Let Go of All Your Assumptions

Tonight I taught my final class session in one location and tomorrow I'll finish up in another. Then I have three months off until my outdoor summer class starts in mid-July.

I look forward to this teaching break which allows me to focus on other interests and priorities in my life. By June or July I'll be anxiously awaiting the start of another group practice. (It's such a joy to move together in harmony!)

In the interim I have several TCC events scheduled. I teach a TCC workshop at a mental health conference in June at the new casino in Red Cliff. And in May I give a presentation to a Parkinson's support group that serves the Bayfield Pennisula (and so I won't be totally bereft of opportunities to spread the word about this healthy and healing practice).

I saw changes in how several students moved during our practice tonight. What does that tell me? It indicates that these students are practicing AND that they're becoming more comfortable in their practices and more relaxed in their bodies and minds. That feeling of comfort and peace in one's body (and mind) is easy to spot when you've been teaching as long as I have.

I read #48 from The Second Book of the Tao by Stephen Mitchell (p. 96) at class tonight. For me it's a wonderful reminder of why I do a daily practice of T'ai Chi Chih:

          Let go of all your assumptions
          and the world will make perfect sense.
          In movement, be fluid as water;
          at rest, be bright as a mirror;
          in response, be simple as an echo.
          Keep your mind serene,
          like the still surface of a lake.
          Clear-eyed and imperturbable,
          walk through life
          as though you didn't exist.
          When nothing is left to argue with
          and there is nothing to oppose,
          you will find yourself at peace
          and in harmony with all things.

No more--not a word--needs to be said.

No Self

It's truly amazing how effortlessly the human body can adjust to change. Now that we've experienced warmer than normal temperatures in the Northland, it actually feels like we're having a cold spring since temps have returned to "normal."

I drove to Corny to teach my AM TCC class and was greeted with a book sale in the hall outside the community library. Of course, I made browsing the book collection my first priority (what reader can resist a $.25 per book bargain?). It was a breeze to pick out a dollar's worth of ready reads: PrairyErth by William Least Heat-Moon, The Healthy Heart Walking Book, Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Moving Violations by former NPR reporter John Hockenberry.

Next week will be our final class until summer session begins in July. That class will also be the final time I'll see two of my most loyal and consistent TCC students. Bea and Howard are moving to the Twin Cities in June. It feels in many ways like the end of an era.

After our T'ai Chi Chih practice this morning we discussed a few pages of Ch. 13 in Buddha's Brain. This chapter returns us to the concept of No Self (chapter title is "Relaxing the Self"). We begin with a wonderful quote by Dogen:

          To study the Way is to study the self.
          To study the self is to forget the self.
          To forget the self is to be enlightened by all things.

The book's authors remind us that it's important to not make the self special. What's left behind when we relax the self? Say the authors: Open-hearted spaciousness, wisdom, values and virtues, and a soft sweet joy.

These ideas and thoughts brought me back to The Second Book of the Tao by Stephen Mitchell. In section 16 Mitchell translates the words of Lao-tzu's disciple, Chuang-tzu and Confucius' grandson, Tzu-ssu, who espouse the glories of No Self:

          You have heard of flying with wings,
          but can you fly without wings?
          You have heard of the knowledge that knows,
          but can you practice
          the knowledge that doesn't know?

          Consider a window: it is just
          a hole in the wall, but because of it
          the whole room is filled with light.
          Thus, when the mind is open
          and free of its own thoughts,
          life unfolds effortlessly,
          and the whole world is filled with light.

Ahhh. No Self.

Ducks and Cranes

The wind twirls treetops in a circular dance as leaves swirl into the sky and sweep across the yard and front step. Snow is predicted for tonight and the atmosphere is full of movement yet subdued as if waiting for what's to come.

I'm poised and watchful too. Will tomorrow's daylight reveal a cloak of winter white thrown casually over the earth's brown nakedness? Or will this snowstorm travel south of the Bayfield pennisula once again?

During my afternoon T'ai Chi Chih practice on the porch I was well aware of the bursts and blasts of air that ravaged the forest. And, thankful, too, for my little spot of shelter and warmth. Serenity in the midst of activity. That's certainly an accurate description of what it feels like to practice quiet, calm, slow-moving T'ai Chi Chih while surrounded by the roar of high winds.

