It was a bright August day in 2001, the kind of day Oregon’s Cannon Beach loves to show off. The sky was a crisp shade of blue, Haystack Rock stood proudly against the Pacific waves, and the breeze carried just a hint of salt.
There I was, in front of this majestic monolith—part ancient lava flow, part Marine Garden teeming with puffins and sea stars—being dumped by a woman from Canada.
She was direct, almost clinical. “This isn’t working for me,” she said, her words slicing through the coastal serenity like a knife.
For a moment, I was a tide pool myself, teeming with swirling emotions: confusion, sadness, and, yes, even a dash of indignation. But as her words hung in the air, I found myself drawn to Haystack Rock—silent, unmoving, yet vibrant with life.
And in that moment, a small voice whispered, Be like the rock.
Breakups as Tidal Waves of Emotions
Breakups, as the 70’s and 80’s musical group The Stylistics crooned so perfectly, often feel like an endless game of fools: “First you love me, then you hate me.”
Relationships can oscillate like tides, high and full of promise one moment, low and barren the next.
My Canadian ex and I had played that game before. This wasn’t our first breakup, but standing there in front of Haystack Rock, I knew it was the last.
And yet, the lyrics echoed in my head:
Break up to make up, that’s all we do.
It’s tempting, isn’t it? To try and “make up,” to mend the rift, even when you know the relationship has run its course. But the I Ching, that ancient Taoist oracle, has a way of cutting through such illusions.
What the I Ching Might Say
If I’d cast the I Ching that day, I imagine it would’ve pointed to Hexagram 23: Splitting Apart—a gentle but firm reminder that some things must fall away to make room for renewal.
In Taoist thought, endings aren’t failures; they’re part of the natural ebb and flow of life. Just as the tide withdraws from Haystack Rock, relationships, too, must sometimes recede.
But the I Ching doesn’t stop at endings. It also teaches about Hexagram 42: Increase, which follows the letting go. By releasing what no longer serves us, we create space for growth and transformation.
Standing on that beach, I realized I wasn’t just losing her—I was gaining clarity.
The Beauty of the Moment
As she walked away, leaving me alone with Haystack Rock and a flock of indifferent seagulls, something remarkable happened. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude—for her honesty, for the beauty of the moment, and for the chance to reflect.
Haystack Rock seemed to whisper its own Taoist wisdom. Formed 15 million years ago by volcanic flows, it had endured countless tides, storms, and winds. Yet here it stood, steady and serene, a testament to resilience. The rock didn’t cling to the tide. Instead, it allowed the ocean to come and go.
This, I realized, was the Tao. Life moves in cycles—relationships, emotions, even heartbreak. To resist these cycles is to suffer; to embrace them is to find peace.
Taoist Philosophy as Loving Embrace
In the weeks that followed, I reflected deeply on what the breakup had taught me. Taoist philosophy speaks of wu wei, or effortless action—not forcing outcomes but aligning with the natural flow of life.
I had spent so much energy trying to “make up” in a relationship that was, by its nature, ebbing away. Letting go wasn’t just necessary; it was liberating.
The Stylistics’ song, poignant as it is, speaks of a game: a push-pull dynamic that traps so many of us.
But the Tao isn’t about games; it’s about authenticity. It’s about standing like Haystack Rock—rooted, calm, and open to whatever the tides bring.
Tail Tucked Between My Legs
As I walked back to my car that day, I felt lighter. The Tao had reminded me that endings are beginnings in disguise, that clinging leads to suffering, and that beauty can be found even in heartbreak.
So, to anyone navigating the waves of a breakup, take a lesson from Haystack Rock and the Tao: Let the tide come and go. Embrace the moment, even the painful ones. And remember, as The Stylistics sang, love isn’t a game—it’s an invitation to grow.
Break up to make up? Maybe not this time.
Instead, let’s just be.
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Wonderful.
Be the rock:) Beautifully written, as always. Love the nature you describe in Oregon.
I was sick recently with a fever & it dawned on me during, that fevers/illness are also a form of rebirth. And when u come out the other side, life-how sweet it is (Marvin Gaye first came to mind, but more apropos, Satcho playing here, "What a Wonderful World"🎵).