The mountain rises, and heaven withdraws beyond its reach: Dùn is retreat — not flight, but the timely, dignified withdrawal that preserves strength for a better hour.
Its distinction is everything: retreat chosen at the right moment, in good order, is a form of success; retreat delayed until forced is rout. Distance from what is harmful, the Image adds, is kept not through hatred but through reserve — the mountain does not argue with the sky; it simply cannot reach it.
問Dùn in love counsels stepping back — from an argument that only escalates, an entanglement that diminishes you, or intensity that needs air. Withdrawal here is not abandonment: friendly retreat, the fifth line's phrase, keeps goodwill intact while restoring your own ground. Distance kept with dignity often teaches what presence could not.
Professionally, Dùn marks the strategic exit: leaving the declining project, the toxic environment, the fight not worth winning — early, cleanly, on your own terms. Its craft is orderliness: secure what should be secured, keep courtesies intact, burn nothing. The cheerful retreat of the final line, made without doubt or resentment, prospers everywhere.
Inwardly, Dùn is the discipline of disengagement: withdrawing energy from battles, audiences, and habits that feed on your attention. Keep the inferior at a distance through reserve, not hostility — hatred is still attachment. The strength retreat preserves becomes, in season, the strength that returns.
A line speaks only when it is a changing line in your own casting.