The Calmness that Enters My Heart

I practiced TCC on the deck again today as I looked out on undulating hills and valleys of snow-covered Earth. The 50-degree temperatures loosened frozen piles of snow on the deck into tiny drips of water that seemed to bounce delightedly on the ground below.

My movements echoed back to me as I watched my shadow slip across a blue tarp draped over the tractor next to our deck. Occasionally I caught glimpses of shadow fingers and hands rising and falling across the purple-painted deck rails. The softness and slowness of these shadow movements--this dark reflection of myself--was relaxing ... comforting.

A light breeze tickled the back of my neck as I observed my shadow self. Near the end of practice I turned slightly into the wind and inhaled it, the air, fresh and gentle, the silence, deep.

I'm often surprised to discover how hard it is to quiet my Monkey Mind and how difficult it can be to give myself to my TCC practice. After I begin to move I'm incredibly grateful and humbled by the healing grace of these movements, the flow of Chi, the calmness that enters my heart....

The Flute of the Infinite

It's another day of wonder brimming with sun and silence! After an early morning snowshoe through the forest, a high near 60 degrees, and a midday nap, I headed out onto the deck in late afternoon to move through TCC while temps hovered in the upper 40s and low 50s.

This is a wonderful time of the year to practice outdoors. Number one reason: no bugs! Number two reason: it's warm but not too warm, it's cool but not too cool.

I closed my eyes several times during practice. It was long enough to forget the several feet of snow that lay all around me. Still, I felt comfortable--almost hot--as I moved. An occasional breeze slid over the snow-covered Earth, was ice-cooled, and reminded me that spring won't arrive for several more weeks.

Today's quiet air filled me with peace and I rested in the silence, breathing deeply, softly, slowly....

Ramana Maharshi said, 'Silence is unceasing eloquence.' From the silence of the Presence, messages of love are trying to reach us at every moment from every corner of the universe. Always to be receptive to this music, and so learn how to live in compassionate harmony with it, is the goal of the realized life....
          From: The Mystic Vision, "The Flute of the Infinite: The Spirit," p. 38

Without Words

Another glorious, warm, pre-spring day. After a high of 50 degrees I ventured onto the deck outside for a late afternoon practice, temps now around 35. As I moved, the sun gradually edged its way beyond the far side of the ridge behind our house. The day, overfull with unexpected challenges, now offered me the freedom of my time.

I breathed in--and marveled at--the deep silence that surrounded me; the only sounds were an occasional flutter of bird wings ... a peck here, a chirp there. How do I describe a practice that felt just right? Perhaps I don't. I'm reminded of Justin Stone's article All Things are as They Have Always Been. In it he writes about the limits of trying to put words to experiences. He ends:

Words have their place and are absolutely necessary for communication and the accumulation of knowledge, but they are not capable of taking the place of a valid experience. Words are, by their very nature, dualistic, and no realization of 'Oneness' (wholeness) can come from subject-object thinking. In short, do not be afraid to experience without labeling, or even remembering, the experience.
          From: Spiritual Odyssey, Selected Writings of Justin F. Stone, 1985-1997

My thoughts exactly. I came. I moved. I saw ... and heard ... and felt. I soaked in every drop of silence. And then ... I walked back into the house and reentered the story of my life.

What is Essential

The activities of this degenerate age are like a madman's
performance of dance.
No matter what we do, there is no way to please others.
Think about what is essential.
This is my heart's advice.
          --Bhande Dharmaradza
          From: A Complete Guide to the Buddhist Path, Khenchen Konchog Gyaltshen

As TCC teachers we all know--or have realized--that it is impossible to please everyone who attends our classes. Because each of us has a different way of thinking and a different way of learning we simply can't satisfy everyone. So what do we do? As Bhande Dharmaradza advises: Think about what is essential.

Each week as I drive to my classes I set my intention for the hour or more that I spend with my students. I articulate that intention mentally--and sometimes verbally--to begin to create a space that is safe and comfortable for all. I often ask the Universe for help in this process and, though I vary my request, it often sounds something like this: May I and the members of my class be filled with relaxation, peace, love, acceptance, and compassion. May we be peace.

