Can One Find Mindfulness Amid Urban Noise?

A Few of My “Windy City” Thoughts

Lately, I’ve been ruminating on the phrase, “a good monk lives in the forest while a great monk lives in the city,” a nugget of wisdom that speaks deeply to the soul and ruffles a few feathers of my psyche. 

As I prepare to swap the serenity of Fort Collins for the cacophony of Chicago in 2025, I find myself standing on the precipice of this paradox, ready to dive into the urban jungle armed with the sagacity of the I Ching and Tao Te Ching.

Embracing the Forest Within

Let’s start with the first half of the phrase: “a good monk lives in the forest.” In recent months, Fort Collins has been my forest—a quaint little haven where the air is crisp, the coffee is strong, and people still smile at strangers on the street. Here, I have honed my ability to embrace silence, to meditate with the wind as my metronome and the mountains as my temple walls. 

The I Ching would nod approvingly at this pastoral existence, recognizing it as a time of "Receptivity" (Hexagram 2), where one learns to attune to the rhythm of the natural world, finding a harmony that is deeply internal. In Fort Collins, I’ve been the “good monk,” cultivating inner peace, like a Zen gardener tending to his inner plot of weeds and wildflowers.

But life in the forest, while nourishing, can also lead to a kind of spiritual complacency. Lao Tzu writes in the Tao Te Ching, “A great nation is like a great man: When he makes a mistake, he realizes it. Having realized it, he admits it. Having admitted it, he corrects it.” 

The forest provides clarity, but it lacks the friction necessary to polish the stone of the self. As a Black Taoist wanderer who has danced with chaos and tranquility alike, I’ve come to realize that true growth requires more than just serene reflection; it demands the dynamism of interaction—the hustle, the bustle, the madness of a city like Chicago.

The City: A Furnace for Greatness

Enter the second part: “a great monk lives in the city.” Ah, the city—an unruly beast that devours the naive and rewards the resilient. A place where the Taoist notion of "wu wei" (effortless action) gets thrown into a blender with the chaos of modernity. 

Can one practice “non-doing” while dodging traffic, hustling for rent, and navigating the ever-complex web of human relationships? The I Ching's "Deliverance" (Hexagram 40) suggests that deliverance comes after a period of tension, that liberation is a release from a knot that can only be untied through mindful engagement with the world’s challenges. 

To live in the city is to be that monk who chooses to engage with the knotty dilemmas of urban life, untangling them with grace and wisdom.

Moving back to my adopted hometown of Chicago means stepping into the furnace where the dross of my spiritual complacency will be burned away. The forest was my classroom; the city will be my testing ground. 

In Taoist philosophy, the sage seeks to live “in the world, but not of it.” In a city, this becomes an Olympic sport. Can I maintain my inner peace amid the ceaseless noise of honking horns, political rants, and unsolicited street corner sermons? Can I navigate the concrete jungle with the same effortless grace I’ve cultivated among the pines?

The Urban Tao: Walking the Razor's Edge

The Tao Te Ching teaches that “the Tao that can be spoken is not the eternal Tao.” This is the challenge of city life—the Tao can’t be encapsulated in words or pinned down to a fixed state. It is fluid, ever-changing, like the neighborhoods of Chicago themselves. It asks that we embrace adaptability, to become like water, finding our way through both the cracks in the pavement and the vast expanse of Lake Michigan. 

The “great monk” doesn’t just survive the city; they thrive in it by turning every challenge into an opportunity for deeper awareness.

For me, this return to Chicago isn’t just a change of scenery; it’s a conscious choice to practice Ziran—the Taoist concept of natural spontaneity—amidst a world of concrete and steel. 

In Fort Collins, spontaneity might look like a spontaneous hike or an impromptu meditation session. In Chicago, it might mean striking up a deep conversation with a stranger on the ‘L’ or finding stillness amidst the throngs at Millennium Park. The great monk sees the city not as an obstacle but as a dance partner, pirouetting through the chaos with poise.

A Courageous Return

So here I am, a good monk preparing to become a great monk. Chicago, with all its gritty splendor and relentless energy, is calling me back. My forest years in Fort Collins have grounded me, but they have also prepared me for the more significant test of the city. I’m not just moving back to Chicago; I’m embracing it as my urban dojo, where the lessons of the Tao will be sharpened by the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

And who knows? Maybe amidst the sirens, skyscrapers, and street festivals, I’ll find that the essence of “living in the world but not of it” isn’t about escaping to a mountain hermitage but about finding that same peace in a packed subway car. The great monk, after all, knows that the forest and the city are merely two sides of the same Taoist coin.

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