The Language of Emotions
In this weeks Journal we take a look at the sources of our emotions, trying to control and the foundation of our beliefs. Finally in the 'moments of inspiration' we explore innate abundance.
“We no longer silence what we create; we listen with clarity and respond with truth. Each emotion is not who we are, but a sacred signal, gently guiding us back to our Shen and the wisdom of alignment.”
Have we ever truly listened to what our emotions are telling us? Or have we ever said, I didn't just feel them; I genuinely understand them? Behind every surge of frustration, every echo of sadness, and every ripple of anxiety, there is a message. And more importantly, a choice. Yet so often, we confuse the message with its meaning, the map with the territory. In this journal post, ‘The Language of Emotions’, we begin an essential exploration, not just of how emotions communicate with us, but what the real message is and how we respond to them. We discover how language shapes our inner world and how our Inner Child, in moments of doubt, uses emotional terms not to learn but to defend, explain, or justify the challenge it does not yet understand.
We will explore how red-light feelings, such as anger, fear, shame, and stress, are not signs of weakness or failure. They are signals. Like a lighthouse guiding ships away from rocky shores, these emotions are warning beacons, not the enemy, but messengers from within. If we choose to acknowledge them with clarity and compassion, they can guide us to the core beliefs that created them.
Let us consider one of our familiar metaphors: imagine the red warning light on the dashboard of a car. That light is not the problem; it is highlighting that there is a deeper issue in the engine. If someone suggested fixing the problem by simply removing the light, we’d be horrified. It’s absurd. The light is not the fault; it is the gift of awareness. And yet, how often do we treat our emotional red lights the same way, trying to suppress, silence, or avoid them rather than investigate what lies beneath?
Our red-light feelings are the dashboard of our inner world. We don’t heal by ignoring them or by judging them. We heal by tracing them back to what is misaligned, to the faulty belief, outdated expectation, or misunderstood conclusion that gave rise to the discomfort. Wu wei, the Taoist principle of effortless effort, teaches us not to resist these signals, but to flow with them, to inquire rather than react, to explore rather than condemn.
However, when we ignore or identify with these signals as being our identity, we risk becoming trapped in emotional narratives that are neither accurate nor beneficial. We might say, “I am an anxious person,” rather than recognising, “I am creating anxiety because I believe something that may not be true.” Emotional labelling, if misunderstood, can cement old stories and turn a fleeting shadow into a lifelong identity. And that identity, once fixed, becomes a lens that distorts every experience through the filter of past misunderstanding and emotional pain.
This is why understanding ‘The Language of Emotions’ is so crucial. The words we choose to describe our inner world are not simply descriptive; they are creative. They shape our reality. They influence not only the emotions we continue to generate, but also the story we tell ourselves about who we are. In Taoist thought, our Shen, our spiritual essence, is never defined by emotions. It observes them, understands their roots, but never becomes them.
Let us begin to see red-light feelings for what they truly are: divine indicators of misalignment, sacred invitations to return to the ‘power of three’ truth, honesty, and integrity. Just like a wise mechanic, we must diagnose the message of the dashboard light; we too must listen with intention (Yi). Not to silence the alarm, but to gently trace its thread back to the belief that gave birth to it.
When we do this, we reclaim our power, not by denying what we feel, but by honouring the more profound truth that we are always more than what we ‘feel’.
When Labels Become Limits
Emotions are not enemies. They are not imperfections to fix or storms to endure quietly. They are vital signals, created by us through our beliefs, thoughts, and choices. Fundamentally, all emotions start with sensation. A racing heartbeat. A knot in the stomach. A tightening of the throat. These physical cues are the initial hints of our inner landscape changing. However, it is only when we assign a label such as fear, anxiety, or rage that the sensation turns into a story. The issue occurs when we mistake that story for our true self.
Our language makes this confusion easy. We say, “I am a fearful person,” as if fear were a fixed part of our spirit rather than a fleeting reflection of thought or belief. Over time, especially when our Inner Child is under pressure, it begins to use these emotional words as a kind of shorthand to express the intensity of what it perceives. The words become habitual responses, not accurate reflections.
