Yin and Yang originate from Chinese philosophy. They refer to two opposing forces that constantly complement each other in a state of flux. They are inseparable and only exist together, in interaction with each other. Everyone is familiar with the Taijitu symbol with its two dots. The dots represent the fact that there is a little bit of Yang in Yin and vice versa. Yin is black and reflects the shadow side, darkness, cold, passivity, calm, earth, the moon, and femininity. Yang, on the other hand, is the sunny side, brightness, warmth, activity, movement, the sky, the sun, and masculinity. In the philosophy of Yin and Yang, there are several core principles that support you in ocean sailing. I would like to describe these below:
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| Yin and Young, Bora Bora |
Duality and unity in ocean sailing
The principle of duality and unity, inspired by philosophical concepts such as yin and yang or the spiritual idea that apparent opposites ultimately form a higher harmony, finds a particularly vivid and practical application in ocean sailing. On the high seas, far from land and in direct confrontation with the elements, this principle became a vital guideline for us. The apparent opposites of nature and ocean sailing are characterized by polarizing forces that seem incompatible at first glance.
First, there is the wind and the sea. The wind propels the boat forward (yang: active, dynamic, creative), while the sea offers resistance, creates waves, and demands stability (yin: receptive, calm, yielding). Storms and calm, power and stillness are dualities that can threaten or enable life. Next, there are the people and the boat. When sailing, we must act actively (trimming the sails, steering, navigating), but at the same time let go and trust the boat (adapting to the rhythm of the waves, not fighting the wind). This results in the next duality, namely controllability and uncontrollability. Technology and planning are opposed by the unpredictable power of the ocean. Safety versus danger, progress versus stagnation. And last but not least, there is the inner duality. Euphoria in the vastness of the sea contrasts with fear and loneliness at night or in heavy weather.
These opposites create tension. The wind pushes sideways, and the keel resists drift (which only works moderately well on our catamaran) – physically, this results in propulsion (which works quite well on the Katinka Enjoy). Without this duality, there would be no movement.
Harmony, or unity, beyond duality, is the true core principle and lies in the union of these poles into a higher whole. The experienced ocean sailor does not strive to defeat one pole but to bring them into balance. Flowing with nature. Instead of fighting the wind (which is impossible), you tack, use its power, and become one with it. The boat glides not despite but through the waves – we become part of the system of wind, water, and ship.
In order to establish inner balance, separation dissolves into unity. We no longer feel separated from the ocean but connected. Like a wave that perceives itself as individual but is ultimately the ocean itself, we recognize the illusion of duality. Fear gives way to acceptance; control gives way to trust.
Successful ocean sailing requires Taoist wu wei – acting without compulsion. The sailor trims the sails precisely but adapts to the wind instead of trying to conquer it. This state results in maximum speed and safety: the dualities (activity and passivity) merge into an efficient unity.
On the high seas, this principle becomes existential. Those who remain stuck in duality (e.g., fighting the storm in panic) risk failure. Those who experience unity—sailing in harmony with the elements—experience freedom, flow, and deep connection. Ocean sailing is therefore not just a sport but a living meditation on the illusion of separation and the return to wholeness. It teaches that everything flows from unity, through duality, and ultimately back to unity.
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| Yin and Yang at Naukacuvu, Fidschi |
Interdependence
The core principle of interdependence in Yin-Yang thinking states that Yin and Yang are not isolated, opposing forces, but rather they condition, generate, and depend on each other. Without yin, there would be no yang, and vice versa. They are complementary, interpenetrate each other, and transform into one another. This principle finds a particularly vivid and practical application in ocean sailing, where we are constantly confronted with dynamic, seemingly opposing forces that only work in conjunction with each other.
Wind and sail (yang and yin)
The wind (yang: active, moving, driving, invisible) only has an effect through the sail (yin: passive, receptive, shaping, visible). Without sails, the wind has no effect on movement; without wind, the sails remain limp and useless. The forward movement of the boat arises exclusively from this mutual dependence. The sail shapes and directs the wind; the wind fills and stretches the sail. Both depend on each other to generate speed and direction.
Keel and sail (stability and propulsion)
The sail (yang: pushing upward and sideways) generates the force that is transferred to the boat. The keel (yin: downward and stabilizing) generates resistance in the water through its depth and shape, which converts the force into forward motion. Without a keel, the boat would drift sideways or capsize; without sails, the keel would have no purpose. Stability (Yin) and propulsion (Yang) are completely interdependent—one creates the necessity for the other.
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| Yin und Yang at Vatia, Fidschi |
Crew and boat (human and matter)
The crew (Yang: active, decisive, adaptive) can only sail because the boat (Yin: passive, supportive, structured) exists. The boat, in turn, only moves forward because the crew trims, steers, and reacts. This interdependence is amplified on the high seas: the boat protects the crew from the elements, while the crew maintains and navigates the boat. Both are existentially dependent on each other.
Wave and hull (movement and form)
The wave (yang: dynamic, destructive, and constructive) acts on the hull (yin: formative, resistant). The hull uses the energy of the wave to propel the boat forward (surfing the wave) or keep it stable. Without waves, the sea would be sluggish; without the resistant hull, the wave would overwhelm the boat. The mutual interpenetration is evident when the boat “rides” the wave—the wave provides energy, and the hull provides shape and direction.
