jiâo, 驕
Holding on to something—like a patron from a temple or government office that’s expert at stopping and giving a hand—
and yet now, bearded, you…
full to overflowing its vessel
has this:
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
‘as if’—like a woman just doing as told—
what it holds a basket of…
already… finishing it in the womb.
So begins Chapter 9, directly continuing Chapter 8 with a cautionary discussion of what would, could, or does happen to our hero now bearded, living in the world of traditional virtue.
First we learn that holding onto something safe and helpful while your bearded self is full to overflowing isn’t really finishing what’s being developed inside. (The typical translation is that over-filling your cup isn’t a good idea.) Likewise:
Polishing a vessel by hand,
and yet now, bearded, you…
filed to a sharp point like an axe ground between two blocks of metal—like a keen exchange of speech with a person—
has this:
the husk of the initial protective bud casing—the sepal—but not really the true inner flower of
that about which one can purse one’s lips like a piece of cane and puff: ‘Yup, that’s it, definitely…’
long—like hair that has to be tied with a brooch—
safeguarding—like carrying a child on one’s back.
When your bearded self is filed so sharp it’s in pointed exchanges with people, then polishing your vessel up is not what’s going to help you safeguard a child for a long time. (Traditional translations: an over-sharpened blade will not last long.) Furthermore:
Gold—joined together from three sides by grinding like an axe between two blocks of metal—
jade totems
packed full—like arrowheads tightly covered with that traditional ‘ji’ square piece of fabric men wrap around the ‘little bird’ top knots on their heads once they’ve received their adult, public courtesy-names so no water can infiltrate—in
a palace courtyard:
not anything—eh, like the lost-in-the-bushes sinking sun—
has this…
capable—powerful as that legendary bear with deer legs—of
hand-defending this—your building.
A hall filled with riches can’t be protected. And, most terrifying of all:
Wealth—a house full of valuable vessels with lots of capacity—
treasuring—as if as valuable as baskets of cowry-shell-riches—
and yet now, bearded, you…
as arrogant as a young person dangerously raving through the city outskirts on a tall horse with its mane flying;
of course—one’s self personally, right on one’s nose—
leaving behind cowry-like riches—like after dying—on this way of walking a while, stopping for a while…
what it holds a basket of…
calamity—a person plus something with two legs following from behind.
If your bearded self is treasuring wealth and being like this arrogant young guy galloping around the suburbs on a big horse… well, that’s you leaving behind a bequest of calamity.
Instead, we are at last presented with an alternative:
Real work—laboring with the force from a bladed tool, your arm, or a plough—
completed—when you walk a while, stop a while after the harvest, during the time you divide up the pigs,
one’s pregnant self…
withdraw—walk a while and stop a while, retreating from the sun:
Heaven (that sky level above the human head)
has this…
The Way of the loose-haired chieftain—walking a while, stopping a while, listening, and speaking of it all.
I can’t tell if our hero IS behaving in those cautionary ways or if this is just a warning not to. But whereas in the previous chapter, we learned about a life lived very close to The Way, this chapter ends with a short and explicit description of Heaven—or, in some translations, a spirit from up in the sky—’s EXACT version of The Way:
Real labor completed, one’s pregnant self withdraws… that’s Heaven’s Way of the loose-haired chieftain, walking awhile, stopping awhile, listening, and speaking of it all.
What’s our hero to do with this information? We’ll find out more next time. Thank you for being here, now and then!
The Dào of Lâozî 