Our Inner Child, overwhelmed or confused, doesn’t say, “This situation seems hard because I believe I’m not good enough.” It doesn’t calmly explore the belief that created the reaction. Instead, it rushes to dramatic conclusions: “I’m anxious.” “I can’t cope.” These are not neutral observations; they are emotional headlines, written in red ink, screamed across the inner newspapers of our mind. Each one is a cry for safety, clarity, or control. They are not truths, but emotional signals.
But here lies the subtle heart of Wu Wei Wisdom: the Inner Child rarely names what is happening in the body. It does not say, “I notice a knot in my stomach,” or “I’m creating tightness in my chest.” Instead, it jumps to loaded terms like “panic” or “terror,” borrowing language with roots that stretch back through our personal history, childhood experiences, and unresolved issues. These emotive labels carry a backlog of meaning. They are not describing the present; they are reviving the past.
This mislabelling is more than just language; it is a bypassing of clarity. When we say, “I am anxious,” we collapse a physical sensation and a belief-driven narrative into one single identity. We confuse what we’re experiencing with who we are. And from that confusion, we lose our spiritual centre.
Wu Wei, the Taoist principle of effortless effort, invites us to respond differently. Rather than accepting our Inner Child’s labels at face value, we pause and look deeper. We observe the sensation: tightness, warmth, trembling. We then ask the essential ‘Golden Thread Process’ question: “What belief is creating this sensation?” This is the actual practice. Not resisting the emotion, not indulging it, but gently tracing it back to its source.
As the Tao Te Ching teaches, “When rooted deeply, the foundation is firm.” The labels of fear, anxiety, and shame are surface-level reactions. But the root is always deeper, a belief, thought, or choice that is misaligned with our truth. Our task is not to silence our Inner Child, but to educate it with compassion. To say, “You are safe now. Let us find the truth beneath this name.”
This is not just emotional literacy; it is spiritual integrity. We begin to untangle not just the knots in our stomachs, but the knots in our understanding. We return to the clarity of the present moment, where Shen resides, where the Tao flows without distortion. And here, we no longer drown in red-light labels; we learn to read them as signals, gently guiding us back to the spiritual centre.
Our Inner Child's Vocabulary of Struggle
One of the most poignant teachings we’ve uncovered over time is this: our Inner Child does not lie to us, it simply doesn’t yet know how to tell the whole truth. Its language is raw, reactive, and formed during the tender years when logic had not yet flowered and perception ruled all. So, when our Inner Child ‘feels’ unsafe or unseen, it doesn’t reflect; it reacts. And it reacts with the words it learned long ago, emotional logic.
Our Inner Child uses the term of the emotion to describe the magnitude of the challenge it faces. It doesn’t say, “I believe I might not be worthy of love,” it simply chastises us with, “I’m unlovable.” It doesn’t explore the belief that it must earn approval; it complains that, “I’m anxious all the time.” In this way, emotions become shorthand for the deeper beliefs we have not yet resolved. These are what red-light feelings are highlighting. They shout not because they are inherently loud, but because they have gone unheard for so long.
This is where compassion becomes the key. Not indulgence. Not excusing. But wise, consistent, loving guidance. Just as we would not scold a child for not understanding algebra, we must not scold our Inner Child for using outdated language. Instead, we begin to teach a new vocabulary, one rooted in truth, not fear. We reparent, not react. And we remind ourselves that emotional labels are only as influential as the meaning we give them.
The Golden Thread and the Power of Words
One of the most profound tools we have in navigating emotional intensity is what we call the ‘Golden Thread Process’. This gentle inquiry asks us to pause when an emotion arises and trace it back, not to an external trigger, but to the internal belief that gave it life. If I believe I must be perfect to be accepted, then when I make a mistake, shame will rise. Not because the world has judged me, but because I have judged myself. This is the true path of healing: not fixing the world, but illuminating the belief that shaped our emotional response to it.