Day and night, weather and calm
The active sailing day (yang: navigation, trimming, being alert) is only possible thanks to the regenerative night (yin: sleep, rest, silence). Long ocean sailing teaches us that excessive yang (constant action) leads to exhaustion and that yin (rest) is needed to be able to continue developing yang. Conversely, a rested Yin phase enables intense Yang again. The latter always blurs a little for us, especially when, like us, you are sailing with a small crew. Last year, I often missed my Yin and Yang took over at times. Ultimately, I balanced out the discrepancy during the day. We understand the interdependence of yin and yang in ocean sailing not only theoretically but have also experienced it physically and emotionally. One develops an intuitive sense that no single force reigns supreme: every apparent contradiction (drive/stability, activity/passivity, wind/resistance) is only possible through the existence and interaction of its opposite. The boat glides forward because it perfectly balances this interdependence. A living example of the Taoist principle that true harmony and efficiency can only arise from the deep interdependence of opposites. Incidentally, as the attentive reader will have noticed, yin and yang are not always necessarily identical. For example, the sail is yin in relation to the wind and yang in relation to the keel. Which brings us to another core principle:
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| Yin und Yang at Musket Cove |
Dynamic Balance
The principle of yin and yang from Taoist philosophy describes two opposing yet complementary forces that exist in a constant, dynamic balance with each other. Yin stands for the passive, receptive, calm, cool, and yielding (e.g., darkness, water, calm), while Yang symbolizes the active, driving, dynamic, warm, and powerful (e.g., light, wind, movement). It is important to note that these are not rigid opposites, but rather a flowing dance. The predominance of one force leads to transformation into the other, and only in balanced interaction can harmony and continuity arise. On the open sea, far away from sheltered waters, this principle is embodied in a fascinating way in the interaction between boat, sailor, wind, and ocean. Yang as the driving force: The wind (Yang) is the active, dynamic energy that fills the sail, generates propulsion, and drives the boat forward. Strong winds, waves, and storms represent pure Yang, powerful, expansive, and untamed. We must act actively here. Trim the sails, correct the rudder, and execute maneuvers. The sea (Yin) as a balancing force is receptive, deep, calm or wavy (not always), it carries the boat, provides resistance through the keel and enables stability. In calm phases, yin dominates: the boat glides harmoniously, and we can observe, breathe, and surrender to the flow. The phases of harmonious gliding were definitely too short for us this year. I will discuss this in my year in review, which you should not miss.
Dynamic balance is achieved through constant adaptation: too much yang (e.g., storm) requires yin qualities such as flexibility, reefing the sails, turning in, or waiting. Too much yin (calm) needs yang impulses, for example, through the motor or patient use of weak winds. After six years at sea, we now intuitively practice Wu Wei (active non-action). We do not fight the elements but flow with them, balancing forces and using the wind without conquering it. Even if this sometimes requires a great deal of patience. In my book “No Wind To Shangri-La,” I describe such phases. In the vastness of the ocean, yin and yang can be experienced – storm and calm alternate, day and night, and tension and relaxation. This balance not only creates safe passage but also deep harmony with nature, a meditative experience of unity. In this way, what we do becomes a living metaphor for the Taoist ideal: true freedom and progress arise in the dynamic balance of yin and yang.
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| Yin and Yang, Moorea |
Finally, I would like to discuss the core principle
The seed of the opposite
A central principle is the seed of the opposite. Every extreme already contains the seed of its opposite. The small black dot in the white yang area and the white dot in the black yin area symbolize this. Nothing is absolutely pure, and when a force reaches its peak, it reverses and transforms into its opposite. This principle describes the natural cycle of change. Extremes lead to reversal, and harmony arises from balance, not rigidity. At sea, far from the coast, where we are at the mercy of the ocean's whims, this principle reveals itself in an impressive way. The alternation of storm and calm. A raging storm (Yang: wild, active, destructive) already carries the seeds of calm at its peak. When the wind reaches its maximum, it often subsides, followed by a deep silence (Yin: passive, still). Conversely, absolute calm harbors the seeds of the coming wind; the calm ends suddenly, and a new storm can arise. We have learned that even in the midst of exhaustion from the storm, recovery is already beginning to sprout in the calm that follows. Effort and recovery, a long battle against high waves and strong winds (yang: active action, reefing the sails, steering) leads to exhaustion, in which we must let go (yin: passivity, drifting, sleeping on autopilot). But it is precisely in this passivity that new strength germinates; recovery enables the next active phase. An important point is the emotional and mental level. The euphoria of a perfect day of sailing under full sail (Yang) harbors the seeds of carelessness or overconfidence, which can lead to mistakes. Conversely, fear in the storm (Yin: helplessness) teaches humility and preparation, which leads to further development (Yang).
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We have learned not to act rigidly against nature but in harmony with this principle: we reef early (at least that is the intention) before the storm becomes extreme, and use the lull to make repairs, knowing that change is inevitable. This makes sailing on the high seas a living lesson in Taoist wisdom—balance is not achieved by fighting extremes, but by recognizing and accepting the seed of the opposite in every moment. Admittedly, we are not quite perfect in this regard yet, but we are working very hard on it. With this in mind, we wish you all fair winds and keep a stiff upper lip.
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