Ripening

All was busyness in my mind today. It's the beginning of a new work week, friends are due to arrive on Wednesday for an overnight visit, and another friend will be in the area over the weekend.

My mind leapt and jumped like a frog in a pond during T'ai Chi Chih practice. Repeatedly I reminded myself to slow down, soften my knees, and simply allow my weight to flow softly forward and back. Many times I found that advisory easier (nonverbally) said than done. As soon as my mind accelerated my body followed in its wake.

Now, though, as I sit at the computer writing this blog I can feel that my body is more at ease, my shoulders more relaxed. Hopefully, my mental/emotional state is in a more neutral state as well which, I know, will facilitate my helpfulness with patrons at work this afternoon.

After a few days of sweatshirt weather we're back to summer. Summer squash, green beans, and tomatoes are lengthening, widening, and becoming. Frances mentioned that she saw her first grasshopper several days ago and so, a poem:

Grasshopper, your tiny song
And my poem alike belong
To the dark and silent earth,
From which all poetry has birth,
All we say and all we sing
Is but as the murmuring
Of that drowsy heart of hers
When from her deep dream she stirs
If we sorrow, or rejoice
You and I are but her voice....

If you would know what earth is, scan
The intricate, proud heart of man,
Which is the earth articulate,
And learn how holy and how great,
How limitless, and how profound,
Is the nature of the ground--
How, without question or demur,
We may entrust ourselves to her
When we are wearied out and lay
Our bodies in the common clay....
          --John Hall Wheelock
            From: Earth Prayers, pp. 396-99

A Blessed Reprieve

Yes, I had a productive day: laundry, dishes, meal prep. We postponed visiting an orchard to pick raspberries because it was too hot. Now, at 9:00 p.m., a breeze shivers through the leaves as darkness politely dispatches the heat of the day.

We sleep with the windows open at night (just started this practice a week or two ago because 'til then it was too cold). I often wake at dawn as birds begin their Hallelujah Chorus. It's a glorious start to the day. I was reminded of this while reading Earth Prayers this evening:

You are singing, little dove,
on the branches of the silk-cotton tree.
And there also is the cuckoo,
and many other little birds.
All are rejoicing,
the songbirds of our god, our Lord.
And our goddess
has her little birds,
the turtledove, the redbird,
the black and yellow songbirds, and
     the hummingbird.
These are the birds of the beautiful
     goddess, our Lady.
If there is such happiness
among the creatures,
why do our hearts not also rejoice?
At daybreak all is jubilant.
Let only joy, only songs,
enter our thoughts!
          Song of Dzitbalche
          From: Earth Prayers, p. 256

It felt great to stay home today to work on chores instead of running around the neighborhood. In the midst of nonstop busyness I paused in the basement (deliciously cool!) to begin my T'ai Chi Chih practice. Practice No. 2 (second half of the form) took place on the deck as heat faded and a slight breeze ruffled the laundry on the clothesline.

It's interesting to note that some days--like today!--I almost forget to do my TCC practice. When I remember, though, it is always a blessed reprieve from the too-muchness of the day.

The Chi of Life

Be praised, my God, by butterfly and dragonfly wings exercising
     for their first flight.
Be praised by lightning and thunder causing spring showers.
Be praised by the silent voice of grass growing and trees budding.
Be praised by all the colorful flower trumpets of spring.
Be praised by downy feathers freshly dried on newly hatched ducklings and chicks.
Be praised by the songs of birds, crickets and frogs.
Be praised, my God, by all your creation which tells of new life.
          Mary Goergen, O.S.F.
          From: Earth Prayers, p. 299

Such a wonderful poem/prayer that describes the unfolding of spring that I'm witness to here in my woodland home. Just today I noticed the first butterflies circling around my head as I walked down the driveway.

The lightning and thunder, too, have come and gone, come and gone throughout the day. One moment distant thunder drums through darkening skies and the next moment hot yellow sun shines onto colorful blossoms that peek quietly through grass and trees.

While I practiced T'ai Chi Chih on the deck during a rainfree half hour I watched Frances walk the chicken and goose down the drive to feed (worms emerging from the darkness of the earth for Chickie and bountiful grass growing along the drive for Lucy). Meanwhile birds fluttered from the feeder and sang through the trees like an impromtu chorus of seasoned professionals.

