...of the Tao

His hand opened the tissue paper, showing them the gift. Bit of ivory carved a century ago by by whalers from New England. Tiny ornamented art object, called a scrimshaw. Their faces illuminated with knowledge of the scrimshaws which the old sailors had made in their spare time. No single thing could have summed up old U.S. culture more. Silence.
‘Thank you,’ Paul said.
Robert Childan bowed.
There was peace, then, for a moment, in his heart. This offering, this - as the I Ching put it - libation. It had done what needed to be done. Some of the anxiety and oppression which he had felt lately began to lift from him.
From Ray Calvin he had received restitution for the Colt ’44, plus many written assurances of no second recurrence. And yet it had not eased his heart. Only now, in this unrelated situation, had he for a moment lost the sense that things were in the constant process of going askew. The wabi around him, radiations of harmony… that is it, he decided. The proportion. Balance. They are so close to the Tao, these two young Japanese. That is why I reacted to them before. I sensed the Tao through them. Saw a glimpse of it myself.
What would it be like, he wondered, to really know the Tao? The Tao is that which first lets in the light, then the dark. Occasions the interplay of the two primal forces so that there is always renewal. It is that which keeps it all from wearing down. The universe will never be extinguished because just when the darkness seems to have smothered all, to be truly transcendant, the new seeds of light are reborn in the very depths. That is the Way. When the seed falls, it falls into the earth, into the soil. And beneath, out of sight, it comes to life.

[The Man in the High Castle, Dick, P. K.]