Tao is strangely colorless,
It grips like a tidal wave.
The old books describe Tao as strangely colorless. What do they mean by that? Where gods appear in flashes of blinding light, where hell yawns open with flames and sparks, how is it that Tao, supreme above all, is strangely colorless?
The description of colorless is a reference to the fact that Tao is beyond all descriptions. When you experience Tao, you will recognize that you are in the grip of something so right. But it will be impossible to conceptualize it or reproduce it. In fact, the more that you try to pin Tao down, the more elusive it becomes. It is a paradox that something colorless can be so intense, gripping, and unforgettable.
Have you ever played a competitive sport, say, like football? Have you ever felt that sweet spot, when everything went right almost without your trying? When you were in the grip of that momentum, did you say to yourself, “Don’t do anything to break this. Don’t say anything, don’t ruin it”? That feeling is a little of what being with Tao is like. If you tried to break down what was happening to you, you couldn’t. If you tried to reproduce it later in another game, you couldn’t. If you tried to “master” it, take credit for it, explain what happened, you couldn’t. Later in private when you reflected back, you would realize that the experience that you felt was strong enough to move others, to seep all before it, to hold you in intensity. What you felt was Tao.