A Blessed Compulsion

It's Packer Bowl Sunday. Whoops. I mean Super Bowl Sunday. I imagine I'm one of a mere handful of people in the state of Wisconsin and most likely around the entire United States who won't be tuning into the Big Game this afternoon.

I was a huge football follower in my teens and early 20s. It offered a way to connect with my father, a loyal Minnesota Vikings' fan. He never missed an opportunity on a fall or winter weekend to watch--and cheer on--his favorite team as well as every other professional and collegiate ball toss aired on television.

Today I'm more interested in engaging in the sport of words. Since I'm the coach, receiver, and quarterback--the whole team really--in this game, I ask myself when I begin a writing project: What game plan should I use? If I toss these words into the air, is there anyone down field to catch them? How might it feel to carry one pigskin-wrapped metaphor into the end zone?

I debate whether to fall back and lob a pass or grasp the ball tightly under one arm and run for it. Is it possible for me to make a touchdown? A field goal? Or should I simply settle for first and ten? Then do it again.

I've thought about the power--and entertainment value--of words a lot lately. I spent the past two evenings, along with 28 other writers, reading my piece from Love Stories of the Bay at Stagenorth. It was a fascinating, terrifying, and exhilarating experience. These intense, captivating, and highly personal evenings caused me to wonder what causes each of us to write. And also, what draws over 250 people to a theater over the course of two cold winter evenings to hear what we have to say? Moreover, what motivates writers to write even if every single one of those theater seats remained empty?

I realize that, for me, just as well-prepared food nourishes my body, a well-written story feeds my heart and expands and lightens my spirit. Language, words, and metaphors have the power to ignite a fire in the soul. But, just like football, the written and spoken word is not for everyone. It pains me a bit to recognize this fact. I'd like to think that because I'm captivated by turns of phrase and word pictures others would be too.

In my January 24, 2011 blog entry under Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky ("The Soul that hears loving words becomes more loving") I wrote:

Yes, I have a passion for words. Why? Because words have the power to express feelings, unravel confusion, draw people into a web of community and connection, and bring deeper meaning to our lives.

I just turned the page in my journal and discovered this quote, 'The soul that beholds beauty becomes more beautiful.' I believe, in a similar vein, that the soul that hears loving words becomes more loving.

I continue on in that blog to quote Wisconsin Public Radio Here on Earth host, Jean Feraca. In her book, I Hear Voices, Feraca recalls a creative writing teacher who told Feraca's class that there were only two subjects worth writing about: love and death. (p. 122). Perhaps that's why our Love Stories of the Bay seem so potent. These stories of love--and death--describe our passionate connection to our dogs, wild animals, spouses, lovers, friends, parents, land, water, and our shared home here on the Chequamegon Bay.

After the past two nights on stage I feel freshly inspired to continue along my path as a writer. It's not easy. Writing is a lonely, solitary, and seemingly thankless business. And, possibly because this is so, writers long for loving support and encouraging words from their family and friends, audience, and readers.  

Thankfully, I was blessed with a father who not only watched football, basketball, and baseball most weekends. He read ... and also wrote. Perhaps because he so enjoyed the power and potency of language he passed some of his passion for words on to me where it lodged itself deep in my bones and DNA.

Perhaps, as Jean Feraca writes in her book, I write simply because I have no choice. Maybe I, too, suffer from what, per Feraca, "Denise Levertov once called the blessed compulsion of art." It's true that I can't not write. How's that for a double negative?

Whatever the inspiration for putting pen to paper or fingertips to computer keyboard, I believe Feraca illustrated one significant benefit to the writer's life with this quote from poet Louise Bogan: You cannot change your language without changing your life. (p. 133)

Going Deeper ... into T'ai Chi Chih Practice

I attended a T’ai Chi Chih Practice and Retreat at the Benedictine Center in St. Paul, Sewing the Seeds of T’ai Chi Chih: *Compassion *Loving Kindness *Grounding *Letting Go, with Sr. Antonia, TCC guide, on January 28-31, 2010. It was--in a word--fabulous!

I traveled to the Twin Cities to refine my movements, to meet Sr. Antonia, to deepen my practice, and to learn how to follow t’an t’ien (my center) more completely as it leads me through my movements (and my life). Thankfully I’ve begun to accomplish these goals and much more….

Sr. Antonia, Justin Stone’s appointed guide, is a lovely addition to the T’ai Chi Chih community. It’s obvious that she lives what she teaches; participants experienced first-hand the ways in which the depth of Sr. Antonia’s own practice (along with her prayer life, scriptural healing, Dances of Universal Peace, and other practices) allows her to maintain a loving, accepting, compassionate, and playful presence with those she meets.

I emerged from the middle of the woods to travel to the big city for this event and, I admit, I was overwhelmed and over-stimulated by the abundance of activities and the numbers of new people I met. By Friday night my head throbbed ... I was exhausted. The next day I asked fellow teachers and students for aspirin and received much more; Ibuprofin and a qigong healing session yielded immediate benefits.

Due to my headache and tiredness I’d missed Sr. Antonia’s Chinese brush painting session Friday night. When I mentioned my absence the next day, Sister volunteered to teach me one-on-one after lunch.

