Welcome to this TaleWist reflection.
It may be so.
Before the story begins,
Just let yourself settle.
Find your comfy space,
Warm and cozy.
Feel your body softening and gently close your eyes.
And just simply notice that this moment is already holding you.
Let your body rest in its own way.
Let your breath move without instruction.
There's nowhere else you need to be for this story to meet you.
Long ago,
In a small village near the mountains,
There lived an old farmer.
He lived simply.
He worked the land.
He spoke little.
But one day,
His horse ran away.
The neighbors,
They came to him shaking their heads.
How unfortunate,
They said.
What terrible luck.
And the farmer,
He listened.
And he replied calmly.
Maybe so.
Just let those words land for a moment.
Maybe so.
And just notice what they open in you.
Now,
The next day,
The horse,
It returned.
Not alone.
It brought with it several wild horses from the hills.
The neighbors,
They gathered again.
How wonderful,
They said.
What great fortune.
And the farmer,
He looked at the horses and replied.
Maybe so.
So here is a quick reflection because we are so quick to label moments.
Good,
Bad,
Lucky,
Unlucky.
But Taoism reminds us that we see only a small part of a much larger movement.
What looks like loss may be opening space.
And what looks like gain may be asking something in return.
The farmer's son began to train the wild horses.
One day,
He fell and he broke his legs.
The neighbors came again.
How awful,
They said.
What bad luck.
And the farmer replied.
Maybe so.
Just pause here for a moment and notice the steady rhythm.
The event,
The reaction,
The judgment.
And the farmer,
He was unmoved.
Soon after,
Soldiers came to the village to conscript young men for war.
They saw the farmer's son injured and unable to fight,
And they passed him by.
The neighbors returned once more.
How fortunate,
They said.
Your son has been spared.
And the farmer,
He answered quietly.
Maybe so.
So,
Just reflect for a moment.
This story does not ask us to become indifferent.
The farmer,
He loved his son.
He cared for his land,
But he did not rush to decide what life meant before it had finished speaking.
In Taoism,
Certainty too early can be a form of not seeing clearly.
Let's continue.
So,
Just listen again.
The farmer never says this doesn't matter.
He just says,
I do not yet know.
I will not force meaning onto a moment that is still unfolding.
This is not passivity.
It is patience.
How often do we react,
Not because of what happens,
But because of what we decide it means?
A diagnosis,
A change,
A delay.
We rush to conclusions to steady ourselves.
But Taoism offers another ground to stand on,
Unknowing.
So,
Maybe so is not avoidance.
It is spaciousness.
It allows life to keep moving.
It allows meaning to arrive in its own time.
And sometimes,
Never.
As the story settles,
Stay with the feeling it leaves behind.
Notice your breath.
Notice your body.
Notice how much effort it takes to constantly decide whether something is good or bad.
And how little effort it takes to simply allow this moment to be unfinished.
You do not need to know what this moment means.
You do not need to decide how it will end.
But life is still speaking,
And you are allowed to listen without interrupting.
So,
When something unexpected happens,
Something welcome or unwelcome,
You might gently say to yourself,
Maybe so.
Not as resignation,
But as trust.
Trust that this moment is part of a much larger movement than you can currently see,
And that you do not need to understand the whole river to float on it.
So,
When you are ready,
Just gently and softly open your eyes now,
And just carry this reflection with you.
Not every moment needs a verdict.
Some moments only need your presence.
Namaste,
My friend.