Our language plays a central role in this. When we say, “I feel overwhelmed,” we position ourselves as passive victims. But when we shift to, “I believe I’m not able to manage this,” something remarkable happens: we reclaim our agency. We move from describing a storm to steering through it. This is not denial. This is mastery. It is Taoist alignment.
And as we trace our emotions back through the ‘Golden Thread Process’, we begin to see how we’ve been speaking about ourselves. The words we repeat, especially in moments of emotional charge, become the bricks of our internal reality. This is why we teach: “Words are the bricks that build the house you live in.” Choose each one with clarity and care.
Choosing Alignment Over Identification
One of the most harmful habitual choices our Inner Child develops is turning emotional experiences into self-identity. “I feel” becomes “I am.” And “I am” becomes the lens through which we view everything. Yet, this confusion can be dismantled the moment we begin to ask: “Is this belief still true? Or is it simply familiar?”
It takes immense courage to step outside emotional identification. To choose not to say, “I’m broken,” but instead to say, “I’m facing a belief that no longer serves me.” But this is the work. Not perfection. Not performance. But the subtle, daily practice of alignment. This is wu wei, the art of effortless effort. It is not the absence of emotion, but the refusal to be enslaved by it. It is the gentle knowing that while the wind may rise, we no longer build our homes in the storm.
When emotions arise, we do not resist. We inquire. We do not deny. We understand. We learn to say, “I am the creator of this emotion,” not because we blame ourselves, but because we reclaim ourselves. This language shifts everything. It moves us from fear to freedom, from avoidance to acceptance, from identification to alignment.
The Quiet Triumph of Self-Responsibility
This does not mean we will never again feel sadness or fear. It means we will no longer mistake them for truth. We will no longer let our Inner Child’s outdated stories dictate our direction. Instead, we lead. Gently. Honestly. With integrity and truth.
The Tao is not a loud teacher. She does not shout her lessons. She waits in the unknown, ready to guide those who trust in alignment. And wu wei shows us that we do not need to strive, control, or future-proof our lives. We return to the truth. To balance. To the unshakable knowing that nothing outside of us can define who we are.
In closing, ‘The Language of Emotions’ is a sacred tool. Not one to control emotions, but to understand and learn from them. To speak about them with accuracy, compassion, and clarity. To hear the voice of our Inner Child and respond with truth. To shift our language from limitation to liberation.
Let us remember: we are not our anger. We are not our fear. We are not our shame. We are creators. Powerful. Compassionate. Whole. Let our language reflect that truth. Let our beliefs reflect that wisdom. Let our emotions be what they were always meant to be, messengers of alignment and flow.
Let us never doubt our worth again. Let us walk gently forward, not with pressure, not with fear, but with small, consistent steps that require no performance. We do not need to fix everything today. But we can begin. One belief. One word. One moment of clarity at a time.
In the wisdom of ‘The Language of Emotions’, we find our way back to ourselves, not as emotionally broken, but as emotional creators. We align, not strive. We breathe, not battle. And from this place, every red-light feeling becomes a green-light path leading home.
Have you ever longed for certainty, craved the comforting clarity of knowing what’s ahead, only to feel even more unsettled by that very pursuit? Beneath our everyday doubts and overthinking lies a more profound yearning: a longing to feel safe, secure, and steady in a world that constantly shifts. Yet it’s in this very dance with uncertainty that life invites us to discover our strength, creativity, and inner wisdom.
In this journal post, we explore why the unknown feels so threatening to our Inner Child, how it tries to future-proof us with control, and why true peace comes not from guarantees but from trust. Through Taoist and wu wei teachings, we’ll learn how to release the grip of fear and step gently into the ‘Radiant Unknown’, where transformation begins, not with grand gestures but with small, manageable steps, taken without expectations, without criticism, comparison, or being judgmental (CCJ).
Our Inner Child’s Need for Certainty
Our Inner Child wants certainty like a map before a journey; it nags, complains, and demands a vision of how everything will turn out. This part of us clings to the idea that if we can predict all the outcomes, if we can be fully prepared, then we’ll be safe from disappointment, hurt, or failure. It believes that control brings comfort. But in truth, trying to control the uncontrollable breeds anxiety, stress, and a perpetual sense of being on guard.
