For me, practicing different art forms has a single purpose: to move closer to the essence of life—the “Dao.” Let’s call it “Dao” for simplicity; it’s a term many may already know. But what is it about the Dao that makes me feel that one art form alone can’t capture its fullness? In this blog, I’ll share why I embrace various practices, not just one, and explore the theory behind this approach.

Imagine if Dao were a place. Its exact location remains unknown to us, and all we can do is draw closer to it, one step at a time. Practicing Taiji, for example, moves me in a specific direction, but it doesn’t bring me to the exact center of Dao. It’s like a process of both approaching and distancing at the same time. This paradox exists because each art form or meditation style comes with “side effects” that shape our path. Since we can’t pinpoint Dao’s location, there’s a chance we may miss it completely, even while feeling we’re on the right track.

So, practicing only Taiji, or any one art, would limit me. It would create the illusion of progress, when, in reality, I’d be drifting further from Dao. But if I add another practice—say, the tea ceremony—I start to see the path more clearly. Each practice extends in a different direction, and the points where they intersect provide a stronger indication of Dao’s nature. These intersections give me moments to pause, reflect, and connect, allowing me to feel that “this is Dao.” Yet, I know it’s still incomplete.

Adding a third art, like the Shakuhachi flute, creates new intersections, different from the others. The convergence of these three practices—Taiji, tea ceremony, and Shakuhachi—offers a sense that perhaps I’m closer to the true essence of Dao. With each new intersection, the picture becomes clearer. Practicing these arts together feels like reaching toward Dao from multiple angles, a pursuit of balance and insight.

If I continue expanding my practices, perhaps with the Guqin (a traditional Chinese string instrument), I gain even more vantage points. The Guqin intersects with the other arts, creating fresh intersections that reveal further nuances of Dao. In exploring Dao from so many angles, I come closer to the heart of its essence, a dynamic process of “infinite approach.” Dao becomes not just a distant ideal, but a presence I continually strive toward.

This understanding of Dao as a moving target that I gradually approach is also a reminder of how limited any single art can be on its own. Each art form, each meditation practice, has side effects—limitations that can pull us away from Dao. Embracing different arts minimizes these side effects, helping us stay balanced as we advance along the path.

To sum it up, my choice to practice different arts and meditation forms comes from a desire to reach Dao from multiple perspectives. Every practice allows me to see the path more clearly, getting closer to Dao in an infinite, ever-deepening journey. I hope that by sharing my experience, it inspires others to seek balance and depth in their own practices. If you have any questions or thoughts, please feel free to leave a comment. Thank you for joining me on this journey.