There was a general in ancient China who retired after many years of military service. Not wishing to sit around doing nothing, he took up the hobby of collecting antiques.

One day, he sat in his study to admire his latest acquisition – a small antique vase. It was expensive but worth it. He turned it this way and that, examining the exquisite patterns that ancient craftsmen had worked into it.

Suddenly, a careless movement of his fingers caused the vase to slip from his hands. The general tried to catch it, but its slick surface was difficult to grasp. He dove forward to try again. It was a close call, but he finally managed to hold on to it, mere inches from the floor.

The general's heart was pounding rapidly. His breathing was frantic. He gripped the vase tightly and stood up slowly. After a while, he was able to regain some composure.

He was relieved to have avoided damage, but something was not right. Instead of elation, he felt only puzzlement. "In all my campaigns," he thought to himself, "charging against the enemy, leading men into battle, even facing much bigger armies than mine… I never felt as much fear as I did just now. Why?"

Throughout his military career, the general always recognized the possibility of losing his life, but it didn't frighten him at all. Somehow, on this particular day, the possibility of losing the vase frightened him a lot.

In an instant of clarity, he saw the problem. He had become too attached to the vase. That attachment was the cause of emotional turmoil. He looked at the vase again, seeing it in a completely different light. Then, with his mind perfectly at ease, he relaxed his hands. The vase dropped and shattered into pieces.

In Chapter 44 of the Tao Te Ching, we read the following two lines:

The self or wealth, which is greater?
Gain or loss, which is more painful?

These are point-blank questions that go right to the heart of the issue. Somehow, the vase became greater, or more important, to the general than his life – at least for a while. What made it that way?

We know the vase didn't make it that way, because it was merely an object with no supernatural powers to affect the mind. The problem had to originate from the general himself. He was the one who assigned a high level of importance to the vase. It was as if the vase owned him instead of the other way around.

Countless people have died in pursuit of wealth throughout history, and we have all seen those who endanger themselves because of greed. These are the individuals who assign a high level of importance to material things. They may think they are acquiring money, but it is as if they have been acquired by money.

Just as the vase was not the real source of the general's problem, money itself isn't to blame. Money can't really make us do anything, so the question isn't so much why inanimate objects should have so much power over us, but why we should willingly grant them that power.

We often think of gain as good and loss as bad, so it seems only natural to conclude that loss is more painful. But when we consider the vase from the Tao perspective, we can glimpse a different truth. The assignment of more importance to wealth can actually lead to gain being more painful. This may seem totally contrary to our expectations.

The vase can be generalized to represent anything we are attached to. The more attached we are to it, the more we fear losing it. Nor is this fear something that only starts when the loss occurs. Even before anything happens to the object of attachment, we are already afraid.

For instance, I have a friend who recently purchased a laptop. It was very expensive because it was as small and light as a laptop could be.

"Why do you need something so tiny?" I asked him.

"Because I can take it with me anywhere," he said, beaming with pride.

Several months later, I ran into him at a conference. I noticed he was using a rather large and heavy laptop. "Hey, what happened to your new toy?" I asked.

"Oh, I left it at home," he said. "I couldn't take the chance of having it damaged or stolen or misplaced, so I brought this older laptop instead."

As I reflected on his words, I wondered if he realized the irony. We human beings have this knack for taking actions that seem perfectly logical at the time, only to have them lead us down the path to strange conclusions.

The fear my friend felt was fundamentally no different from the general's fear. The magnitude of this fear corresponds in direct proportion to the degree of attachment, and we are the sole cause of it. Most of us don't think about this much. We accept it as part of life... but why should we? Why should we live with fear that we have created for ourselves?

The general's decision to let go of the vase represents the way Tao cultivators transcend this problem. It doesn't mean we should also drop our material belongings and shatter them into pieces. What it really means is that we need to relax and relinquish our grasping tendencies.

One sage has compared this to a thirsty man trying to get a drink of water from a mountain stream. The man dips his hands into the stream in order to bring water to his lips. If he does so with clenched fists, then he will remain thirsty; if he does so with open hands cupped together, then he will enjoy the cool and refreshing water, as much as he wants.

It is the same with life. If we live life full of attachments, we would be like the general grasping the vase tightly, or the man thrusting fists into water. We experience the fear of loss, end up with nothing worthwhile, and have no one to blame but ourselves.

By being able to let go, we release the artificial fear that we have created. Like the general, we can rediscover our peace of mind by loosening the death grip. Like the thirsty man, we can dip our open hands into the stream of life and scoop up the clear and sparkling essence of the Tao.

When we look at this essence, we see in it the exquisite patterns of existence. They are not the static patterns of human creations, but the dynamic, ever changing forces of nature, crafted by the divine. It is more ancient than any antique, for it is eternal; it is more valuable than any treasure, for it is priceless.

To drink this essence is to infuse life with the Tao. To bring it to our lips, we must first open clenched fists. We drink with the mind perfectly at ease and free from fear. Then, we relax, grasping nothing, so we can scoop up more water... and bring even more Tao into our lives.