It’s natural to want reassurance. But the search for guarantees is endless and ultimately hollow. No plan, no person, no perfect moment can ever promise safety, emotionally or otherwise. The Tao reminds us that nothing in nature clings, yet everything thrives. As Verse 70 of the Tao Te Ching says, “My words are straightforward to understand and very easy to put into practice. Yet no one under heaven understands them or puts them into practice.” This paradox reflects our Inner Child’s resistance; our truth is not hidden, but it requires letting go of the need to know everything before taking the first step.
The Gift Within the Unknown
To our Inner Child, the unknown seems like a dark corridor, full of hidden threats. But what if it’s not darkness, but authentic depth? The unknown is where creativity dwells. It’s the source of every new idea, every beautiful coincidence, every breakthrough moment of growth. When we insist on certainty, we shut the door on surprise and spontaneity. We miss the miracles that can only be discovered, never planned.
Imagine standing before an untouched canvas. The emptiness isn’t terrifying; it’s a possibility. We dip the brush in colour without knowing exactly how it will land. That unpredictability is what brings the artwork to life. So, it is with us: the unknown is our canvas, our dance floor, our unexplored path through the forest. Although it may be unclear, it holds tremendous potential.
And this is not about blind trust or recklessness. It’s about developing a quiet inner confidence: that whatever arises, we have the inner strength to meet it. That is the real peace, not found in perfect plans, but in trusting our Shen, our spiritual essence, to navigate what unfolds.
This reminds me so vividly of my time studying in the Wudang Mountains of China, watching the mountain eagles soar. They would glide in wide, effortless arcs, their wings outstretched but never straining, carried by invisible air currents rising and falling without warning. They had no map, no schedule, no control over when the next upward breeze would appear. And yet, they did not hesitate. They trusted the rhythm of nature, and more importantly, their ability to respond to what nature offered. Their power wasn’t in controlling the air and sky; it was in their graceful responsiveness, their adaptability, and their unshakable trust that the following current would come when it was meant to.
We, too, are part of that same Tao, the same unseen but ever-present flow of life. And yet we often demand to know where the current will take us before we take flight. We want life to guarantee the uplift before we open our wings. But this is not the way of the Tao. Just like those soaring birds, our task is not to chart the wind, but to meet each moment with openness and readiness. To glide gratefully with wu wei, not forcing, not waiting for certainty, but moving when the time feels right. There is no safety in the demand for guarantees. True security arises in knowing that we are part of the same living universe, and that our strength lies in our ability to dance with its changing breath.
In this way, peace is not earned through preparation, but discovered in participation, in the act of showing up, flexible and faithful, willing to catch the following current whenever it arrives.
Why We Resist Letting Go
Our Inner Child often fears that if we don’t plan and prepare, we’ll fall apart. It might badger us with anxious thoughts like, “If you don’t know what’s going to happen, you’ll mess everything up.” But this mindset isn’t wisdom, it’s a leftover script from the past, rooted in misunderstandings learned when unpredictability once seemed dangerous or overwhelming.
The more profound truth is this: if something is meant to happen, it will unfold whether we brace for it or not. Preparing excessively for what we think may come doesn’t prevent it—it only drains us in advance. Imagine trying to hold back the tide with your bare hands. No matter how tightly we grip, the sea will rise and fall in its rhythm. Likewise, life is not ours to predict or control, but to engage with trust and grace.
If we believe the future is already laid out, as many of our Inner Child’s fearful thoughts suggest, then striving to outmanoeuvre it becomes an exhausting illusion. It’s like an eagle trying to command the wind rather than ride it. Instead of spreading its wings and soaring with the changing currents, it flaps frantically, wasting energy on what cannot be controlled. In doing so, it loses the effortless grace that was always available. We, too, can choose to soar when we stop forecasting every gust and start trusting the flow beneath us. By surrendering the illusion of control, we awaken to the peace and possibility of the present moment.
