Chapter 15

The accomplished masters of the Tao in ancient times had a subtle and refined insight that grasped its mysteries, and they were so deep that others could not know them. Since they were beyond ordinary understanding, I can only try to describe how they seemed.

Cautious, like someone wading across a stream in winter; hesitant, like one wary of everything around them; dignified, like a guest before a host; fleeting, like ice about to melt; plain, like uncarved wood; open, like a valley; murky, like muddy water.

Who can make muddy water clear? Let it settle, and it will clear by itself. Who can bring about rest? Let movement continue, and rest will gradually emerge.

Those who hold to this way of the Tao do not wish to be full. Because they are not full, they can seem worn out without needing to appear new and complete.