I read #52 from The Second Book of the Tao yesterday and found its theme appropriate for today's political battles and misunderstandings. I quote it here (p. 104):

The duck's legs are short; you can't lengthen them
without making her suffer.
The crane's legs are long; you can't shorten them
without causing him pain.
What is long needs no cutting off;
what is short needs no stretching.
When you realize this,
you can let the world go its own way.
Do you think that you know what's best?
Do you think that the world
should conform to your way of thinking?
All these benevolent people--
how much worrying they do!
Since ancient times,
what a lot of fuss and upheaval
the benefactors of humanity have caused!

Stephen Mitchell's commentary on this reading is insightful and highly relevant to the growing chasm between political parties and people espousing varying beliefs and values. He explains this reading thusly:

     Even with the kindest of intentions, you can't try to change people without inflicting violence on them and on yourself....
     Wheneven I believe that you are too much or not enough, I am caught in a delusion, and I suffer. Those ducks--they're perfect just the way they are, waddling around on their adorable little legs. And cranes stride through the marsh on legs not a millimeter too long. There may be a lot that needs fixing, but there's nothing out there to fix.

If I can only remember that I am a duck and you are a crane and we are each perfect in our own way, life would be much simpler now wouldn't it? And so it goes....

Flying without Wings

Wednesday, March 30, 2011:

This evening's T'ai Chi Chih continuing class was quieter than quiet (or, as I said at class end, Louder than silence). It feels as though we've turned a corner into a new experience of peace, quiet, and relaxation. It's hard to identify what's shifted but, somehow, it feels as though members of the class have--intentionally or not--drifted into a new experience with T'ai Chi Chih group practice.

The beginning class, on the other hand, is entirely different. Out of seven class sessions I've given two classes that were private lessons. It's highly unusual if any student comes to class for more than one or two consecutive class sessions. This makes it difficult to teach the form in a connected and constructive way. Still, that's what T'ai Chi Chih is all about: Go with the flow.

That's my challenge: Meet the students where they are and don't force them to fit into my format or my expectations about how a class should proceed. It obviously won't work when students don't come to class!

Given the political unheaval and earth changes occurring over recent months I remain cognizant of the distractibility and distress that's circulating within and around us all. When I continue with my own personal TCC practice day by day, I hope that that constancy and certainty offer stability and hope to those around me (including my students).

Thursday, March 31, 2011, 1:30 p.m.:

We had a lively, inspiring conversation about Buddha's Brain in today's TCC class. We're just beginning Chapter 2 and, the way we're progressing, it's likely that we'll take months, maybe years, to complete the entire book. Nevertheless, I'm thoroughly enjoying our slow, talkative, enlightening, and participatory journey through the material in the book.

I'm reminded of Entry #16 in The Second Book of the Tao:

You have heard of flying with wings,
but can you fly without wings?
You have heard of the knowledge that knows,
but can you practice
the knowledge that doesn't know?

Consider a window: it is just
a hole in the wall, but because of it
the whole room is filled with light.
Thus, when the mind is open
and free of its own thoughts,
life unfolds effortlessly,
and the whole world is filled with light.

Yes! Buddha's Brain is a window into another way of looking at the world, examining our brains and minds, and exploring our attitudes and beliefs about ourselves and our lives. As Stephen Mitchell explains in his commentary about Entry #16, "Wisdom is not something, to grasp or to have. When you discover the extent of your own ignorance, it's like a revelation.... Eventually you realize that there's nowhere the light doesn't penetrate, nowhere the non-wings can't fly." (pp. 32-33)

Inhabiting the Moment

As it turned out the Bayfield pennisula was safely north of the snow zone. Hayward, a town 70 miles south of us, received about 14 inches of snow. Our accumulation? An inch. Perhaps.

The vast majority of people I talked to regarding our lack of snow said: That's alright with me. We slid through spring equinox last weekend and virtually everyone is all wintered out. Snow, begone!

My two T'ai Chi Chih classes went well this evening. Last week I invited advanced students to bring in articles or Taoist readings they're like to share with the group. Ask and you shall receive.

