Tao Te Ching – Chapter Fifteen
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
The ancient Masters were profound and subtle.
Their wisdom was unfathomable.
There is no way to describe it;
all we can describe is their appearance.
They were careful,
as someone crossing an iced-over stream.
Alert as a warrior in enemy territory.
Courteous as a guest.
Fluid as melting ice.
Shapable as a block of wood.
Receptive as a valley.
Clear as a glass of water.
Do you have the patience to wait
till your mud settles and the water is clear?
Can you remain unmoving
till the right action arises by itself?
The Master doesn’t seek fulfilment.
Not seeking, not expecting,
she is present, and can welcome all things.
How I Read This Chapter
The wise walk quietly,
like crossing thin ice.
They move with care,
not fear,
but deep awareness.
They are soft,
yet strong.
Open,
yet grounded.
Present,
but not pushing.
They wait,
until the water clears.
They act,
only when the time is right.
They expect nothing,
and so receive everything.
This is the grace,
of those who walk the path,
with humility.
What This Means To Me
This chapter brings me back to early recovery—the trembling steps, the fear of breaking everything again, the sense that each moment required careful, conscious movement. I remember what it felt like to cross the ice of my new sobriety, not knowing if it would hold. That vulnerability was real. And yet, there was strength in it. Because I was finally moving with awareness, not recklessness.
“The ancient Masters were careful, alert, courteous…” It reminds me of the people in the rooms who didn’t say much but whose presence carried peace. The ones who spoke softly, shared honestly, and moved through life with humility. I used to think wisdom was loud. But recovery has shown me it’s most often quiet. You feel it more than you hear it.
The image of waiting for the mud to settle speaks straight to my soul, “Do you have the patience to wait, till your mud settles and the water is clear?”, and is one of my favourite lines of the Tao Te Ching. In my addiction, I was always reacting—rushing decisions, chasing feelings, trying to fix or escape, constant fight or flight. My mind was a swirling mess. I thought action was strength, and often lacked that action. But in recovery, I’ve learned the opposite: sometimes the bravest thing I can do is wait. To sit still. To breathe. To allow clarity to return naturally.
“Can you remain unmoving till the right action arises by itself?” That’s Step Eleven. That’s pausing when agitated, praying before speaking, letting life unfold rather than forcing it. It’s not passive—it’s powerful. Because it’s rooted in trust.
And “the Master—she doesn’t seek fulfilment”. That line cuts deep. I used to live in a constant state of seeking: for approval, excitement, love, escape. And it left me empty. But now, when I stop grasping—when I simply show up, pay attention, and do my bit—I find fulfilment waiting. Not in big moments, but in the small: a quiet conversation, a sober sunset, a peaceful sunrise, a breath without shame.
To be present and welcoming—that’s my daily aim. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Even when what arises isn’t what I planned. Because when I stop expecting life to go a certain way, I become free to meet it as it is.
This chapter reminds me that recovery isn’t about becoming impressive—it’s about becoming receptive. Not perfect, but patient. Not polished, but honest. Like water that clears itself, like wood that can be shaped, like a guest who respects the space they enter.
Today, I try to walk gently. To live without rushing. To be alert, but not afraid. Humble, but not hidden. I don’t have all the answers—but I don’t need them. If I keep showing up with honesty and care, the right path reveals itself.
And when it does, I will be ready to follow—not because I pushed, but because I paused.
