The Taoist sage, Chuang Tzu, who wrote in the fourth and third centuries B.C., is the definitely the most entertaining spokesman for Taoism and its founder Lao Tzu. It was Chuang Tzu who said:

"When we dream we do not know that we are dreaming. Only after we are awake do we know that we have dreamed. But there comes a great awakening, and then we know that life is a nothing more than a great dream. But the stupid think they are awake all the time and believe they know it distinctly.”

The power of film comes from its ability to tap into the process of dreams, and in this sense, film contains the power of Tao. But is there a Tao of filmmaking?

Why not? Apparently, according to book publishers, there’s a Taoist approach to anything and everything under the sun. War, business, sex and Pooh. So if we might be given the latitude to re-interpret the words of Lao Tzu, he might say to filmmakers in the world:

Know the masculine,
but keep to the feminine:
and you will bring a turning point to the world.

If you fully embrace reality,
the Tao will never leave you
and you see life as a wonder, as a little child might.

Know how to use color,
yet keep to the black and white:
in your courage, be a model for the world.

If you are a model for the world,
the Tao inside you will strengthen
and you will return fresh and whole to every new film project.  

Exalt the heroic,
but do not shun the disgraced:
the key to filmmaking is to embrace the world as it is.
If you embrace the world with absolute compassion,
then your virtue will return you to the uncarved block, to perfect creativity.

And there’s Chuang Tzu’s story of Ting the cook, who was a master butcher:

When Lord Wen-hui saw Ting cutting meat, it was a thing of beauty. Ting’s hands danced as his shoulders turned with the step of his foot and bending of his knee. With a shush and a hush, the blade sang following his lead, never missing a note. Ting and his blade moved as though dancing to an orchestra.

Lord Wen-hui exclaimed, “What a joy! It’s good, is it not, that such a simple craft can be so elevated?”

Ting laid aside his knife. “All I care about is the Tao. If find it in my craft, that’s all I need. When I first butchered an ox, I saw nothing but ox meat. It took three years for me to see the whole ox. Now I go out to meet it with my whole spirit and don’t think only about what meets the eye. My normal consciousness stops. The spirit goes where it will, following the natural contours, revealing large cavities, leading the blade through openings, moving onward according to actual form — yet not touching the central arteries or tendons and ligaments, much less touching bone.

“A good cook needs to sharpen his blade only once a year. He cuts cleanly. An awkward cook sharpens his knife every month. He chops and hacks at it. I’ve used this knife for nineteen years, carving thousands of oxen. Still the blade is as sharp as the first time it was lifted from the whetstone. At the joints there are spaces, and the blade has no thickness. Entering with no thickness where there is space, the blade may move freely where it will: there’s plenty of room to move. Thus, after nineteen years, my knife remains as sharp as it was that first day.

Lord Wen-hui said, “Amazing, Ting the cook has shown me how to find the Tao to nurture life.”

How different can cutting meat be from cutting film?