reading the leaves

Hot wisps of roiling tea carry on up past my nose, headed for dissipation while I steal a sniff along the way. Jasmine-scented green tea - the smell always takes me back to my few months in China in 1998.

My friend Kim took me and a few other friends to various tea shops while she shopped for tea and teapots throughout Beijing and Nanjing. We would sit in the air-conditioned interiors, resting on thin cushions that adorned the dark, smoky wood interior of shops that were more comfortable than ancient, more timeless than archetypical. Little old women would serve us tea while Kim browsed and we engaged in small talk that was muffled by blending scents from giant glass jars on the shelves. We never spoke that much, as it was an odd adventure of the pleasant variety which proved entertaining enough in it's own right. Kim had the knowledge and the gusto to seek tea and pots, and it was amusing to sip hot teas all afternoon in the steamy, exotic funk of Chinese cities in the summer. The cold dry tea parlors always had an initial bite when you stepped in, but the tiny wrinkled smiles of the women and the nostalgic feeling we all get around Oriental carved wood designs were always enough to fight off the chill.

Today I sipped the tea, reminiscent of my past olfactory escapades, and perhaps for the first time fully realized that I'm living my life right now. Beyond my heartbeat, pulse, and brain functions, I'm choosing things all the time and these choices make up my life. Why is this thought significant?

I think we are told that so much of our lives is the time leading up to our lives - that after some point it will actually begin. Is it the B.A., the B.S., the Ph.D., the MBA, the J.D., the Salinger, the MSW, the MFA, the diploma of any kind? Is it moving away from home? Is it finding the person you are going to get hitched with? Is it when we make real money? Is it when we carry debt and prove that we can pay interest on it regularly? Is it when we suffer and therefore discover some of the Facts of Life?

I have no answers to these posited possibilities of lines in the sand. I do know, however, that it felt different today to think of my life. Liberating, scary, warm, introspective, and many other things as complex and simple as the tea I sipped. It's not going to start in the future. It's starting at every moment, and carrying forward into the future like ripples on the surface that are consonant or dissonant with the ripples of everyone else in my life and in the world. Today I took life with no cream or sugar, just hot and clear and full of the aromas of the journey across the Pacific and North America to my teacup. Tonight I hold it warm in my hands against the cold stars in the sky, and look at them both a little differently.

learn one, teach one, do one, transcend your own angst

Circling hands like clouds, I step slowly across the gazebo in the cold afternoon wind. One hand circles in front of my abdomen, the other passing in front of my face. I can hear my teacher's voice in my head, though I haven't seen him in five months. His tone of voice and manner of speaking help me focus in on the details of my tai chi practice. In an ironic twist, he is from Guelph where I practice now, though he lives in Palo Alto where I learned the form in the first place. In the irony of history, neither of us are little old Chinese men but we both have dreams...

In all that I do, when I'm mindful, I try to honor my teachers that have lived and attempted to share their life lessons with me. I think of my tai chi teachers as I relax my shoulders, retreat my lower back, and iniate movements with my waist. I think of my 12th grade English teacher when I see grammatical mistakes in books or websites and wince, wishing I could correct the work that isn't even mine. I think of my former partner from Dallas, who told me that I was sometimes too judgemental. I think of my friends at Magic who showed me that the majority of our culture is not what it seems. I think of Chuang Tzu, the ancient Chinese philosopher who said that small turtles and giant eagles don't see the world the same way (?...). I think of my mom who showed me over the years how to host an entertaining party. I think of my dad who aimed to not sweat the small stuff. I think of my friends who have encouraged me not to be so black-and-white but look for the sweet, velvety grays of life.

