What Blinds the Eye: Taoism and the Noise of Now

The five colors blind the eye.
The five tones deafen the ear.
The five flavors dull the taste.
Racing and hunting madden the mind.
Precious things lead one astray.

Therefore, the sage is guided by what he feels and not by what he sees.
He lets go of that and chooses this.

—Tao Te Ching, Chapter 12

After reading and thinking about Chapter 8—the image of water as the highest good, quietly nourishing all things without striving—it seems as though Chapter 12 offers a kind of warning: this is what keeps us from becoming like water. This is what scatters the mind and fragments the heart.

Laozi’s words are ancient, but reading them today, they feel less like poetry and more like prophecy.

The Noise of Modern Life
We’re living in an era where the five colors don’t just blind the eye — they scroll endlessly across our screens. The five tones are not ancient pentatonic scales, but algorithmically selected audio bites designed to grab attention, sell product, or shape opinion. The five flavors? Over-salted, over-sweetened, engineered for addiction.

Social media, streaming platforms, 24-hour news cycles, and curated ads — they all compete for our attention relentlessly. We’re immersed in a world of excess: of image, of sound, of stimulation. And while these technologies offer incredible tools and opportunities, they also carry a cost that Laozi foresaw: overexposure dulls the senses. It blinds, deafens, numbs.

More isn’t always more. Sometimes it’s just too much.

Disconnection Disguised as Connection
We live with the illusion that we are more connected than ever — and in a way, that’s true. But this connectivity is often shallow and exhausting. Our feeds are full, but our hearts are hungry. We consume more information in a day than most of our ancestors did in a year, but we rarely have time to digest, let alone reflect.

When every moment is filled with noise, how do we listen to what’s within?

“Therefore, the sage is guided by what he feels and not by what he sees.”

This line says it pretty simply. In a world obsessed with optics, perception, branding, and visibility, it offers a radical reorientation: don’t look outward, feel inward. The sage isn’t guided by appearance, popularity, or polish— but by something quieter. Something deeper. Something true.

And that kind of knowing—intuitive, somatic, slow— doesn’t survive well in a state of constant distraction.

Spectacle and the Hunger for Meaning
“Racing and hunting madden the mind,” Laozi writes—and here, too, the metaphors translate easily to modern life. Whether it’s the race for achievement, productivity, likes, followers, or the latest controversy—we are always in motion, always reacting. And like a dog in a hunt, we often don’t stop to ask: Why am I chasing this in the first place?

Even our politics— which should be about care, responsibility, and shared life—have become theater. Soundbites over substance. Outrage over nuance. Policy reduced to performance.

Laozi saw it clearly: the chase, the hunt, the craving for what glitters—it makes us lose our way.

Returning to Water
So, what’s the alternative?

Last week, Chapter 8 reminded us: the highest good is like water.
It flows without striving. It nourishes all things without needing reward. It goes to the low places, the overlooked spaces, and in doing so, it aligns with the Tao.

To live like water is to stop chasing and start listening.
To step back from spectacle and reconnect with essence.
To let go of what glitters like gold and choose what sustains.

We could interpret this to mean:

Choose presence over performance.
Consume less, so we can sense more.
Speak with fewer words, but greater truth.
Root ourselves in what is real—the body, the breath, the ground beneath us.

This isn’t escape. It’s a return.

A Closing Reflection

Laozi ends this short chapter with a simple phrase:

“He lets go of that and chooses this.”

That.
This.

He doesn’t moralize. He doesn’t shame. He just invites choice—a reorientation toward what’s essential.

So maybe the question is:

What’s your “that”?
And what’s the “this” you want to return to?

—

Welcome to the Practice

I named my coaching practice Cultivate because that’s what growth really is—slow, seasonal, relational. It’s not a race. It’s a rhythm.

Thank you for being here.

More soon.

-- Robert Baggett, M. Dip. Ac., CLC