道可道，非常道。名可名，非常名。
The way that can be put into words is not the constant way.
The name that can be named is not the constant name.
无名天地之始；有名万物之母。
What has no name is the beginning of heaven and earth.
What has a name is the mother of ten thousand things.
故常无欲，以观其妙；常有欲，以观其徼。
So: free of wanting, you see its subtlety.
Full of wanting, you see only its edges.
此两者，同出而异名，同谓之玄。玄之又玄，众妙之门。
These two come from the same place and differ only in name.
Call them both deep — deeper than deep.
This is the gate of all that is subtle.
Reading it
Laozi opens by taking away the ground he is standing on. The moment you say what the way is, you have replaced it with a description of it. This is not mysticism for its own sake — it is a warning about one specific failure: mistaking the map for the territory, then defending the map.
The second pair is more practical than it looks. Wanting shapes what you are able to see. A person who needs something from a situation perceives only its edges — where it can be used. A person with no demand on it perceives the texture. Neither is wrong. They are two modes of attention, and most people have quietly lost the second one.
Pick one thing you look at every day — a person, a task, a screen. For one minute, look at it without asking it for anything.