We look but don’t see it
And call it indistinct.
We listen but don’t hear it
And call it faint.
We reach but don’t grasp it
And call it ethereal.
Three failed means to knowledge
We weave into one
With no light above
With no shade below
Too fine to be named
Returning to nothing.
This is the formless form
The immaterial image.
This is the waxing waning.
We meet without seeing its face
We follow without seeing its back.
Holding onto this very Way
We rule this very realm
And discover its ancient path.
This is the thread of the Way.
Lao-tzui
from The Taoteching