Introduction

This book began as a series of public posts, each one accompanied by a photograph.

I thought people might appreciate some thoughts and reflections that could be applied to many different situations and give them a sense of what I was doing. So, I started a series of daily posts using one randomly selected hexagram each day as the departure point.

I didn’t include the hexagram numbers because I was developing personal reflections and didn’t want to end up in interpretation debates with the huge number of people who study and use the I Ching.

I never made a record of them myself.

So, you may catch hints of some hexagrams if you know the book, but I have not taken material directly from the various available interpretations or wittingly plagiarized existing texts.

I did this pretty much every day without a break for about 18 months. This book covers the first 126 days, many of which also spanned the pandemic.

These are observations sparked by the I Ching and shaped by consideration of my own experience of the world. Each entry usually describes a moment of disorientation, a pause, a shift in perception, or a return to flow. In one or two cases, I ask what I believe are serious questions and make a few assertions I believe are valid.

The photographs were all taken on my smartphone and are from the local park (Bellevue), local ancient woodland (The Wentwood), and a trip I was lucky enough to take to Iceland.

The themes here are simple. They are about the art of letting go; of old beliefs, of unsustainable frameworks, of the need to control. They are about the uses of stillness, the insights of receptivity, and the importance of following your core truth, even when the path is unclear.

This is not a book of answers but of invitations. It is an exploration and evocation of the in-between, a reminder that growth happens through alignment and through releasing what we don’t need. That includes all those ideas and beliefs we may have taken on board that are limiting, superfluous, and often wrong.

It is also a way of saying that you are not alone in living an ongoing process of transition. The way forward is always there, perhaps concealed beneath shock or disappointment or confusion. We nonetheless return to what matters.

The I Ching is rich in metaphor, allegory, and symbolism. I don’t think of it as divination so much as a way of generating random points of departure for reflection. I have many translations, but my go-to is Hilary Barrett’s,⁠¹ who also runs the ⁠²Clarity I Ching website, which is full of great resources.

The I Ching invites us to notice the currents of change and to trust the process, even when the destination is uncertain.

The photographs are of the natural world, frequently echoing many of the main themes: the resilience of a tree splitting rock, the persistence of a seed in winter, and the play of light and shadow on water.

You are invited to engage with this collection in any way you choose. You can read it sequentially if you like, or just dip in whenever you feel like it. It is intended to return to what is essential and to serve as a reminder that every ending is in process and change is constant.

On the website there's also a "Draw a reflection" button which picks one at random.³

— Mike Parker