Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone. — Alan Watts
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
What feeling does this quote bring up for you?
The Image of Muddy Water
Alan Watts’s line begins with an ordinary observation: when water is stirred up, it turns opaque, and the more you agitate it, the longer it stays that way. Muddy water isn’t made clear through extra effort inside the water; it clears when gravity and time do their quiet work. From this simple image, Watts gently points toward an inner parallel. The mind, like a pond, becomes clouded when it is churned by fear, urgency, or overthinking, and no amount of frantic mental stirring can produce the calm transparency we’re trying to force.
Why Forcing Clarity Backfires
Moving from image to insight, the quote challenges a common reflex: when we feel confused, we try harder—more analysis, more planning, more self-interrogation. Yet that very struggle can be the agitation that keeps everything unclear, much like a hand constantly swishing the pond to “fix” the mud. Watts often drew from Zen teachings that warn against grasping for mental states. In this view, striving for clarity can become a subtle form of resistance to the present, and resistance adds turbulence—so the mind stays cloudy precisely because it is being pushed.
Non-Action as a Form of Skill
The phrase “leaving it alone” can sound passive, but it points to a practiced kind of non-interference. In Daoist language, this resembles wu wei, or action that doesn’t fight the natural flow, as described in the Tao Te Ching (traditionally attributed to Laozi, c. 4th century BC). Rather than collapsing into apathy, it means choosing the smallest, least-disturbing response. This reframes stillness as competence. You notice the impulse to meddle, and then you decline to amplify it. In that restraint, clarity can re-emerge on its own, not as something manufactured but as something revealed.
Emotions, Thoughts, and Settling
From there, the metaphor extends naturally to emotions. Strong feelings often arrive like silt kicked up from the bottom—dense, swirling, and hard to see through. If we immediately argue with the feeling, suppress it, or dramatize it, we keep it suspended. If we allow it to be present without fueling it, it often organizes itself and loses its bite. A small everyday example captures the point: after a tense conversation, many people draft a long message to “resolve everything” in the heat of the moment. Waiting an hour—leaving the water alone—often reveals what actually matters, and what was only stirred-up reactivity.
Letting the World Stop Spinning
Watts’s insight also applies to decision-making. When options feel tangled, the temptation is to force a conclusion immediately, as if uncertainty were a flaw to eliminate. Yet hasty choices can be a form of stirring: they may satisfy the craving for certainty while muddying the consequences. By contrast, giving a problem room can restore proportion. As attention relaxes, details separate from one another, priorities become clearer, and what seemed equally urgent begins to sort itself. The quiet interval doesn’t solve the problem by magic; it reduces interference so the mind can see what was already there.
Practicing the Art of Not Stirring
Finally, the quote invites a practical ethic: when clarity is the goal, reduce disturbance. This can mean pausing before responding, taking a walk without trying to “figure it out,” or simply sitting with the discomfort of not knowing. These are not escapes so much as ways of stopping the churn. Over time, “leaving it alone” becomes a dependable method: notice the impulse to control, soften it, and let the sediment fall. In Watts’s spirit, the lesson is less about achieving a perfect mind and more about trusting that clarity is often the mind’s natural state—once we stop constantly stirring it.