This morning's Cornucopia class practiced the Healing Sounds per Sr. Antonia's instruction and guidance at the Twin Cities' TCC retreat in January. Since my class is small, I asked one person at a time to sit in the center of our circle and the remaining members of the class recited the Healing Sounds as we moved together around our classmate. In St. Paul we had about 30 practitioners, here in Cornucopia there were six of us.

But my class also experienced (I hope) some of what is essential ... to be open to the experience of Life Force energy, to experience its healing powers, and to willingly offer this gift of energetic healing to one another without expectation or reward: Ho, Hu, Szu, Hsu, Hsi, Chui. Ahhhh....

Sun-drenched Gratitude

It's a s'wonderful, s'marvelous day! Ohh, I have to watch myself ... I can feel spring fever creeping into my blood stream and flowing through my veins.

Northern woods' vital statistics: temperature, 45 degrees; weight, unknown due to rapid water loss from the continual drip of snow and ice melt; height, distance from sunshine-covered Earth to clear blue sky, unable to calculate; and blood pressure, normal, though reading may be influenced by joyous birdsong.

Spring fever invited me out onto the deck for TCC practice today. First I shoveled a clear spot in the snow and ice, then I carried out two lawn chairs, one cat, and one dog. The dog lay in one chair and the cat explored the edge of the deck in either direction as she monitored bird and squirrel activity. Only once did Chiripa venture off the deck into a deep snow drift. Instantly she leapt back to a dry, snow-free deck surface, and immediately licked her paws.

In the beauty, comfort, and quiet I shed jacket, gloves, and boots and moved to the Cosmic Rhythm. The pure air, blue sky, warm sun, sturdy trees, and sweet silence were a salve to my soul. I feel sun-drenched gratitude for this day and for my small, peaceful place in it....

Mental Rehearsal(s)

Today’s TCC practice was all in my head…. First, I performed a mental rehearsal during a half hour car ride to Ashland (my partner drove, I was the passenger). Then, I resumed my practice for another half hour while I waited for a medical test.

Oh, and did I tell you that I’ve always been an anxious person? I was extremely anxious before I learned T’ai Chi Chih moving meditation 16 years ago and my anxiety has—I gladly acknowledge--abated over the intervening years.

I’m still prone to anxious moments when I venture beyond the “safe” boundaries of familiar places, people, and situations. TCC practice offered--and continues to offer--a healing and balancing effect on my personality. And today TCC offered unaccountable solace in the midst of a morning filled with feelings of anxiety and stress.

Today’s reading from 365 Tao by Deng Ming-Dao focused on “Sorrow.” I easily substituted the word fear as I applied his wisdom and teachings. He writes:

     When sorrow [fear] comes, its bitterness soaks everything. The sages say that life is illusion, but does that change its poignancy?.... When faced with a sad [fearful] situation, it is best not to languish in it. We can change things by being with different people, moving to other places, or, if all else fails, adjusting our own attitudes to take the initiative. Sadness [fear] is transitory, like everything else. If we want to deflect it, we need only alter its context and allow it to be subsumed back into Tao.

Yes, fear [sadness] can be transformed through t’ai chi chih practice. Today's two mental rehearsals (plus two classes this evening) proved to me yet again that the power of this moving meditation is experiential. Whether your practice is performed by moving your body or by rehearsing movements in your head doesn't matter in the least.

Would you like to swing on a star?

Tonight I practiced in front of my office window in complete darkness. What a wonderful opportunity to see myself moving.... I was dressed entirely in black and, by the end of my form, I realized that I resembled a mime. What was I communicating through my movements without words?

I remembered a TCC teacher who wrote an article in The Vital Force journal many years ago. She'd asked her young students to come up with playful names for the movements based on nature and the animals they'd been studying. A quick review of a few of the TCC movements in front of the window showed me several scenarios that might be intuited from the movements. I include a few possibilities here...

Rocking Motion:  "Would you like to swing on a star?"
Daughter on the Mountain Top:  "What is the sound of two hands almost clapping?"
Carry the Ball to the Side:  "This is how I look when I dance without a partner..."
Push/Pull:  "Go away.... No, come close...."
Pulling in the Energy:  "I think the world is this big around ... How about you?"
Light at the Top of the Head/Light at the Temples:  "I'm a Jack-in-the-Box."
Joyous Breath:  "Am I ever going to get this suitcase closed?"

It's fun to play, isn't it?