Tao Te Ching – Chapter Twenty-Five
Written by Lao-tzu – From a translation by S. Mitchell
There was something formless and perfect,
before the universe was born.
It is serene. Empty.
Solitary. Unchanging.
Infinite. Eternally present.
It is the mother of the universe.
For lack of a better name,
I call it the Tao.
It flows through all things,
inside and outside, and returns,
to the origin of all things.
The Tao is great.
The universe is great.
Earth is great.
Man is great.
These are the four great powers.
Man follows the earth.
Earth follows the universe.
The universe follows the Tao.
The Tao follows only itself.
How I Read This Chapter
Before everything we know,
there was stillness.
Formless, silent,
but full of potential.
It is the root of all things,
the Source behind the source.
It moves through stars and soil,
through breath and blood,
through grief and healing.
The Way doesn’t compete,
yet all things follow its flow.
We don’t lead life.
We follow it.
We don’t command the path.
We walk it.
To live well is not to dominate,
but to align.
To recover is not to rise above,
but to return to what we’ve always belonged to.
The Way follows only itself.
And so do I, when I let go.
What This Means To Me
This chapter reminds me of what I often forget in recovery: that I am not the source of my healing—I am the one being healed. There is something vast and wordless that holds all things together. It has no beginning, no name, no agenda. It was here long before I took my first drink, and it will be here long after I take my last breath. I call it the Way. Sometimes I call it My God. Sometimes I call it silence. But whatever name I give it, it doesn’t need a label. It just is.
“There was something formless and perfect before the universe was born.” I love that line. It tells me that before all my chaos, all my shame, all my need to be somebody, there was already something whole. It didn’t demand anything from me—not sobriety, not success, not worthiness. It simply waited. Patient. Still. Ready. Like recovery itself, it waited for me to be ready to return.
In addiction, I tried to control everything. I believed I had to make life work through effort, status, explanation, noise. But this passage reminds me that the most powerful things don’t force or shout. The Tao is “serene, empty, solitary, unchanging.” And yet it holds the entire universe. That tells me I don’t have to force my way forward. I can follow something deeper. I can align with the rhythm of life rather than try to outpace it.
“Man follows the earth. Earth follows the universe. The universe follows the Tao.” That’s the order I used to ignore. I believed I was meant to lead—through strength, cleverness, will. But I was always exhausted. I was swimming upstream in a river meant to carry me. Now, I try to surrender to the current, not because I’m giving up—but because I’m finally letting myself be guided.
When I write, when I share, when I simply breathe with intention—I sometimes feel it. That quiet current underneath everything. I used to think I had to become spiritual. But now I see—I already am. I just had to remember. I just had to return. And recovery has become my way home.
“It flows through all things, inside and outside, and returns to the origin of all things.” That includes me. That includes every mistake, every regret, every second chance. I’m not separate from the Tao—I’m made of it. I don’t need to reach it. I need to open to it.
And this is what the Steps have helped me do—not just change, but return. Not just recover from addiction, but recover the truth of who I am beneath it.
So today, I don’t try to lead. I follow. I listen. I let go of needing to control the outcome. I trust the deeper movement behind all things. I honour the Tao not by naming it, but by walking in it—step by step, word by word, breath by breath.
And in doing so, I discover something profound:
I was never lost.
Only misaligned.
And now, slowly, I return.
