The wise of old
were subtle and discerning.
Their wisdom was beyond comprehension;
I can only describe what they seemed like.
They were careful, as if crossing a river in winter,
watchful, as if meeting danger from every side,
corteous, as house guests,
yielding, as melting ice,
simple, as uncarved wood,
open, as valleys,
inscrutable, as murky water.
But murky water becomes clear when it is still
and stillness comes to life through right action.
To follow this Way
do not aim for fulfillment.
Never full, one can remain a hidden sprout
and not rush to an early ripening.