Taoism teaches us that our strength lies not in prediction, but in presence. Wu wei, the art of effortless effort, invites us to move in harmony with life’s flow, not against it. This doesn’t mean we abandon care or awareness; it means we stop resisting the unknown and instead learn to glide with it.
What our Inner Child doesn’t yet understand is that we are no longer helpless. We are not stuck in the past. We have grown, we’ve learned, and we are capable of responding wisely. So, we gently say to that part, “It’s okay. I’m here. We don’t need to know everything. We need to trust our ability to take the next step.”
Others might argue, “But without a clear plan, how will I succeed?” This is a common fear. And yes, direction and intention (Yi) are valuable. But success is rarely a straight path. Most breakthroughs come through unexpected turns, trial and error, and the willingness to adapt. It’s the willingness to step into the unknown that often leads to the most tremendous growth.
Our Inner Child’s Worst-Case Scenarios
One of our Inner Child’s favourite coping mechanisms is projecting the worst-case scenario. “If I expect the worst, at least I won’t be surprised,” it says. But this belief is a trap. Anticipating failure, rejection, or disaster doesn’t prevent pain; it creates it. It draws us into a life of avoidance, hesitation, and emotional exhaustion.
Our Inner Child believes this strategy protects us. But protection at the cost of joy, spontaneity, and truth is too high a price. We remind ourselves: fear does not make us safer, it simply makes us smaller. When we live from the emotion of fear, we shrink from life. When we live from alignment, we grow into it.
Yet our Inner Child will do everything to keep that fear-based illusion intact. To protect its fragile certainty, it becomes the master of misdirection, cherry-picking only the moments that confirm its worst-case beliefs, and conveniently ignoring all the times things turned out okay, or even beautifully. Like a biased storyteller, it twists the narrative to say, “See? I told you so,” even if the story is no longer true.
This selective attention is what we refer to as the ‘Carousel of Despair’. Round and round we go, focusing on what went wrong, on the minor stumbles, on the imagined slights, while the brighter, more empowering moments blur into the background. Our Inner Child clings to the carousel not because it enjoys the ride, but because the predictability of going nowhere ‘feels’ safer than risking a leap toward something unfamiliar. But we must not be drawn into that illusion. Each time we agree with its distorted proof, we strengthen the bars of a belief system that was never built on truth to begin with.
To step off that carousel is not to reject the past; it is to stop allowing the past to predict the future. We must choose to see the whole picture. We must remember the resilience we showed, the kindness we received, the grace that found us when we weren't even looking, when we’ve said, “I didn’t expect that to work out”. These are not minor footnotes; they are vital truths. And when we start including them in our story, the narrative begins to change. This is the shift from fear to alignment. From survival to authenticity. From spinning in place to moving forward, softly, but surely.
The Practice of Alignment in the Unknown
So, how do we begin to align with the unknown, rather than resist it?
First, we create small, sacred spaces for uncertainty. Try something new without expecting a perfect outcome. Explore without pressure. Let curiosity lead. Then, we practise speaking kindly to our Inner Child. When it criticises, when it compares, when it judges, pause. Listen without agreeing. Ask: “What belief is creating this fear?” And then: “Is that belief still true?” “Would we teach that belief to our physical child?”
We replace CCJ with compassion. We say: “This is new. I don’t know how it will go. But I will show up anyway, fully.” This is the heart of Taoism, not controlling the path, but showing up fully for each step.
The I Ching reminds us in Hexagram 52: “Stillness within movement is clarity. Through inner calm, one sees the truth without confusion.” This clarity doesn’t arise from knowing the future; it derives from knowing ourselves, trusting our capacity, and aligning with life as it is.
Living the Radiant Unknown
To embrace the ‘Radiant Unknown’ is not to deny fear; it is to know we created it and move beyond it. It is to trust the part of us that knows we are enough, even when the future is unclear. It is to understand that the real power lies not in controlling life, but in aligning with it.
Let us stop trying to future-proof our lives. Let us stop demanding certainty from a world designed for change. Let us instead return to trust—the trust that we can handle what comes, that we are resourceful and wise, and that our Shen will always guide us home.
