Homecoming

One day, while scrolling social media, I unexpectedly returned to Taoism. It felt like chance.



Four years ago, arriving in France after suddenly fleeing Vietnam, Taoism quietly entered my life. My beloved aunt introduced it gently. Too shaken to grasp it fully, I only knew it helped me breathe, slow down, and stay afloat amid chaos.

This time, curiosity lingered. I paused. I clicked. Each step led from Taoist philosophy to Tai Chi, and finally to Wudang Mountain, China's most sacred Taoist site and Tai Chi's birthplace.

First Encounter with Taoism

Taoism arrived at my lowest point. That cold French winter, I'd left Vietnam with just a 23kg suitcase after a dear friend's arrest for environmental activism. Losses, grief, and uncertainty weighed heavy, unnamed.

What touched me wasn't philosophy, but Taoism's simple truth: light and darkness belong together. Joy and sadness. Yin and Yang. Nothing exists alone, nothing lasts forever. My sadness became something passing through, not to escape.

Inspired, I wrote in my diary:

There is a time for everything in life
Time to lead, time to be behind;
Time to work, time to rest;
Time to laugh, time to cry.



Somehow, that was enough.

Lesson: There is a season for everything.

From Curiosity to the Body

Now, I listened. One click led to Tai Chi. Slow, tentative movements awakened something deep,  not excitement, but quiet joy rising from the body. Breath softened. Rhythm emerged. Less learning, more remembering.

Lesson: The body remembers what the mind cannot grasp.

The Mountain Appears

Wudang Mountain images surfaced,  unfamiliar yet deeply familiar. Born in the far north mountains of Vietnam, my inner child knows this landscape: altitude, spaciousness, natural rhythm.

Mist on ancient paths, wind through pines, unhurried life . It called me. Not to travel, but to listen within.

Lesson: Some places call us to awaken what's already inside.

My Mother and Tai Chi

Mother (in the middle of the photo) practiced Tai Chi daily, her rhythm, her grounding. Her memory lingers, though I couldn't return for her farewell.

Now, each mindful movement bridges us. Breath and motion honor her rhythm within mine, a subtle offering.

Lesson: Presence connects us to those we love, even in absence.

Becoming the Mountain

Tai Chi answered the mountain's call. Arms flowed like branches, legs rooted like trees, breath rose like mist. No need to travel thousands of kilometers. I carried its energy in motion and stillness.

The distant mountain became my internal presence.

Lesson: External energy cultivates internally.

Homecoming: The Inner Mountain

While meditating, a magnificent mountain arose, rooted, calm. I decided to bring it inside. I became the mountain. I am the mountain.

Homecoming isn't arriving somewhere. It's returning to inner steadiness: body, breath, being. Here, Mother and I coexist, not just memory, but movement.

Lesson: Home is the rhythm we carry inside.

An Invitation

Perhaps this is what Wudang Mountain offers. A gentle reminder that steadiness and joy can be cultivated even in turbulence. Honoring those we love and moments we've lost happens in the simple act of breathing, moving, and being present.

The mountain, Taoism, and Tai Chi are not distant treasures. They awaken what is already within.

This is the kind of homecoming I hold space for women, gently, in rhythm, at their own pace.

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**Note**: Wudang Mountain images sourced from the internet