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Tao Te Ching, 4 [Apr. 3rd, 2009|08:43 am]

The way’s an empty pot,
but somehow use can’t drain it.

Sea deep!
Likely the ancestor of ten thousand things.

Blunt the sharpness,
Loosen the knots,
Dull the glare,
Mix with the dust of the world.

Dark pool!
Likely somehow to endure.

I don’t know whose child this is,
Reflecting the time before God.