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)

Effortless Flow

T'ai Chi Chih mania! That's how it feels when I look for moments, corners, and opportunities in which to slip a T'ai Chi Chih practice into my ever-expanding life.

This morning while I waited for a T'ai Chi Chih student (who's helping to coordinate the discussion on Buddha's Brain) to arrive I switched into a bright white light TCC practice. Yes, there's some anxiety about facilitating the discussion on Buddha's Brain since the material is complex and multi-layered. Somehow, though, when I include my T'ai Chi Chih practice in the mix, the atmosphere relaxes and becomes more manageable.

My body felt tight today. But now, after practice, I feel alert, relaxed, and ready to meet with my co-conspirator. Hopefully, the creativity and ideas will flow effortlessly....

Sunshine En-Light-enment

Another beautiful, sunshine-filled day. Somehow life feels easier, more upbeat, and en-light-ening on a day like today.

My morning challenge? To maintain my concentration and focus after friends arrived during my T'ai Chi Chih practice. The designated plan: they would collaborate with Frances on spring seed planting. Our multi-windowed, sun-filled porch could serve as the perfect greenhouse for both our friends and ourselves.

Upon their arrival conversation was plentiful and, occasionally, loud and political in nature. I soon realized how difficult it was for me to disengage from discussions about our town even when I was located in the room above. Once again, I was presented with an important lesson in letting go. I chose to bring my concentration into single-pointed focus. And, subsequently, my mind wasn't as easily drawn away from my practice and into the political fray.

Now I'm tuned up and ready to head off to a busy day at work....

March-ing Toward Spring

Saturday, March 26, 2011:

This morning was filled with beautiful slow-falling snowflakes that gently and completely covered the Earth. Later we and our guests drove into Bayfield to visit the public library. We then took an hour walk along the Brownstone Trail that follows the lakeshore away from town.

My T'ai Chi Chih practice occurred in early evening as our friend and her two teenage sons argued about which movies to watch during our white sheet screening of action adventure? or documentary? films. Frankly, I was grateful to be upstairs away from the controversy.

It felt wonderful and rejuvenating to take time and space for myself. And, since it didn't matter to me which films we watched, I was perfectly happy to move and sway and circle the Chi. Though it wasn't quiet--the verbal jousting was repetitive and unceasing until some compromise was reached--I remained centered and (literally) above the fray.

Sunday, March 27, 2011:

Today is bright and shining. We had a late morning breakfast with our friends before they headed back to their home. It was wonderful to have guests and also wonderful to have peace and quiet restored to the homefront after they left.

My mid-afternoon T'ai Chi Chih practice (again held in the upstairs bedroom) was delightfully silent. No words spoken, no sounds filtered up from the main floor, no evidence at all that Frances and the dog and cat were located somewhere on the main floor beneath my feet.

While I moved I watched sunlight filter through the bedroom windows, noticed the stripes of tree trunk shadows lying atop the snow cover, and drenched myself in quiet. In the silence of a Sunday mid-afternoon I felt the Chi vibrating through my fingertips and felt gratitude for the presence (and departure) of friends....

Resting for a Time

Yep. You can tell spring is on its way when circles of bare ground appear at the feet of tree trunks. It's exciting!

Last night Frances and I attended Stagenorth's production of Dancing at Lughnasa. Set in 1936 Ballybeg, Ireland, it's the tale of five sisters surviving at the edges of poverty. Their struggle is made easier when they unexpectedly burst into dance or song. They've realized, as I have, that movement lightens the heart and eases the mind.

Our out-of-town guests arrive later this afternoon which means we're all a-scurry. The theme of the day: clean-clean-clean, sort-sort-sort.

My late morning T'ai Chi Chih practice (standing) was--once again--a wonderful respite from the never-ending theme of clean-cook-organize-pick up. I watched the steady trees outside the bedroom window and marveled at their dry feet while wondering about their (also dry?) roots.

Practice was nothing spectacular. Still, it brought me into the quiet moment and allowed me to rest there for a time....

Standing-Sitting-Standing

I received word late last night that my Cornucopia class will go forward next week despite the fact that we have six students signed up (two fewer than the minimum requirement). Tres bien! Even better ... my knee is improving.

I can't say enough about the efficacy of Glucosamine. Though my doctor expresses doubts about the benefits of this joint supplement I swear that, after re-purchasing this supplement several days ago, I feel instant relief. And, perhaps, my seated practice helped too.

I stood for both of last night's classes without incident. And I did my own private practice tonight while standing. It felt immensely good to be up and moving. Now, late into the night, I've done my practice and, sad to say, words fail me. It's time for bed.

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....