watching the bamboo

I was walking through the redwoods today with some friends, thinking about all our different life paths. I have friends who are big-time consultants in Washington D.C., friends who travel all over the world often and easily, friends who bike everywhere, friends who walk everywhere barefoot, friends who get arrested at big protests in big cities, friends who (like me) don't know what they want at all, and friends who seem to have all the answers and not so many questions in life. I think about all these differences, and all the infinite facets of each of our lives that makes us each unique. How can I bridge them to help myself and others to grow and change? Where is our common ground? I know it and feel it, though it sometimes seems elusive.

I was practicing tai chi in the street this evening, near my place in Palo Alto. The street is blocked to traffic at one end of the block, so there are no cars passing through. Children often gather in the evening to play basketball at some backboards that the neighbors have put out. It is a vibrant scene, full of warm energy and calm easing of the tensions of the day.

I have been practicing there sporadically in the evenings for the past four years, with some shamefully long periods in recent months with no practice. The regulars who walk the neighborhood know my figure with slowly circling hands and twisting torso. The children were shy and kept their distance at first, but now feel comfortable being within 20 or 30 feet of me while I practice my 30-minute form. This evening I delighted in seeing the children play tag and cooperate to establish good rules and an inclusive atmosphere. I felt in harmony with my surroundings, and enjoyed hearing the wind rustle through the bamboo and ash tree leaves that overhang the street near my spot.

As I was walking back to my house, a woman named Linda stopped me and inquired about my practice. She turned out to be a student of the same school as I, and has seen me a few times before in the street. She commended me on my courage to practice in front of the children, with all their noise and distractions. I told her that I enjoy being a part of the regular routine of life, not being an anomaly but rather an integrated part of a dynamic scene. She smiled and told me that at one point the children's play consisted of doing pretty accurate imitations of my movements while I was facing away from them. I thought that was pretty amazing on their part, having never spoken with them at any length about the hows and whys of tai chi. I told Linda that in the past in China, tai chi had traditionally been handed down not by explicit teaching but rather by imitation and persistance. Practitioners would do their forms in a regular place, and those who came regularly for many years to imitate them would eventually be graced with tutoring in how to improve their own practice from the master. I smiled at the thought of representing such a cultural tradition on a tiny scale in Palo Alto, even if only in some children's play.

I'm working on being patient in my life, looking for opportunities to teach and learn. I'm learning to be flexible like the bamboo that sways deeply in the wind but is strong enough to make tools, cutting boards, houses, and roofs. I'm wondering how to reach the children in the street and nurture their curiosity. I'm learning how to keep courage to maintain all the good practices in my life. I'm learning slowly how to lead a satisfying life.