Each time we resist the need to know and instead choose to flow, we become a little lighter, a little freer. Each time we take one small, consistent, manageable step without CCJ, we teach our Inner Child a new truth: we are capable, not because we have guarantees, but because we have integrity. Affirm: “I walk the ‘Radiant Unknown’ with trust, gentle presence, and open wings.”
So today, let us begin. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But one effortless breath at a time, into the ‘Radiant Unknown’
Have you ever looked back at a moment from your past and thought, “Why did I act that way?” or “How could I have believed that?” These quiet reflections often carry a sting, an ache from unresolved issues that still linger just beneath the surface. Perhaps you’ve ‘felt’ haunted by a choice made long ago or by patterns you can’t seem to break, even though your life is outwardly progressing. Why does the past still seem to reach into the present? Why do old echoes continue to colour our decisions today?
In this journal post, we’ll journey into the Taoist and Wu Wei Wisdom understanding of the past, not as an anchor or accusation, but as a mirror. A mirror that does not reflect who we are now, but what we once believed to be true. Together, we will explore how these reflections shape our present, how our Inner Child often directs the narrative through outdated beliefs, and most importantly, how we can transform our perception of the past to reclaim our spirit and authenticity today.
We will learn why it is vital to understand that the past is not our identity but an invitation. The pain and pride of past experiences do not define us; they reveal what we once believed. And beliefs, as we shall see, are entirely within our power to shift, shape, and realign. This understanding opens a gateway to transformation, where we are no longer ruled by what was, but free to choose what our authenticity.
Mirrors and Memories
The Tao Te Ching, in its elegant simplicity, reminds us: "Returning is the motion of the Tao. Yielding is the way of the Tao." (Verse 40). To return inward, to revisit without clinging, is to honour the process of growth. In our lives, this means learning to look back with compassion and clarity rather than judgment or shame.
Every past experience is a mirror reflecting the belief systems we held at that time. When we believed we were unworthy, our choices echoed that. When we feared abandonment, we acted out of fear. These behaviours weren’t mistakes; they were signals, clear evidence of our beliefs made visible through action.
This is why our Inner Child plays such a pivotal role in Taoist self-understanding. Formed in our early experiences, our Inner Child learned to survive by simplistically interpreting events, often concluding things like “I’m not enough” or “I must earn love.” These beliefs hardened into rules and scripts that guided us long after their usefulness expired. Yet our Inner Child still badgers us to obey them, even when we are ready to evolve.
As described in our Turning Negatives into Positives journal post, our Inner Child “clings to a script written during our early years... Whenever we encounter something new, our Inner Child script shouts danger.” It seeks the comfort of predictability even if it stifles our growth. It begs for the safety of the familiar even when it means denying our Shen, our unchanging, radiant spiritual essence. But beliefs are not truths. They are learned perceptions, and the beauty of Taoist wisdom is this: we can change them. We are not bound to act out yesterday’s story forever.
Belief Rewrites and Inner Alignment
The Tao does not ask us to fight the past but to learn from it. Like water, it teaches us to move with wisdom rather than resistance. In the practice of wu wei, effortless effort, we don’t push our past away or suppress it. We look at it clearly, trace its origins, and gently release what no longer serves.
One of the most compassionate tools we can use is the ‘Golden Thread Process’. When a red-light emotion like shame or regret arises, we trace it back to the underlying belief. Perhaps a deep-seated notion of not being good enough still lingers from childhood rejection. By tracing back, we meet our Inner Child at the moment when the belief was formed. Then, we ask: “Is that belief true today? Is it true now, in my current knowledge, guided by Shen?”
This is where the ‘Shen Test’ offers clarity: “Would I speak this belief to a physical child I love?” If the answer is no, then the belief is not aligned with your inner nature, or Shen. It is a relic, a shadow. And shadows vanish when faced with the light of truth.
Remember, “By embracing our emotions as our creations, we reclaim our power...we are not victims swept away by tides of circumstance.” Through understanding and gentle inquiry, we stop reacting from old stories and begin writing new ones, stories that reflect not the voice of the frightened, immature Inner Child but the voice of truth, honesty, and integrity.
