292: How We Murder Our Dreams

Dear Friends
 
For several years, I have told you to buy Banele Vakele’s Tembela wines. Despite my wine vocabulary consisting of yum, meh and never again, it appears my advice is worth considering: Banele was recently named the overall winner in the Winemag Next Generation Awards 2026. Seriously, buy his wine. It will make you happy. Whilst we’re wining, Friday’s date night included a glass of Neethlinghof’s The Owl Post; yum.  

/strategy
In twenty-three words, Laozi’s Dao De Jing gives us the pillars of effective leadership:

“Empty the mind of desire, so you can take in Dao’s marvels.
Fill the mind with will, so you can discern Dao’s frontiers”.

It may seem far from contemporary commercial life, yet when we pause pushing for the 10X scaling and focus on what we’ve created and can leverage, when we pay attention to the customers who love us, the employees who are loved by other employees, the difference our businesses make, then the path becomes clearer

And then, yes, we cannot remain there. We must take intentional action. We must push to experience the edges of the possible. Fill the mind with will.

(You might also enjoy these reflections on Arundhathi Roy’s recently published memoir).

//self
Ben Okri in his essay, While the World Sleeps, writes “We must not force our poets to limit the world any further. That is a crime against life itself. If the poet begins to speak only of narrow things, of things that we can effortlessly digest and recognise, of things that do not disturb, frighten, stir, or annoy us, or make us restless for more, make us cry for greater justice, make us want to set sail and explore inklings murdered in our youths, if the poet sings only of our restricted angles and in restricted terms and in restricted language, then what hope is there for any of us in the world?

Those of us who want this are cowards, in flesh and spirit. We fear heroic heights. We dread the recombining of the world, dread a greater harvest of being”.

Under threat, when fearful, we narrow our fields of vision. Fearful societies march against the other, demand walls and borders, burn books, ban voices. Yet, each narrowing denies us the possibility of alchemy: to grow we must connect; the membranes of our hearts and souls and minds must be porous. In the exchange of ideas, we expand. In expansion we increase possibility.

Okri turns his philosophical gaze on us, “You wonder how you wound up the person you are. Attempting to rally some dignity, you repeat your achievements to yourself, in a slightly pompous sotto voce. This doesn’t improve the unease, the sitting sideways in yourself…You are overcome with the absurd notion that your life could be different. You’re not sure how or in what way… Maybe I’ll change the curtains, you say out loud. Or get some new curtains. Your eyes fall on the bookshelf. Another time, you think.

It may be that what you could be haunts you. It is real. It is a weight you have to carry around. Each failure to become, to be, is a weight. Each state you could inhabit is a burden as any physical weight, but more so, because it weighs on your soul. It is the ghost of your possibilities hanging around your neck, as an invisible albatross, potential unknowingly murdered. The higher being you could be, if you could inhabit a higher state, also sits on you, increasing the tensions of your spirit, your moods, your irritations”.

He ends the thought, “That is how we murder our dreams”.

Fill the mind with will. Discern Dao’s frontiers.

(Hope and Freedom and my reflections on Toni Morrison’s Nobel Prize lecture explore similar terrain).

///soul
Living next to the ocean teaches respect and attention. There are still days that accommodate an inept swimmer like myself; I bob far offshore with five metres of water beneath me. There are others where I venture thigh deep, lower myself in and swim furiously against the current to stay in place. And still others, those high-wave advisory days, where even calf deep would be foolish.

The ocean’s power and life’s fragility focus the mind: conditions have changed; best I adapt. Yet, much of life is not that clear. We’re rushing too fast to notice that once was no longer is and then, to our surprise, we find ourselves drowning. Water holds lessons for life.

Wang Anshi’s commentary on the eighth chapter of the Dao de Jing reads:

“In living, good is to be close to the earth.”
Water flows to the lowest point of elevation.
“In mind, good is to be an echoing gorge.”
Water in deep pools is still.
“In society, good is to be kind.”
Water gives to all and nourishes all, without expectation of return.
“In speech, good is to be true to your word.”
Water may take a thousand turns along the way, but you can trust it will always flow to the sea.
“In governance, good is to be tidy.”  
The gentlest force, by constancy and repetition, can triumph over the strongest obstacle.
“In work, good is to be capable.”
Water can take the shape of any vessel, be it square or round.
“In action, good is to be timely.”
In spring, water carries; in winter, ice supports.

I shared it in full because of its beauty.

What I think we need to hear in this time is, “The gentlest force, by constancy and repetition, can triumph over the strongest obstacle. Water can take the shape of any vessel, be it square or round. In spring, water carries; in winter, ice supports”.

It might not be the grand gestures that keep our dreams alive, but gentle consistency. The tiniest trickle creates change, at first invisible, then incremental and then seismic. Adapt to the season we’re in, the container you’re in, but keep moving to the sea.
 
(Wang Anshi’s commentary is included in Ken Liu’s recent translation of the Dao De Jing).
 
Yours as always
 
Karl