Chinese brush painting is similar to t’ai chi chih and, I imagine, the reverse is true also. Both practices require practitioners to soften and let go. I focused on relaxing and breathing deeply as I moved the brush along the paper and … it helped! I completed enough bamboo paintings to attend Saturday night’s session and make two of my paintings into cards and one painting into a framed piece of art! That’s a huge accomplishment for me as my artistic abilities are severely limited when it comes to brush and paint, pencil and paper, clay, or other art mediums.

There was much to embrace and experience; finding a new friend in my roommate, rediscovering an old student, reconnecting with other teachers, meeting new students filled with energy and excitement about this wonderful t’ai chi chih practice that we share, watching an incredible movie—twice!—that included an excerpt with Sr. Antonia (On the Road Home: A Spiritual Journey Guided by Remarkable Women), eating healthy food, engaging in wonderful conversations, revisiting old memories….

Another teacher and I—both accredited in October 1996—recounted our final presentations during our 1996 teacher training. These presentations are a personal mix of movement and words that complete the final requirements of the accreditation process. The night before my presentation one of Frances’s and my goats died. I was devastated. When I stepped in front of the group and began to talk about t’ai chi chih, I started to cry.

Afterward our teacher/trainer congratulated me on how well I’d done. It was a perfect demonstration of the power of t’ai chi chih practice, he said, because once I started to move it was obvious how quickly and easily the form brought me back to my center.

The other teacher recalled his own final presentation. His preparation—and the 3x5 index cards he held—helped him begin but, suddenly and unexpectedly, he froze. Total silence. He simply couldn’t go on. A previously accredited teacher stood up, handed him a glass of water and asked, “Honey, do you want a drink?” After several sips he continued his talk without incident.

One of the highlights of this retreat: our final morning practice of the Healing Sounds. Afterwards we positioned five chairs in the center of our circle and offered each other energy as the remaining 24 of us practiced the Healing Sounds repeatedly in order to permit every individual to sit in the center of the circle and draw in the energy of the Chi.

What an incredible experience! Near the end of my “sit” time I felt myself sinking, sinking, sinking. My breath flowed out of my body until I had no desire left to inhale. Then I sensed a cord extending down from my tailbone and into the Earth. It felt as if my fellow practitioners were helping me root more deeply. Subsequently no pain remained in my body; I was clear, calm, at peace.

I feel tremendous gratitude to those in the t'ai chi chih teachers' community who keep this practice alive and who invite the rest of us to continually go deeper. As t'ai chi chih's creator, Justin Stone, reminds us:

     T'ai Chi Chih becomes a way of life. It is true that the gentle movements of T'ai Chi Chih form a moving meditation and an exercise of great efficiency--exercising the inner organs and promoting healing--but eventually it goes beyond these and permeates the life-style of the practitioner. We do not all see the same world, which is a reflection of ourselves. With the accumulation of Chi (Vital Force) through T'ai Chi Chih practice, permanent changes in the metabolism and the thinking process take place and renewed energy conditions the whole way of life. Just as the thought conditions the Vital Force, so does the flow of this Chi, this Intrinsic Energy, condition the way of thinking. As these changes occur we get in touch with ourselves and the world we see begins to change....

                             From: Spiritual Odyssey by Justin Stone, p. 23

Coming Home and Traveling ... through the Tao Te Ching

In the winter of 1989 Frances slipped behind the wheel of her old red Dodge pickup truck and spent three months traveling from central Minnesota through Ohio, Nebraska, New Mexico, Arizona, Idaho, and other parts of the central, southwestern, and northern United States. Her travel companions were two of her closest friends: her Golden Retriever, Sadie, and her rabbit, Poof. The trio camped together and shared many adventures.

"But," Frances reminded me during the last week of our trip through Latin America, "After only a few days at home Sadie was intent on getting back on the road. She just couldn't settle down. I had to tell her, 'No. We're home now. We're not going anywhere.'

"I have a feeling you might be like that too," Frances warned.

Perhaps she was right. I'm not sure that I want to pack my bags and head out the door this week. Yet, now that I've tasted the fruits--both literal and figurative--of a warmer, sunnier, more exotic culture and climate, I don't need to spend the rest of my life in my beautiful, shady house in the woods.

In fact, both Frances and I are reevaluating the direction of our lives, reimagining what we both long to experience as we cull through our possessions and lessen the load. It's clear that we both love to travel. Leaving behind the routine of daily life provided us with an opportunity to be more objective, less willing to cling to what we know, and more open to trusting that we can learn, grow, and thrive in many other circumstances than we previously thought. That's one of the precious gifts we received from our travels.

The morning after our return to the North Woods I led my Cornucopia T'ai Chi Chih class in our first winter practice. During class tea time, as usual, we read and discussed the next verse of the Tao Te Ching, Verse 23. We're studying this well-known classic text from two out of a multitude of translations: Ursula LeGuin's "Lao Tzu Tao Te Ching: A Book about The Way and the Power of The Way" and Wayne Dyer's "Change Your Thoughts--Change Your Life."

Dyer's chapter, "Living Naturally," spoke directly to me about my experiences during our travels. "Open yourself to the Tao and trust your natural responses ... then everything will fall into place," translates Dyer. He later writes, "The Tao points out that the Way is responsible for everything ... When you conform to the naturalness of the universe, you cooperate with this all-creating power that flows through you. Suspend ego-driven plans and instead participate in the power that created you--allow it to be the guiding force in your life."

Yes, I have come home and still, I am traveling.