Once upon a time people who knew the Way were subtle, spiritual, mysterious, penetrating, unfathomable.

Since they’re inexplicable I can only say what they seemed like: Cautious, oh yes, as if wading through a winter river. Alert, as if afraid of the neighbors. Polite and quiet, like houseguests. Elusive, like melting ice. Blank, like uncut wood. Empty, like valleys. Mysterious, oh yes, they were like troubled water.

Who can by stillness, little by little make what is troubled grow clear? Who can by movement, little by little make what is still grow quick?

To follow the Way is not to need fulfillment. Unfulfilled, one may live on needing no renewal.

Note UKLG: In the first stanza we see the followers of the Way in ancient times or illo tempore, remote and inaccessible; but the second stanza brings them close and alive in a series of marvelous smiles. (I am particularly fond of the polite and quiet houseguests.) The images of the valley and of uncut or uncarved wood will recur again and again.