The Release of Reflected Pain
To let go of the past is not to deny it; it is to acknowledge, learn and move forward. It is to see it, accept the lesson it brought, and allow it to transform us. Holding on to perceived injustices, failures, or rejections keeps us trapped in the past. Taoism teaches us that holding on is like gripping water; it only slips through tighter fists. True strength lies in letting it flow.
In our “From Our Trauma to Tranquillity' journal post, we are encouraged to trust the natural rhythm of healing: “Even the most challenging times will eventually fade, making way for new beginnings.” Every unresolved issue holds a seed of transformation. When we loosen our grip, we make space for something greater: alignment.
Letting go also means refusing to live life defined by CCJ, Criticising, Comparing, and being Judgmental. These habits, often fed by our Inner Child, bind us to the past. They replay the belief that we must measure up or prove our worth.
But as the Tao teaches, “Those who know others are intelligent; those who know themselves are enlightened.” (Tao Te Ching, Verse 33). When we stop measuring ourselves by others’ standards or old mistakes, we begin to see the brilliance of who we truly are. “Affirmations made from truth root us in the truth of who we are, illuminating the beauty and perfection that already reside within.” We do not need to become perfect. We need to return to what we already are.
Living the Present, Not the Past
When we recognise that our past reflects our current beliefs, not an indictment of our identity, we open ourselves to a life of alignment and flow; we are not victims of what was. We are creators of what is and what will be. Beliefs are not permanent fixtures etched into our minds. They are like rivers, not stones, malleable, shifting, and responsive to the terrain of our awareness. With gentle persistence, truthfulness, and integrity, we can redirect their flow.
Yet we must expect our Inner Child's resistance, its urgent whispers of caution, born not from rebellion but from a desire to stay safe in the familiar. These whispers often arrive as red-light feelings: anxiety, defensiveness, shame. But these emotions are not barriers; they are lanterns illuminating the road we must walk to understand ourselves more deeply. Through the lens of Taoist wisdom, we learn to honour this resistance not with force but with effortless effort, with wu wei. We guide rather than push. We reveal rather than demand.
Even more profound is the realisation that our beliefs are always under our command when we are willing to see them. Like a foggy mirror wiped clean, understanding and acceptance reveal our reflection not as broken, but as evolving. As the Tao Te Ching teaches, “When I let go of what I am, I become what I might be.” We become alchemists of our reality, shaping our emotional world with clarity and compassion.
So, let us move forward knowing this: beliefs may echo from the past, but they need not dictate the future. With consistent, loving inquiry grounded in ‘the power of three’ truth, honesty and integrity, we guide ourselves home, not through resistance, but through trust. This is the true art of changing one's beliefs, and it is always within our reach.
In each moment, we have the power to choose: to believe in our worth, to trust in the unknown, to release the past. The Tao never rushes. It flows. And so must we. By taking small, manageable steps, examining one belief, questioning one thought, and releasing one expectation, we move closer to our authentic path. No leap is required, only consistency and compassion.
The Clarity of "Reflected Beliefs"
In this journey through ‘Reflected Beliefs’, we’ve explored how the past is not a verdict, but a mirror. A mirror showing us what we used to believe, not who we are. We’ve seen how our Inner Child forms beliefs in moments of fear or confusion, and how those beliefs continue to play out unless brought into awareness and accepted as either true or false. But we’ve also discovered our power—the power to rewrite those beliefs, guided by Shen, in harmony with the flow of wu wei.
So, let us pause and remember:
The past does not define us; it informs us.
We are not victims of emotions, but their creators.
We can rewrite old beliefs and release what no longer serves when we understand and accept them.
Let go of Criticising, Comparing and being Judgmental (CCJ). Release the need for external reassurance, certainty or validation. Trust instead the gentle rhythm of Tao. Break through the electric fence of the familiar. Align with wu wei. The future is not something to fear; it is a canvas awaiting your truth. Affirm now: “I am free to create new beliefs that reflect my truth today.”
