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 :-)
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