After I finish my blog I'll pick a bouquet of tiny forget-me-nots to place on the dining table in order to bring the beauty of the outdoors inside. Of course, insects and mosquitoes have arrived in my neighborhood too. They flitted around me during my outside practice and managed to take a nip or two.

During my practice, though, I felt like a lucky recipient of all of creation; of life, and birth, and growth. Of budding, opening, greening, and expanding. I am aware of so much new life that is currently rooting itself deep into the earth as it extends its head toward the sky. We are--all of us--T'ai Chi Chih players as we circulate the Chi through our living, breathing, growing bodies....

One with the Darkness and Light....

At night make me one with the darkness
In the morning make me one with the light.
     Wendell Berry
     From: Earth Prayers, p. 369

I lay in bed last night and fitted my body to the rhythm of rain gently tapping the roof. This morning I woke to a not unexpected scenario: new-fallen snow, heavy and moist, layered the ground. Humidity still hung in the air, a white veil of fog draped over the day.

Into this muted daylight I brought my quiet practice. Stillness upon stillness. I stood for today's T'ai Chi Chih's practice. It felt good, effortless and easy to shift weight and follow t'an tien forward and back, side to side.

Now I'm off to a day at the library. I'm covering a shift for Roberta who headed to Milwaukee to spend the weekend with family. I'm hopeful that the day will be slow and easy as others join friends and family to celebrate Easter and Passover. Undoubtedly some dedicated library patrons will stop in to read the paper or grab a movie or book to enjoy during the holiday weekend. I'll simply remain open to anybody and everything....

Our mother, which art the earth

Our mother, which art the earth,
Nurturing are thy ways.
Thy web of life be woven
Thy way be found within,
As it is all around.
Thank you this day for our bread and sweat
and forgive us our misuse of you,
as we forgive others their misuse of us.
And lead us not into exploitation,
But deliver us
From lording it over you,
And over each other,
And over all our other fellow creatures.
For thine are the waters of life,
The hills, valleys, and plains of home,
The breeding, seeding, feeding ground,
For now, and for as close to forever
As we will ever come.
Ah, woman!
     Karen Loveland's reworking of the Lord's Prayer

Above are the words which were used with the Earth Dance that I mentioned in my post two days ago (Dancing in the Footsteps of the Divine). They seemed worth sharing since they express a love-filled, non-judgmental, and cooperative view of life on Earth. If it could be so....

And it is. At least insofar as we make a commitment to engage in our individual and collective practices of T'ai Chi Chih or yoga, or T'ai Chi, or Dances of Universal Peace, or centering prayer, or seated meditation, or whatever method quiets the mind and softens the heart. I am a powerful, loving, and kind person who is connected to all of the other living beings on this Earth and my practice reminds me of that.

Day-to-day life can easily pull us out of our quiet, beneficent, compassionate natures. That's why it is important to keep practicing, practicing, practicing.

One of the reasons I mention the natural world so consistently in this blog is because my daily writing offers me the opportunity to center myself in the beauty and peace that surrounds me. I want to notice the earth, the sky, the waters. I want to breathe the air, smell the scents, listen to the sounds, feel the winds, float through the air with the snowflakes, and lift my eyes to the sunbeams. I want to recognize my part in all that is. And I want to grateful for it. All of it. Could it be that that's what Ms. Loveland was trying to express too?

I become part of it...

The mountains, I become part of it ...
The herbs, the fir tree, I become part of it.
The morning mists, the clouds, the gathering
     waters,
I become part of it.
The wilderness, the dew drops, the
     pollen ...
I become part of it.
          Navajo Chant
          From: Earth Prayers, p. 5

I was reminded of this chant today when I thought about my blog yesterday on Oneness and unity. Today's TCC practice was another good example of how it feels to become part of the wonder of nature.

While I moved through my T'ai Chi Chih practice this evening the earth was still, and a light, soft rain pattered upon the leaves and undergrowth. The gentle rain soothed me as I listened to its quiet conversation from the inside of my screened window.

I was a tree. I was the rain. I was a leaf drenched by the rain's liquid massage. It felt comforting and comfortable to be a part of everything. Which reminds me of another quote I read on this internet this morning from Daily Good:

Through meditation and by giving full attention to one thing at a time, we can learn to direct attention where we choose.
          --Eknath Easwaran

May it be Delightful ...