This is your moment. Let it begin not with grand change, but with a small act of truth, one belief examined. One emotion traced. One reflection accepted. In this way, step by step, your past becomes a teacher, not a prison. And your life becomes the unfolding of your true essence, not what was, but what is possible.
Let us walk forward with faith in ourselves, unshaken by the mirror of the past, guided only by the wisdom of ‘Reflected Beliefs’, for the reflections we see are not fixed truths but shifting images, tinted by the thoughts we once accepted as facts. These beliefs, formed in the shadows of misunderstanding, do not define us; they reveal where we once stood. When we begin to question them, not with fear but with curiosity, the landscape of our inner world transforms from one of limitation to a realm of fascinating possibility.
Changing our perception is not a burden; it is a discovery. To question a belief is to uncover the architecture of our identity and to witness how it was assembled, piece by piece, often in haste and without our full awareness. Yet now, we can choose to become the deliberate architects of our inner Shen temple. Creating new beliefs that reflect our truth, honesty, and integrity is not only powerful but also exhilarating. Each new belief is like a lantern on the path, illuminating what was once dark and uncertain.
The secret, a sacred act of trust, is to take our Inner Child by the hand and walk together into this new light. Our Inner Child will hesitate, unaccustomed to the shadows of uncertainty, clinging to the familiar even when it hurts. But if we guide patiently, with consistent love, compassion, and understanding, something remarkable happens. As these new beliefs become familiar, the child begins to smile. It sees the positive results and realises it is safe to let go, because they have now become familiar. What once was met with resistance now becomes a joyous recognition: “This feels better. I like this. Let’s keep going.”
This is wu wei in motion, the art of effortless effort. We do not fight the old beliefs. We gently outgrow them. We do not shame our Inner Child. We invite it to dance with us in the evolving truth of our spirit. And each step taken in this dance is a movement toward wholeness, toward Oneness with the Tao.
So, let us dare to question. Let us embrace change not as correction, but as celebration. Let us become fascinated with our unfolding, intrigued by the mystery and awe of who we are becoming. And as we do, may we remind ourselves daily: the beliefs we carry shape the reality we experience. Choose them wisely, grow them lovingly, and hold them lightly, just long enough for our Inner Child to see they were safe all along.
The path is not behind us. It’s the next step. Accept ‘Reflective Beliefs’ with integrity, and everything will begin to flow.
Moments of Inspiration…
Awakening to Innate Abundance
There are moments, quiet, almost hidden, where we suddenly remember something deeper: we already have what we’ve been seeking.
Not because we earned it, proved it, or strived long enough for it. But because it’s always been there.
This is the soft truth Taoism offers: abundance isn’t something to chase; it is something we uncover within. It doesn’t bloom in noise, competition, or accumulation. It awakens in stillness, simplicity, and the gentle acceptance of who we truly are.
Wu wei teaches us that the most profound effort is effortless. When we stop pushing, grasping, and comparing, something extraordinary happens: clarity arises. In that clarity, we realise: “We are not missing. We are not behind. There is no lack.”
Our Inner Child may resist this wisdom, whispering that more must be achieved, earned, or controlled. But we can gently guide that part of us to see how life is not withholding; it is simply inviting us to receive.
Abundance lives not in the things we gather, but in the truth we trust. When we allow ourselves to slow down, breathe, and reconnect with the present, inspiration flows like spring water, natural, effortless, and ever-renewing.
Affirm: I no longer chase what I already hold within. I trust the flow of life and rest in my innate abundance.
This week, let’s notice the quiet riches already present: a kind breath, a moment of understanding, the wisdom that stirs when we stop striving. In these ‘moments of inspiration’, our true wealth is revealed.
In the Next ‘Inner Circle’ (Paid) Journal…
Flawed and Free
Hidden Knowing
The Inner Flame
Moments of Inspiration
In the Next Free Journal…
Unshakable Resolve
Sacred Ordinary
Now Unfolding
Moments of Inspiration
Journal #F042 18/08/2025