Compassion and Clarity: Cultivator Series (Part 7)

 Once you stop pushing and stop feeding agitation, the next question is simple: what actually guides your actions now?

In Taoism, Lao Zi talked about three treasures that form the foundation of the path: compassion, frugality, and not putting oneself first. If you really want to understand what it means to be a Taoist, these aren’t abstract ideas or moral ideals. They’re practical ways of living.

In this part of the Cultivator Series, I want to focus on the first treasure—compassion—and look at it the way Stuart taught it: not as sentiment, not as sympathy, and not as something you try to manufacture, but as something that naturally appears when things settle down inside.

The Muddy Water

Stuart often used the image of a dirty glass of water to describe our usual state of mind, emotions, and nature. That’s what our mind and heart are usually like—full of debris from constant movement, reactions, opinions, worries, self-judgment, and pressure.

When we notice that the water of our nature is muddy, our instinct is to fix it. We try to scoop out the debris. We try to improve ourselves. We try to be more compassionate, more spiritual, more grounded. But all of that effort just stirs the water more.

Taoist and Buddhist cultivation, on the other hand, says to stop stirring—to stop interfering. We allow things to calm down and settle. When the debris settles on its own, the water naturally becomes clear.

Clarity doesn’t come from trying harder. It comes from letting things settle.

Compassion Comes From Clarity

This is where compassion fits in.

You don’t become compassionate by trying to be compassionate. Just like you don’t clear muddy water by stirring it. Compassion shows up when the agitation settles.

When the mind and emotions calm down, something very simple happens. You see more clearly. You’re less reactive. You’re not so caught up in your own thoughts, beliefs, and agendas. And from that clarity, compassion naturally appears.

That’s why Stuart was very clear that compassion is not the same as sympathy. Sympathy can be emotional and reactive. Compassion is rooted in clarity. It includes discernment. It knows when to help, when to step back, when to speak, and when to stay quiet.

When the water is clear, you see clearly. When the water is muddy, you don’t. That’s really all there is to it.

Chanting and Active Practice

People sometimes get confused here, especially when it comes to chanting or devotional practices like the Great Compassion Mantra.

Yes, chanting is an activity. You are doing something. You are reciting words, focusing on sound and repetition. But the key point is what kind of activity it is.

Chanting doesn’t stir the water. It calms it and lets the debris sink to the bottom.

The words of the Great Compassion Mantra are compassion in spoken form. Reciting them calms the system. It gives the mind and body something simple and steady to rest in. In that way, movement brings out stillness—just like Taiji is meditation in motion.

At the heart of Taiji is stillness. At the heart of chanting is compassion.

The practice doesn’t add compassion to you. It allows what’s already there to come forward by settling what interferes with it.

Self-Compassion and Compassion for Others

Stuart often said that compassion shuts down when things get stirred up.

When you’re tired, under pressure, or feeling like something is at stake, the body and mind react. Thoughts start spinning. Beliefs take over. Clarity is clouded—not because of what you believe, but because calmness disappears.

This is where self-compassion really matters.

Self-compassion isn’t about being nice to yourself or letting yourself off the hook. It’s about stopping the constant agitation of self-criticism and of wanting to fix things. When things settle inside, the ego naturally shrinks. You don’t have to fight it.

Stuart used to say that when you know yourself, you can then know others. What he meant was simple: when you’re calm, you start to see clearly how agitation works in you. You notice what throws you off center and how suffering arises. And because you’ve seen it in yourself, you understand it in others.

From there, compassion comes naturally—not as sympathy, but as seeing things clearly.

Compassion and Wisdom

One of the concerns people often have is whether compassion means losing boundaries or enabling harm.

From this perspective, that only happens when things are unclear.

When the water is clear, you naturally know when to say yes, when to say no, when to step in, and when to step back. Wisdom and compassion aren’t separate. Real compassion already includes clarity.

You don’t lose boundaries when you’re compassionate. You lose boundaries when you’re unclear.

Guilt, Correction, and Being Human

Another important point Stuart made was that Taoism has no use for guilt. Guilt doesn’t heal anything. It just stirs the water.

If you do something wrong, the approach is simple: correct it. Make amends if you can. Do your best. Then stop destroying yourself.

Taoism never expects perfection. It talks about becoming a zhen ren—a true person. Not someone flawless, but someone who is settled, sincere, and not divided inside.

What a “True Person” Really Is

A true person isn’t someone who’s always kind or perfect. It’s someone who isn’t constantly stirring their own water. They’re more settled. More clear. Less at war with themselves. Compassion shows up naturally because nothing inside is fighting anything else. That’s what being a True Person is, someone who sees things clearly and whose heart and demeanor are tranquil.

Compassion as a Daily Practice

Compassion isn’t something you master once and for all. It’s something you practice—in small, ordinary moments.

In daily life, the question is simple: Can I meet this calmly?

Sometimes you’ll succeed. Sometimes you won’t. That’s part of being human. But every time you let things settle instead of stirring them up, you’re laying the real foundation of cultivation.

When things settle, clarity appears. And when clarity is there, compassion is already present.

—Patrick