We do not create anything; we discover and assemble – like the 'making' of you. Each day we take the substance of that day and paste it onto the form of our Self, like the papier mache creatures
We do not create anything; we discover and assemble – like the 'making' of you. Each day we take the substance of that day and paste it onto the form of our Self, like the papier mache creatures we crafted in grade-school (mine was an alligator with scary teeth). The core remains a mystery, today crudely portrayed as the result of mineral, water and lightening. Tomorrow, perhaps we'll get to the center of things, something we can see and touch and display within a plexiglass cube at the Smithsonian. But I have my doubts.
While profound in its profusion, the physical universe (our bodies included) is composed of just ninety-two properties, in its composite represented by The Periodic Table of the Elements. In similar fashion, human experience is comprised of sixty-four permutations, which spawn an abundance of variations that mirror the natural world, in composite represented by the Tao. Like the universe, the Tao is less mystical than it is overwhelming in its breadth and complexity, but like the universe it is knowable. The Tao of Family pieces these 'elements' together like a massive jig-saw puzzle, ever mindful of the over-arching whole.
Imagining guidance without 'scripture' is questionable. But most, being no longer tethered to obsolete dogma are now 'free' to pursue life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, restrained only by the laws of the land and the dictates of conscience, yet these dictates tend to harken back to the well-worn paths of thread-bare beliefs, or worse still lead nowhere at all. Having jettisoned King and God, what else is there? And having thus been liberated, why is the Self so empty?
The Tao of Family was sculpted from the I Ching or Book of Changes, a Chinese text that pre-dates Christ by a thousand years. The I Ching is not contrary to Christianity or any other belief system but rather is complimentary and essential, as oils are to an artist. Similar to the I Ching, The Tao of Family is a translation intended to fill a void, to supply a critical nutrient to the body of Family, which labors under the yoke of modernity. It introduces itself in the common dress of an ordinary man within the extraordinary circumstances of an ordinary life, presenting these elements within sixty-four 'trinities': a central consultation derived from the I Ching, a visual depiction of the circumstance, and a narrative story intended to expound upon the nature of the life experience.
The Tao of Family is spiritual without being mystical, inherently moral without being preachy, and evocative without being assaultive. In appearance, the Tao of Family suggests memoir, although the stories resonate within the collective subconscious; most readers will find the narratives embracing/bracing and some, though disturbing, eerily familiar.
The Tao of Family is a 'live' book, interactive - one of few, which when addressed responds. One does not 'finish' The Tao of Family and it's doubtful that you'll hand it off. Yes, you can read it front to back as though it's a book – it's safer that way; impersonal, abstract, 'out there' – the 'other'. Worse still, it does not contain answers, only urgings and it is easily dismissed like a toy in the attic, abandoned by the one now beyond their childish ways. Or, like Santa or Jesus you can breathe your life breath into it and watch it twitch and swell and feel the pulse - like life itself, it matters when you're there and doesn't when you're not. But it's merely a game; a most serious game, but yet just a game. Read it if you like, then play it as you must. Nobody's watching.
