The Five Elements: The Philosophy Behind Orileva’s Journals
By Orileva
We often describe ourselves in sentences we stopped questioning years ago. “I never finish anything.” “I’m the practical one.” We say them to friends, write them in journals, and use them to explain decisions we haven’t quite made yet.
You put something off because you were looking after someone. You stayed in a familiar job because the income mattered. You wanted to try, but you were embarrassed to be a beginner. “I’m just not that kind of person” leaves out a great deal.
At Orileva, we want a journal to be somewhere you can examine those sentences. The Five Elements give us different ways to begin that conversation, especially when the explanation we usually reach for has become a little too easy.
What are the Five Elements?
The Five Elements, or Wu Xing (五行), are Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal and Water. In Chinese thought, they describe interdependent processes of change. The translation “Five Phases” emphasizes this movement and the relationships among them. ¹ If you're new to them, The Five Elements, Explained for Beginners covers each element and how they connect.
That attention to change matters to us. A person who needs to speak today may need to listen tomorrow. The wish to begin something can exist alongside a need for support. We want our journals to leave room for the person whose answer is changing.
Five perspectives for writing
In Orileva’s journals, each element offers a place to begin:
- Wood, growth & direction: What is ready to grow—and what might help it begin?
- Fire, expression & courage: What wants to be expressed before I edit it into silence?
- Earth, steadiness & care: What is already supporting me—and what boundary would help?
- Metal, clarity & release: What becomes clear when I stop trying to keep everything?
- Water, depth & listening: What am I ready to hear without rushing to solve?
A question about growth can lead to a very practical conversation about help. Writing about what you want to say may reveal that you’re still unsure what you mean. The perspectives become interesting when the answers start affecting one another.
The shirt beside the sewing basket
The following diary passages are imagined.
My blue shirt has been beside the sewing basket for three weeks. One button missing. Every time I dust the cabinet, I move it out of the way and think, this weekend.
I used to like doing things like this. Now I seem to be someone who leaves a shirt on a cabinet for three weeks.
I could probably sew the button on tonight. I keep imagining doing it badly. Which is a ridiculous amount of pressure to put on a button, but there it is.
“I never finish anything” has left out the pleasure the writer remembers. A question from Wood follows that interest: what still draws you to this?
I like that shirt. I like how soft the collar has become. But I could pay someone to fix it if that were the whole point.
I think I miss sitting at the table and making something work again. I used to forget to check the time.
And through Earth: what would help you sit down and begin?
The sewing basket is under the spare bedding. I’d have to clear the table, find the thread, probably look up how to start. When I picture doing it, I skip all of that and imagine myself already knowing how.
Dad would show me. He still fixes his own cuffs. I’m seeing him on Thursday. I could bring the shirt instead of pretending I’ve only just noticed the button.
That last admission is awkward in a way the first complaint wasn’t. Asking for help would mean letting someone see the beginning, including the part where you’ve forgotten what to do.
The shirt is still on the cabinet. But there is a father who knows how to mend it, a Thursday visit, and something the writer misses doing. “I never finish anything” no longer tells the whole story.
There are starting questions for all five perspectives in our writing guide. Here, two were enough to reach something worth spending time with: the wish to enjoy an old skill again, and the embarrassment of needing help.
A word on the cover, a life on the page
Orileva makes top-grain leather journals with natural stone set into their covers. Each design carries one of the five perspectives. The Verdant Journal pairs Wood with malachite and growth; The Luminous Journal pairs Metal with clear quartz and clarity.
Someone might choose Verdant at the beginning of a project, with pages of plans in mind. Later, they find themselves writing about a shirt they want to wear again. Growth has become a smaller, more personal question: can I let myself learn something I think I should already know?
The word on the cover hasn’t changed. Their understanding of it has.
This is why natural stone belongs in Orileva’s journals. Like flowers, stones can carry a language. We choose their associations as part of the design, knowing that the person using the journal will bring experiences we could never anticipate.
We offer the form. The meaning remains yours.
Next time you write, put down something you keep saying about yourself. Under it, describe the last time it happened. Then try another angle. See whether you still want to use the same sentence.
About the philosophy: Orileva’s five writing perspectives are a contemporary interpretation inspired by Wu Xing. For historical context, see the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy’s account of Wu Xing and the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy’s discussion of Han philosophy.
