a memory from childhood

A book from my childhood resurfaced today. I have carried it with me through the years, but didn't take it to Turkmenistan. Again, it returns, as most things do and offers new wisdom.

The spine of my favorite book split in half recently. It was published in 1962, twenty years before I was born. As a pre-teen, I found it on one of my father's bookshelves. The books my dad owns have titles like Principles of Neuroscience and Educating for Service. I remember perusing their thickness and wondering when I would be able to read such a book.

My dad would often come home from work and find me sitting in front of his bookshelf. One day, he thumbed through some titles and selected the thinnest book from the shelf. "Try this one," he said as he handed it to me. I took it upstairs and began reading.

"Words came out of the womb of matter; 
And whether a man dispassionately sees to the core of life or passionately
Sees the surface,
The core and the surface are essentially the same,
Words making them seem different
Only to express appearance.
If name be needed, wonder names them both:
From wonder into wonder,
Existence opens."  -Lao Tzu

Goose bumps appeared on my arms. I kept reading. The wisdom of Lao Tzu isn't even 60 pages long, but his lessons could take me a lifetime to realize.

I loved discovering the hidden power of intuition, realizing that death and life do not necessarily need to be viewed from a linear vantage point and that the wisest leaders often lead without their people ever realizing it. He spoke with such flexibility about appearances and how black could be white and conversely, white could just as easily be black.

These ideas held so much space for me. At 11, I often felt out of place and misunderstood. I realize now that these words held meaning for me because they suggested that life is confusing for everyone.

Over the years, I have returned again and again to this book. It is the first philosophical text I ever read. It is also the only religiously affiliated text I have ever finished. Yesterday, I discovered it inside one of the many boxes I stashed away at my parents' house while I lived in Turkmenistan for two years. As the spine split open, I felt the grainy paper between my fingers and began to read.

The spine had split along this entry, entitled #11, which is, if I recall correctly, the age at which I inherited this book from my father.

"Thirty spokes are made one by holes in a hub

By vacancies joining them for a wheel's use;

The use of clay in molding pitchers

Comes from the hollow of its absence;

Doors, windows, in a house,

Are used for their emptiness:

Thus we are helped by what is not

To use what is." - Lao Tzu

From one thing we can take another. And from nothingness, we can take eternity.