Living with Laozi: Part 6

Chapter 6 | The Spirit of the Valley Never Dies; This is Called the Mysterious Female | The Strength of Remaining Quiet

There is a feeling of burning out.

After continuing to push yourself, one day you suddenly realize. Somehow, nothing more is coming out. No ideas, no motivation, not even words. It feels like you have become empty.

I think there are probably quite a few people who have had that experience. Whether in work or raising children, after pouring your all into something, you reach a point where you feel, "I have nothing left to give." It is that feeling of trying to wring out a dry rag.

What is strange at that moment is that even though you feel "empty," the anxiety that you must do more does not disappear. Even though you are empty, you feel heavy. Why is this "emptiness," which should make you feel lighter, so painful?

In this 6th chapter, Laozi says the exact opposite.

Because you are empty, you do not run dry.

(Literal translation)
The spirit of the valley does not die. This is called the mysterious female. The gate of the mysterious female is called the root of heaven and earth. It is continuous, as if it exists, and even if you use it, it does not run out.

The valley does not assert anything
A valley is empty. It is a place between mountains where there is nothing. It does not assert itself. It does not boast. It does not even try to store anything. It simply exists there.

But if you call out toward the valley, the sound returns. If it rains, water gathers and becomes a river. Animals gather, plants grow, and life dwells there. Even though the valley itself is not trying to "do" anything, before you know it, it has become a source of abundance.

Laozi calls this "the spirit of the valley never dies." Because it does not assert itself, it does not disappear. Because it possesses nothing to be taken away, it does not run dry.

This is the exact same story as the bellows example in the previous chapter. The theme of the richness of "being empty" has been continuing since around Chapter 4. Laozi is repeating this theme while changing the angle little by little. Almost persistently. I suppose he thinks it is that important. It might be a good thing, as it is the hardest story for modern people to grasp.

The term "mysterious female" is also interesting. "Mysterious" is something deep, dark, and not easily seen. "Female" refers to the feminine, the side that gives birth, the side that receives. Laozi depicts the essence of the Tao as something "maternal." It is not about actively trying to acquire something, but about receiving, accepting, and quietly giving birth to something from there. That is the image. In an era that values power, competition, and achievement, Laozi was talking about the "power to receive."

“Thin and faint, yet inexhaustible”
“It is continuous, as if it exists, and even if you use it, it does not run out.”

“Continuous” (mian-mian) carries the image of being thin and faint. It is like a thin thread that continues on forever. It is so quiet that you do not even know if it is there or not. But even if you use it, it does not run out.

I feel that the louder and more present a person is, the faster they burn out. If you are constantly conscious of "being seen" and "being evaluated," that in itself consumes energy. It is tiring. Continuing to assert your own existence is harder work than you might think.

In life, I often encounter situations in schools and workplaces where the person who stood out the most disappears after a few years, while the person who did not stand out somehow remains. Continuous—thin and faint, yet inexhaustible. There is a part of me that feels envious of that way of being.

There is a shop in an alley that has been there for a long time. The sign is old, it has nothing to do with being "Instagrammable," and it probably does not have an official website. It is not listed on gourmet sites, or if it is, there are only a few reviews. It is not advertising heavily, nor is it a hot topic. But when you notice it, it has always been there.

A regular seems to walk in. A neighbor stops by, exchanges a few words, and leaves. That is all. The shop itself makes no particular claims. It does not loudly proclaim, 'This is the kind of shop we are.' It is simply open every day.

On the other hand, there are shops that open with great fanfare, buzz on social media, and draw long lines, only to be found closed before you know it. Despite all the hype, one day the shutters are down, with just a single notice posted.

I sometimes wonder what the difference is.

'It exists as if it were continuous.' Thin and faint, yet inexhaustible. When I think of that shop in the alley, these words seem to resonate deeply.

Not knowing how to 'reduce'

The modern age is dominated by a philosophy of accumulation. Increase your knowledge. Increase your skills. Expand your network. Grow more than you did yesterday. The pressure to add more is everywhere.

And as a result of riding that pressure and continuing to add, we reach a state where 'nothing more will fit.' The vessel is bursting, yet we still try to cram more in. I suspect that is the true nature of burnout.

The valley does not try to cram anything in. It maintains its emptiness. That is precisely why water gathers, life dwells, and sounds resonate.

I have recently been idly thinking that considering 'what to let go of' is actually the same as considering 'what to cherish.' It is not just physical objects that we discard; thoughts like 'it must be this way' and desires like 'I want to be seen this way' are just as packed inside. Clearing those out is far more difficult. But unless you clear them out, the vessel will remain full forever.

Feeling unsettled when seeing someone's fulfilling post on social media is, I think, a sign that your heart is full. At such times, I recall things like this chapter. Sounds resonate because the valley is empty. Things enter because there is space. In a state of being packed, there is no room for anything new to enter. In Chapter 3, Laozi said, 'Empty the heart and fill the belly.' I believe this chapter is saying the same thing in different words.

Burnout probably happens because we are desperately trying to squeeze something out. The valley does not squeeze anything out. It is simply empty. It does not disappear even if it makes no claims. In fact, it is precisely because it makes no claims that it does not disappear. Laozi calls this way of being 'yong zhi bu qin'—using it without exhausting it.

'Yong zhi bu qin'—using it without exhausting it. I think this is because it is not trying to squeeze anything out. If you are simply empty, things will naturally flow in. I suppose that is what it means.

The next chapter, Chapter 7, discusses 'Heaven and Earth are eternal.' Why do heaven and earth last so long? Laozi's answer is that heaven and earth 'do not live for themselves.' Not putting oneself forward leads, conversely, to permanence—that theme is directly connected to this sixth chapter.