This morning I opened Stephen Mitchell’s The Second Book of the Tao purposely looking for a passage I’ve been pondering for a while now:
You can’t talk about the ocean with a frog who lives in a well: he is bounded by the space he inhabits.
You can’t talk about ice with an insect who was born in June: he is bounded by a single season.
You can’t talk about the Unknown with a person who thinks he knows something: he is bounded by his own beliefs.
The Unknown is vast and fathomless.
You can understand only by stepping beyond the limits of yourself.
I’m certainly not special. But I’m amazed that after years of reading and wrestling with different religions and philosophies, that I can even grasp the meaning of this short verse.
I am the frog in the well.
I am the insect born in June.
The more I think I know, the more I realize how completely ignorant I am. That realization has become oddly comforting.
When I scroll through social media and see people passionately arguing about the latest “buzz” everyone’s worked up about, I catch myself internally chuckling—not in judgment, but in recognition. I can see myself in their righteous anger.
I used to think I knew.
And then I remember the bigger picture.
I think about the trillions of stars scattered through the universe, each with its own history and mystery. One day, our sun will fade into the distant past, and other beings will gaze at our tiny point of light, just as bound by their own limited view as we are now. They’ll create their comforting rituals and religions. They’ll fight over their certainties. They’ll grasp for something to hold on to, just like we do.
It’s humbling. And strangely freeing.
Life isn’t meant to be figured out like a puzzle.
It’s meant to be lived.
To be experienced.
To be met with awe.
Some of the deepest connections I’ve made in this lifetime are with other seekers who have dared to let their soul take the reins—while looking at their ego like a naive, cute, underdeveloped younger sibling. Those relationships give me hope for our species.
Because here’s the truth:
I hold no ultimate authority about how the world works.
I have no secret formula for anyone to subscribe to.
I don’t need to be “right,” and I’m open to having curious conversations.
I’m just another frog in a well, another insect born in June, humbly attempting to step beyond the limits of myself into the Unknown.
And that gives me peace.
It also gives me hope.
If I can find even a glimpse of freedom from certainty, I believe others can too.
As a counselor, I sit with people every week who’ve been promised certainty by someone who proclaimed to know. Many clients were manipulated. Convinced they didn’t know anything and needed someone else’s “wisdom” to show them the way. They couldn’t see that their leader was just another person bound by his own beliefs—a frog loudly describing an ocean he’d never seen.
My heart aches for these clients. Many were raised to cling tightly to formulas for controlling supernatural powers, or told they just had to believe harder, follow stricter rules, give more, try more.
I understand.
I was there too.
I was the frog in the well preaching about the ocean.
Even now, I’m still the insect born in June, with no true concept of ice. And yet, sometimes I try to speak about it anyway.
How silly. How beautifully human.
The difference is, I no longer need to prove anything to anyone.
These days, I’m simply living this breathtaking life one day at a time, continually searching for the Unknown that allows me to be here at all. Each moment feels like dipping my hand into something vast, cold, and endlessly deep—a mystery I’ll never fully understand but can endlessly marvel at.
That’s enough for me.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for you too.
Peace my friends,
~Travis