Though I aim to honor my teachers, sometimes I still wish I had a guru. Some dred-locked Indian mystic on a cushion on a mountaintop, or a small Japanese monk in a wooden templeat the foot of Mt. Fuji, or a kitchen goddess with a big flour-dusted apron in a farmhouse on a soft June morning. Someone who tells you what to do, someone who you give yourself over to wholly because you so trust their sagacity. Sometimes I wish for this because free will can be a pisser - what if I don't want to choose? Ha - choose. What if I get stuck like Hamlet and inable to act? Ha! - act. I'd follow the footsteps in the snow in front of me, except that they run every which way and seem to go in all directions. How to choose? How to evolve? How to change?

I've been told that keeping love in my heart will be enough. I hope so. I hope I can keep it in my heart, and I hope it will be enough. Where I'm at, the food is good, laughter is not uncommon, and new friends share good life with me.

Soft amber leaves twirl
down to rest on my feet, while
I ponder swift clouds.


Pear Sauce Recipe

Pick 30 kilos of pears from your friend's tree. Load them in the car, bring them into Canada (nothing to declare, carry on, carry on :-) Let 'em ripen for 10 days. Peel and quarter them into a big 'ol pot (maybe a quarter of the total at once). Steam/boil them in that same big 'ol pot with brown spices reminiscent of warm stone hearths, and a cup or two of water at the bottom. Mash 'em. Boil some more. Follow your bliss with a spoon :-)

Doing dishes after the long, dark tea time of the soul

We hosed down beets and carrots, loaded them in 10 lb. bundles in plastic bags, and tossed them into my sweetie's car with Ontario plates. Frost cold in the morning, pancakes digesting warm slowly my belly, we plan to drive them to Ipswich to deliver to a friend's farm. Twisting through Massachusetts countryside, car wants to fishtail with 700 lbs of root vegetables in the trunk, look at the imperial yellow and fading crimson leaves. Sun shines bright and almost defeats the cold, I sip fresh pressed apple cider and chat in a cross-section of time with dear friend in California, a lifetime away, pacing the grass under tall settled pines. We walk trails amongst trees and crops, dust crunching under stroller sleeping baby full of vigor. I imagine life among the fields, stone walls marking things ancient to me, roads twisting and not crowded. People gather and smile in the thick wooden barn, chilly and warmed by potluck, speak of farm seasons past and the baby eats a solitary pinto bean off my spoon, pacified.

It's passing my hand over something well-made from solid wood, it's a pondering vegetarian petting a vacant-eyed cow over a fence, it's hot cream of potato soup when you arrive cold and hungry, it's a bulky wool sweater pulled on first thing in the morning, it's your eyes telling me you'll be there, it's Occam's razor telling me to look again close to home, it's all these sentiments piled up in a picnic basket under a tree with us chillin' on the blanket

only living boy in Ontario

cold weather is creeping back in, without fanfare or being too pushy because it is eminent and inevitable. the trees bend gently in the colder winds, while the leaves twist lightly and twitch in the late morning sunshine. there is no resisting it, just like last and next winter. cold, dry, and bright for now, headed for cold and wet in a month or so.

I remember it, and feel strange at needing to remember it. It has been years since I've been around the bright, simple reds, yellows, ochres, oranges, rusts, and golds. The smells of dead plants and cold earth are sweet to me, perhaps because I've glossed over my childhood memories and carefully removed the bits about cold hands and feet, the flu, and shorter days...

For now, I'm basking in the sun coming through the window, not dozing but wide awake and dreaming of nothing in particular. I know the other side of the glass is cold - I don't need to go outside and prove it. Many cups of tea keep me warm inside, and I wear my scarf indoors to the amusement of my Canadian friends.

Where am I headed? Inwards, tunneling and burrowing in search of roots. I eat pumpkins, beets, apples, carrots, and other earthy vegetables. Brown spices color the soup that steams in front of me, giving me strength to wonder where my life is headed. I find it takes strength to wonder, to let go of my preconceived options, to recognize the fears that steer me, to see where my attachments really lie and why, to see what visions of the future I cling to with or without reason, to find out where my heart longs to go or stay...

May you be finding autumn warmth, wrapping the blankets closer to you as you reflect on the last year and where the next one will take you