Tonight a student brought in and read to the group a wonderful contribution from The Second Book of the Tao. Entry 5 (p. 10) begins:

The ancient Masters saw deeply.
How deep was their insight?
They realized that nothing exists.
This is perfect understanding.

I harkened back to the reading during our group practice. So often I see students (and myself!?!) trying to accomplish something through their movements. Perhaps they decide that the movement needs to look a certain way or proceed at a certain pace or, more often, they aren't really aware of what they're doing at all.

What happens when we realize that there is nothing to do? Nowhere to go? What do we experience when we decide that we don't need to shape or manipulate our movements?

We must learn to have patience, to inhabit the movements in all of their fullness, and to trust that the practice will unfold as it is meant to. Since nothing persists we must inhabit this moment, this movement, now....

Focus: Inside

Day Two of T'ai Chi Chih seated practice. I moved--umm, sat--in the peaceful sunniness of the porch.

Yes. It's hard for me to remain seated while I go through the form. I prefer to stand up and move. And still, I remained seated.

Perhaps I'm going through a whole new phase of my training. I am certainly aware of other TCC teachers who, due to knee problems or the like, sat through their practices for weeks and sometimes months. And, of course, many elders in nursing and retirement homes, do TCC practice from a chair. Why does it bother me?

I'm reminded of entry #49 from The Second Book of the Tao by Stephen Mitchell. I quote it in its entirety (p. 98):

Chi Hsing-tzu was training a gamecock for the king. After ten days, the king asked if the bird was ready for combat. "No, Your Majesty," said Chi. "He's arrogant, always ready to pick a fight. He's still relying on his own strength."
     Another ten days passed, and the king asked again. Chi said, "No, Sire, not yet. He still becomes excited when a rival bird appears."
     Ten more days. The king asked again. "Not yet," Chi said. "He still gets an angry glint in his eye."
     Another ten days, another question. Chi said, "Now, Sire, he's almost ready. When a rival crows, he doesn't react. He stands motionless like a block of wood. His focus is inside. Other birds will take one look at him and run."

Obviously, I'm not training for a cock fight. But this lesson speaks volumes. Seated or standing I can feel the energy (Chi). Seated, as well as standing, I can lead from my center. The major difference between these two modes of practice lies in my mind. I can do the seated moves fairly easily. But I chafe at the realization that I'm limited in my physical abilities.

I enjoy the relaxed flow that I experience while standing. I like how I look. I enjoy how it feels. But in order for me to get the most out of these seated practices I need to let go of my desires and expectations. I must not react to the circumstances that placed me in this chair. I need to "focus inside" where the battle is being waged, quiet the Monkey Mind, and be at peace with what Is.

This, I gather, is the time to begin with this training. Seated or standing. Now.

Rooted in What is Real

Today's fresh fallen snow whitened and brightened the landscape. Nevertheless, library patrons commented that they felt ready for the snow to be gone. Typically, March is the month when we receive our greatest accumulation of snow. After the next few weeks it's likely that we'll move from snow and ice season into the stickiness and stuckiness of mud.

This morning's TCC practice was a needed respite from overwhelming feelings of tiredness. For one-half hour all was well with the world. Or, at the very least, everything slowed down.

A student brought Stephen Mitchell's The Second Book of the Tao to class last week. I began reading through it today and found it wonderfully simple and enlightening. This book, published in 2009, adapts the teachings of Lao-tzu's disciple Chuang-tzu and Confucius' grandson Tzu-ssu. What emerges is a fresh, humorous, insightful, and easily accessible look at the Tao.

Here's an example, Verse 18 (p. 36):

Step beyond yourself.
Step beyond the whole world.
Step beyond all existence.
When you penetrate that far,
you will shine with the original brightness.
You will realize that you are alone
in the vast universe
and that all things are nothing but you.
You will slough off past and present
and will enter the place
where there is neither being nor non-being.

The Master remains peaceful
in the midst of continual change.
There is nothing that can disturb her,
nothing that she finds unacceptable.
She welcomes all beings,
watches as they come and go,
and stays rooted in what is real.

That, my friends, is what happens when we keep returning to our T'ai Chi Chih practice. We learn, moment by moment, how to stay rooted in what is real....