it yet.

It settled over me like breath returning. The world isn’t black and white. And neither are my desires. I don’t have to categorize every choice as hard or soft, feminine or masculine, safe or deviant.

The wallet reminded me of that.

It brought relief. Because I’m learning a new language. Back then, my mind felt knotted, tangled in binaries of feminine or masculine, soft or hard. I didn’t know there was another way to be. But with time, I’m beginning to understand that I can be soft and still be me. That not every choice is about pushing the envelope. The wallet is an excellent example of that. It wasn’t about making a statement. It was about choosing what felt right for me.

These three small things… they’re not small at all, not to me.

They’ve surfaced questions I’ve spent decades pushing down.

What parts of me have I buried to be acceptable? How much of my past was performance? What do I actually want—and why was I so afraid of wanting it?

I used to define myself by opposites. Feminine or masculine. Soft or hard. Never both. The Dao has taught me better. That duality isn’t the only language. That the world moves in harmony, not opposition. That I can be soft and still carry strength. What feels right doesn’t have to be justified. It only has to be lived.

I used to look at people who moved freely in their expression and feel a pulse of envy. Not because I wanted to copy them, but because I wanted to feel that free in my own skin. I still feel that sometimes. But I also know I’m closer now than I’ve ever been.

What I do know is that each of these small choices helped me breathe a little easier, even through the anxiety and self-doubt. They didn’t silence the internal war, but they reminded me that I can choose. I don’t have to keep carrying everything I once believed made me strong.

Softness isn’t the opposite of strength. It’s the strength I didn’t know I was allowed to have.

These three small things are the start of something bigger. Not a transformation, but a return. A remembering. A reclamation of the parts of me I thought I had to leave behind.

And the fight to get here is the proof that it matters.

I don’t have to push. I don’t have to arrive. The Dao isn’t about conquering or defining. It’s about letting go of the struggle to control what already wants to flow.

And I’m starting to believe I can move through the world in a way that feels open, steady, and real. Not all at once. Not perfectly. But that’s the way of it, isn’t it?

[beeden96]

Chiron as guide to the Dao

I am used to seeing people in the astrological community describe Chiron as "the wounded healer" and stop there. But I have been reading more about Chiron, and doing a lot of introspective work about him, and I want to help everyone see him in a deeper, more well-rounded light.

For those who are familiar with Daoism, and the concept of the Dao, this post will be easier to grasp. But just as a brief description, Daoism (as illuminated in Daoist texts) is essentially the synthesized philosophy of much older Earth-based spiritual traditions in what is now known as China.

Because Daoism is a synthesized philosophy coming out of a much older animist tradition, and because all human societies and cultures once practiced animism (and most still do in various ways), it has a massive amount of resonance cross-culturally.

Anyway, back to Chiron. I see him as a mediator, a sage, who was a kindred spirit to LaoZi and other spiritual teachers. He taught those around him how to reconcile the different parts of their nature, how to integrate their base level instincts with their higher awareness. Astronomically, he is the mediator between the inner and outer planets, at the boundary of Saturn and Uranus.

In his lifetime, Chiron was trying to reconcile the differences and misunderstandings between centaurs (representing "nature," "instincts," "barbarism" etc.) and gods (representing "humanity," "rationality," "civilization" etc. ). He was trying to teach everyone that these concepts are a false dichotomy, and that it is possible for all of these things to coexist in a single form- after all, he was living proof!

His injury, which is why people refer to him as "the wounded healer" happened by accident during a fight between centaurs and gods. He was wounded in this battle specifically, but I think the story is just emblematic of the lifelong wound of rejection and misunderstanding he carried as a result of who he was, and the message he was trying to convey (which others were not always receptive to).

I find it important to say that Chiron was wounded by circumstance, and this myth takes place in a specific historical context, where ideas about "civilization" versus "barbarism" (read: empire versus indigeneity) were rapidly being formed. This is ancient Greece and Rome we're talking about here. This myth was being actively created through retellings in a context where the idea of someone like Chiron NOT being wounded was unimaginable.

I think that the difference between Chiron as an archetype, and Chiron in mythological/historical context, is really important. Because at least in theory, Chiron did not have to be wounded by that poisoned arrow. It was not an inevitable outcome. And I think that as a collective, humanity is now being faced with the task of integrating Chiron's awareness, and healing everyone who has been hurt in the process of global patriarchal/colonial/capitalist expansion (which is actually literally everyone, in one way or another). We have the option now, to re-write the story. To stop the wounding.

What if the whole "mind vs. body, humans vs. nature" thing didn't exist? What if we learned how to relate to ourselves and all other beings in a non-dominating, loving way? What would it mean to let go of control? What would it mean to allow the Dao to flow, to stop trying to escape change and death, and just surrender to being a part of everything? These lessons are what I believe Chiron is trying to teach.

I think that the most painful separation for most of us alive today, is the separation we have from our own humanity- as contextualized by, and produced by, our relationships to all other beings. This pain is amplified for those of us who are especially spiritually sensitive, and who are the targets of dominating systems.

Dominating systems, extractivist systems, do not understand the lessons of Chiron. They position themselves as gods, ruling over nature and taking what they please.