During this evening's TCC practice I found myself drawn to the pool of blue that lay at the base of the ravine south of our house. No, it's not water. Nor is it a miraculous reflection of the sky. It's a wild splash of forget-me-nots that migrated down the ravine and clumped into riotous beauty next to several large rocks settled into the fertile soil.

After a sun-kissed day, part of which was spent in the garden, I migrated to the deck in early evening to practice TCC as the temperatures glided down to the upper 40s. My body was warm, my hands, increasingly cold.

Undisturbed by insects I floated through practice as rose-breasted grosbeaks, purple finches, and a hairy woodpecker competed for the bird feeder. When I sneezed loudly, it set off a cascade of response. A red squirrel dashed away from the feeder and into a nearby tree already inhabited by another red squirrel. The resident squirrel fled higher then retreated downward to scare off the invader. That began a game of scramble and chase that skipped from one tree to the next.

Throughout the ruckus I calmly watched, listened, and moved softly and slowly. Nothing to do and nowhere to go. Just moving with glad appreciation for the moment....

May it be delightful my house;
From my head may it be delightful,
To my feet may it be delightful,
Where I lie may it be delightful,
All above me may it be delightful,
All around me may it be delightful.
          Navajo Chant
          From: Earth Prayers

Each Day is a God

Darkness settles upon another day. As nighttime deepens I practice t'ai chi chih moving meditation, look out a second story window, and notice one piece of sky that holds onto the light longer than the rest. In that one spot light lingers, lingers, lingers ... then disappears. Night crept quietly into daylight's terrain then captured it.

I'm alone in the house. The dog barks repeatedly just outside giving notice regarding property rights ... no trespassers allowed. Between the sounding barks I slip through TCC movements as quietly and slowly as daytime turned into night.

My body is tired; my knees, sore; my back, stiff. I'm grateful for this day and, too, its coming to a close. Perhaps Annie Dillard says it best (Earth Prayers, p. 40):

Every day is a god, each day is a god,
and holiness holds forth in time.
I worship each god,
I praise each day splintered down,
and wrapped in time like a husk, ...

Becoming Whole

I have come to terms with the future.
From this day onward I will walk
easy on the earth. Plant trees. Kill
no living things. Live in harmony with
all creatures. I will restore the earth
where I am. Use no more of its resources
than I need. And listen, listen to what
it is telling me.

M.J. Slim Hooey, Earth Prayers, 1991, p. 109

These words, I think, describe a bit of what happens when we engage in a regular t'ai chi chih moving meditation practice. Intentionally or not, we become explorers on the path of the Tao. As we listen to and experience our rootedness in the earth it begins to change us. We are no longer the independent, self-sufficient, all-knowing humans that our culture and training insist we become. Instead, we sense our connection to all of life in which we are no greater or less than the rest. We are, quite simply, a piece of the whole....

I began today's TCC practice during the slow brightening of the sky. Again, a still, silent day. Though temps rose to 20 degrees yesterday and encouraged me to practice outside today, subzero temps this morning convinced me otherwise.

My eye caught the edge of a print hanging on our living room wall as I began today's movements. It's a painting by local artist Jan Hartley Wise that she was commissioned to paint for the Duluth, MN Women's Center.

In the painting a group of naked women lie on their backs in a circle on the ground. Their rumps touch in the middle of the circle. Their legs, bent at the hip, extend upward toward the sky. Their heads reach out toward the rim of the circle, arms raised above their heads. Hair flows in a spiral around them weaving into tiny, tough tree roots. Standing atop each woman's extended legs and feet is another woman. Each of these women, too, stands naked and erect with arms pointing skyward. Legs and body parts merge together to form the trunk of a human tree. A spiral of life circles 'round their heads ... a circle of leaves, a flock of white birds--some black birds too--and another level of women rises above them. At the very top a white stork stands atop one woman's head, wings extended.

My interpretation? Jan visually portrays the important role played by our mothers and grandmothers and beyond in connecting us to the circle of life. As women, we are supported by the lives, the past achievements, and the love extended to us by our ancestors. Each of us, in our daily practice, is that tree. When we consciously envision our rootedness in the Earth and our suspension from Heaven, we feel nurtured and sustained by the natural world too. We are a part of the Tree of Life. It makes us whole.