The Tao, Trust, and Life Currency

“Trust No One…….”

I’ve heard that phrase uttered countless times in hushed tones after heartbreak, whispered by those carrying the scars of betrayal, or etched in the cautious code of survival. It’s a mantra born from bruises, reinforced by a world that often rewards skepticism.

And yet, every time I hear it, something in me recoils. Not in judgment, but in sorrow. Because that story—“trust no one”—is the antithesis of Tao.

In Taoist philosophy, trust is not just an act we extend to others. It is the very nature of the Way. The Tao Te Ching, attributed to Lao Tzu, speaks not of tight control or wary calculation, but of surrender and flowing with the current rather than against it.

“The Tao does nothing, yet nothing is left undone,” says Chapter 37. This is not passive inaction. It is effortless alignment—a trust that the unfolding of life, when unobstructed, carries its own wisdom. To live in harmony with the Tao is to trust that nature, including human nature, is fundamentally whole when left unforced.

Similarly, the I Ching, or Book of Changes, reminds us through its ancient hexagrams that life is dynamic, cyclical, and layered. Trust here is not blind faith. It is attunement.

When we cast the coins or yarrow stalks, we’re not asking for a rigid answer. Instead we’re seeking insight into the energetic pattern of the moment. The I Ching teaches that timing, sincerity, and humility guide our relationships with others and ourselves. Trust, then, becomes less about control and more about perception.

And yet, what do we do when our trust has been violated?

I’ve had those moments. Gut punches of betrayal that left me spiraling in disbelief. Times when I thought someone was walking the path with me, only to find out they were charting a different map behind my back.

It was in those moments that I could feel the invitation to adopt the “trust no one” armor. But armor restricts movement. It weighs us down and seals us off. And if Taoism has taught me anything, it’s this: rigid structures break, but water flows around and through.

Betrayal, painful as it is, can be alchemized, not by retaliation or withdrawal, but by deeper observation. The Taoist way is not to suppress the pain or bypass the wound. It’s to sit with it, let it be transmuted by presence, and in doing so, emerge with more discernment, not less love.

Lao Tzu writes in Chapter 49:

“The sage has no fixed mind;

he takes the mind of the people as his own…

He trusts people who are trustworthy.

He also trusts people who are not trustworthy.

This is true trust.”

It took me a while to grasp this. Why trust those who aren’t trustworthy? Because true trust is not based on the worthiness of the other. Rather, it’s a reflection of your own alignment with the Tao. To trust doesn’t mean to give everyone equal access to your life. It means to trust your perception, your boundaries, and the wisdom of the flow itself. Some people come as lessons, not as companions.

In Taoist practice, especially in inner alchemy, the more you release the need to cling or control, the more qi or vital energy that flows freely. Trust is the riverbed through which life courses. Without it, the current stagnates.

So no, I won’t subscribe to “trust no one.” Instead, I practice trusting wisely. I trust the wind to shift, people to reveal their nature, and my spirit to remain open yet aware. I trust that the Tao, in its mysterious unfolding, will teach me who and what to let go of and when to stay present, even through pain.

Because in the end, the deepest trust isn’t about other people at all.

It’s about trusting the Way.

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