Tao Te What Now? (Chapters 22-24)
A slightly unhinged walkthrough of the Tao Te Ching
So you’ve decided to read the Tao Te Ching.
Either you’re seeking peace, chasing enlightenment, trying to out-vibe your therapist, or you just like obscure philosophy that makes you feel smart and dumb at the same time.
Good news: you’re in the right place.
Bad news: it won’t help you get your life together in the way you think it will.
Better news: it might show you that you never had to in the first place.
This ancient Chinese text, written by Laozi around 2,500 years ago, is basically a poetic mic drop about the nature of reality, control, ego, and why trying hard often makes things worse. It’s short, mysterious, non-linear, and aggressively subtle. You won’t get it all on the first read. That’s part of the charm. It’s also part of the test. Which you are not supposed to try to pass.
About This “Cursed” Interpretation
We’re going to go through each chapter, one by one.
Instead of solemn chanting or incense or “sitting with it in silence,”
We’re going to translate it for actual humans with internet-fried brains, executive dysfunction, and a fondness for sarcasm.
Disclaimers:
We love the Tao. We also enjoy poking fun at ourselves while getting deep. That’s the spirit this was written in.
If you're looking for academic accuracy or lineage-specific devotion… this isn’t that.
If you're spiritually curious, allergic to self-serious gurus, and suspicious of people who wear too much linen—welcome home.
Chapter 22
Collapse Gracefully: It’s the Only Way Up
You want to be whole?
Shatter first.
That polished persona you built?
Drop it. It’s made of vibes and fear.
Want to be “aligned”?
Then get bent. Crooked, confused, disoriented, sideways like a map on a broken screen.
Want to feel full?
Empty out all that spiritual junk drawer crap.
Yes, even the “healing crystals” and curated affirmations.
Want a fresh start?
Cool. First, die.
(Metaphorically. Unless you’re being dramatic, in which case… still metaphorically.)
Want everything?
Great. Give it all away.
Every goal, identity, opinion, and aesthetically pleasing trauma narrative.
Yeet it into the void.
The Sage?
Doesn’t perform. Still glows.
Doesn’t argue. Still makes sense.
Doesn’t know who they are. Still makes everyone cry from recognition.
Has no plan. Still wins. Somehow. Tao magic.
They don’t do success.
Success happens to them while they’re just standing there sipping presence.
And when the OG Sages said,
“Want a fresh start? Cool. First, die.”
…they weren’t dropping Pinterest quotes.
They meant:
Nuke your ego. Let the Tao pilot the meat suit.
Only then do you actually show up as the thing you were trying to be this whole time.
TL;DR: Collapse with style. Stop clinging. Be nothing, so everything can find you.
The Tao doesn’t bless control freaks.
Chapter 23
Speak, Storm, Settle. Repeat.
Say what you gotta say.
Let it all out.
Then shut your mystical pie hole.
Let silence finish what your words started.
Be like nature:
When the wind blows, it doesn't explain itself.
When it rains, it doesn’t ask for permission.
When the clouds leave, the sun doesn’t scream, “TA-DA!!”
It just shines. Quietly. Like a boss.
If you open to the Tao, you become the Tao.
You embody it. Not perform it. You’re not “acting spiritual.” You’re just...wind now.
If you open to insight?
Cool. It flows through you like an idea-shaped lightning bolt.
Use it. Then get out of the way.
If you open to loss?
Yeah. It sucks.
But when you stop bracing against it,
it doesn't break you, it just moves through you like weather.
Open the door to all of it. Let it pass through.
Then trust your natural response.
No second-guessing. No spreadsheet. No “should I have said that?”
Because when you do?
Everything quietly, weirdly... falls into place.
No applause. Just click. Tao style.
TL;DR; Speak fully, then shut up. Feel everything, then let it pass.
You’re not here to manage the weather. You are the weather.
Chapter 24
You’re Not Helping, You’re Just Loud
Stand on your tiptoes? Great. Now you’re wobbly AND annoying.
Trying to get ahead by sprinting? Good luck. You’ll burn out by lunch.
Trying to shine? Now you’re just that guy with the flashlight in people’s eyes.
Define yourself too much? Congrats, you just locked your fluid, infinite being into a 3-word tagline.
Exert power over others? Sure, but now you’re spiritually dehydrated and no one wants to sit next to you.
Cling to your work like it’s your identity? Prepare for that work to age like un-refrigerated shrimp.
You want to sync up with the Tao?
Here’s the whole secret:
Do your job.
Then let go.
No dramatic exits. No legacy speeches.
Just... finish the task, release the grip, and float back into the Tao like a ghost who clocked out.
TL;DR:
Trying to become something is the fastest way to lose yourself.
Do the thing. Drop the mic. Disappear.
