In the Hut at the Edge of the Village
On Jung’s Rainmaker, quiet rituals with my father, and the daily work of returning to Tao—plus this week’s Yin meditations on breath and embodiment
In this post, I offer a reflective essay on the iconic Taoist Rainmaker story Carl Jung shared so often, exploring its relevance in our own disordered time. I then include a short reflection on a recent visit with my father, an afternoon marked by quiet rituals and unsettled emotions. Out of that moment came a poem, offered here as a kind of practice.
When the Rainmaker Waited
Carl Jung had a story he insisted his students tell at the beginning of any lecture. Not a psychological theory, not a case study, not a diagnostic term—but a tale. A myth, really. The story of the Rainmaker.
Jung heard it from his friend Richard Wilhelm, the great German translator of the I Ching.
There was a devastating drought in a province of China. Nothing the villagers tried would bring relief. The Christians held processions. The Taoists lit incense. Guns were fired to scare off demons. Still, no rain.
Finally, the villagers sent for a Taoist Rainmaker from a distant province.
When the Rainmaker arrived, he asked only for a small hut at the edge of the village, some rice, and to be left alone. He disappeared into solitude.
On the fourth day, the skies opened. Snow fell—unseasonably, generously, impossibly. The drought was broken.
When Wilhelm asked the old man how he made the rain, the Rainmaker said:
“I didn’t make the rain. I’m not responsible.”
“But what did you do in that hut for three days?”
“I come from a place where the Tao is in order. Here, things were out of order. I, too, became disordered. So I waited until I was back in Tao. Then, naturally, it snowed.”
Jung cherished this story because it expressed a truth that modern life often forgets: the interplay between the inner and outer worlds. That healing, if it’s to mean anything real, must begin with presence. Not control. Not strategy. Presence.
We live in a time of drought. Emotional drought. Political drought. Spiritual drought.
We think: Surely, something can be done. And so we process, post, analyze, and organize.
But Jung's Rainmaker reminds us that sometimes, the most important thing to do is to stop doing—until our interior begins to find alignment again. Not to escape the world. But to meet it rightly.
“He aligned himself with Tao. Then, naturally, it snowed.”
That line continues to haunt me—not with sentimentality, but with a subtle dare: Can I wait? Can I sit in the hut long enough to stop being at war with myself?
A Visit, A Walk, A Little Weather Inside
Last Friday, my father visited for the day. The timing finally worked out; and a rare thing it was: to be eager for his company and arrival.
We walked the beach in a raw spring wind, ate sardines on the patio, and talked in the way fathers and sons sometimes do: sideways, through stories and lectures, over shared tea.
We talked about grief, mortgages, the White Mountains, sailing, backgammon.
I brought up Jung. He asked for bullet points. I kept it to the collective unconscious and synchronicity.
Later, I watched two cardinals—the male and female—hop around the feeder in their silent little drama. It was one of those moments where memory, symbol, and presence braid together so tightly they become indistinguishable.
Out of that came this short poem. A kind of manual. A modest gesture towards presence. A hut of my own, for this week at least.
When It Comes Again
Don’t fix it.
Boil tea.
Let your hands remember warmth.
Let wind
loosen the ache.
Tell the red birds
and black birds
to take it.
Tell the feeder nothing.
Sit still
until you’re just
breath and sky.
If this speaks to you, feel free to share it or leave a note.
From my hut to yours,
Josh
For paid subscribers this week on From Scratch:
🌀 Meditation Experiment #5: The Five Elements of Breath Meditation
A subtle and layered breath-based practice, exploring how the qualities of Water, Wood, Fire, Earth, and Metal show up in awareness, tone, and presence.
🧘♂️ Yin Practice Lab #5: The Five Elements of Embodiment
A full-spectrum Yin sequence with gentle vagal resets and postures like Dragonfly, Sphinx, and Supported Bridge—an invitation to listen for all Five Elements, in body and breath, all at once.