It has been argued that Chiron rules Virgo and the 6th house. I think this is an interesting and keen observation. Chiron, as mediator between "heaven and earth" so to speak, rules over the connection between the mundane and the divine. He is the bridge between the two, as Barbara Hand Clow says.

I am reminded of a Zen Buddhist saying (which I suspect has Daoist origins): "Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.”

I am also reminded of the line in Everything Everywhere All At Once, where Ke Huy Quan's character says: "So, even though you have broken my heart yet again, I wanted to say, in another life I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you."

...

So then, what to make of Chiron as an astrological object? He has not really been labeled, which I think is part of the beauty of his symbolism. Nobody can fully decide if he's a planetoid or asteroid or comet, or something else entirely. And that is okay. As an archetype, Chiron represents embodied forms that cannot be easily categorized.

In a natal chart, Chiron is said to represent a person's deepest wound, but also the area of life where they have the most wisdom. I think this is true, but I also want to move beyond the surface-level symbolism.

I have come to see Chiron as representing the area where a person can experience their greatest sense of connection or disconnection from the Dao. From "God" or the "ground of being" or whatever other words people use to describe it. This makes it extremely powerful as a gateway, and because it unleashes all of these fraught themes about mind vs. body, humans vs. nature, etc. it is not easy to deal with.

Chiron is a reminder of all the ways we are limited in our connection to the Dao. All the ways we struggle to let go of power and control, the ways we get ourselves stuck in material issues or stuck in spiritual issues and struggle to find the balance between them. Chiron is about balance- I think the greatest balancing act of all. Think of the Yin-Yang symbol, which represents the Dao.

It takes a high level of spiritual awareness, coupled with a high level of skill in navigating mundane reality, in order to fully integrate Chiron. But Chiron in itself is the guide to the mastery of those realms. So I would say that in order to reach that place, we have to listen to what Chiron is asking of us.

In a natal chart, I feel that Chiron represents our potential. Where we could find our greatest sense of integration, wisdom, and joyful embodiment. Where we could find our connection to the Dao. It's getting there in this world, where "gods" and "centaurs" are fighting, which is the major challenge. The process of getting there is usually painful. But it can also be full of love, and beautiful lessons that are profoundly healing. It depends on how you approach the themes that are being brought up.

In synastry, I think of Chiron contacts as areas where the other person is supporting or pushing us to get into deeper contact with the Dao. It depends on whether the aspect is hard or soft. I think hard aspects with Chiron can be difficult to wrangle when people are young, but they are likely the most transformative.

In a composite chart, I think Chiron represents the greatest potential of the relationship itself. It is the area where, if it is focused on, both people in the relationship would feel most connected to the Dao. Any aspects it makes, especially conjunctions, are representative of planetary energies that are key to Chiron's mission and what it is asking of us in that relationship.

Chiron says: "This is the most difficult thing for you to achieve, but it is the thing that will be the most rewarding if you can get there."

Chiron sees potential. It pushes people to their outer limits, tries to help them break through to the other side (past Saturn to Uranus), then guides them to come back and tell the tale.

Not everybody makes it back. Not everybody even accepts being pushed to their limits like that in the first place. But those who DO make it back, especially those who have willingly gone on the journey, are essential guides for the rest of us.

Chiron is intimately connected to ecology. To relationships, to polarities, and to balance. Now more than ever, the world needs people who are ready to harness the power of their natal Chirons, and to harness the power of Chiron in their composite charts with people who they have important relationships with.

We can't do this work on our own. Even though Chiron was often depicted as a loner, in reality he had a large network of friends, and he even had a wife! Her name is Chariklo- but that's a story for another time.

I want to encourage people to start seeing Chiron in a new light. Let's not fear him, and run away from the pain. The pain is trying to tell us something. If we are in pain because of Chiron, that is because he is highlighting an area of life where we are disconnected from the Dao. He is telling us to "chop wood, carry water" and to maintain spiritual awareness at the same time. He is telling us to recognize and respect our limits, while pushing them at the same time. Chiron is paradox. He is Yin and Yang. He is the relationship of opposites. If we allow these lessons to sink in, our area of immeasurable pain can transform into the area of our greatest ecstasy.

Let us learn!

[sophieisapoet]

[...]

Be content with what you have;

rejoice in the way things are.

When you realize nothing is lacking,

the whole world belongs to you.

(Tao Te Ching, ch. 44, courtesy of Stephen Mitchell)

[alchemisoul]

The common translation by Christians in China for the concept of Logos, a Greek word and concept referred to as "The Word" in English transcriptions, as it appears in John 1:1, is Tao or Dao: "The Way".

[fandombros]

The dao keeps coming up in the danmei I read so I found an audio book of it. It stood out in thousand autumns where Shen Qiao was running away from soldiers with one of the many kids he adopted, and they said "you'll never get away, you're only one man." He said "as long as I have the dao everything is fine." And then he did a flip over a wall and ran off. The soldier thought that was the coolest thing they ever saw. Everyone one of them said "oh noo the sun's in my eyes", purposely let their arrows miss, and let him escape. After that I really had to know what the dao was. It's a way to live more positively with the world.