Smoke on the Water and Fire in the Sky

I watch a double sunrise this morning. First, a pink ball of light rises over the horizon and ascends into a narrow strand of clouds and then a circle of shining white light emerges from the clouds that hover just above the edges of the Earth.

After the initial pink sunrise a stream of light lays itself down across Lake Superior's water and ice (it looks as though there may be both from my view out the living room window) and gleams straight toward me. I'm reminded of Frances's and my trip to Central America last winter when we watched sun risings over a warm water Caribbean Sea.

I continue to move through TCC practice as the sun rises ... a pure white circle of light with a rose pink aura around it. Near the end of practice I glimpse the lake again. This time there is no ice, no water. It looks like a thick fog or smoke covers its surface; clouds in the sky, clouds in the water. (Did the heat of the sun meeting the coolness of the lake's surface cause this reaction?) It reminds me of Deep Purple's song released in 1972 (am I dating myself?), Smoke on the Water.

My movements are less carefree today, more stiff and crinkled. But it feels good to emerge from sleep into wakefulness with the sun brightening the way....

I'm watching my t'an t'ien more these days ... literally. Since I tell my students to lead with their t'an t'ien and Sr. Antonia reiterated this command over and over again at the TCC retreat, I'm noticing how t'an t'ien leads me forward and back, up and down.

Justin Stone teaches that you can tell how relaxed a TCC practitioner is in their practice by how relaxed they are in their wrists and waist. I'm struck by how much waist/t'an t'ien motion there is even in the simplest of movements, Bird Flaps its Wings, for example.

How does your t'an t'ien move? How much does your t'an t'ien move? Watch it ... and be surprised.

Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky

Yes, it's begun. On Thanksgiving Day I created Blog #2. Its title? Rooted in Earth, Suspended from Sky. Its sole intent is to take the reader along on my daily journey with t'ai chi chih moving meditation practice. But you never know. Other things may happen along the way....

I plan to continue writing Under the Forest Canopy with a minimum of four entries per month. Rooted in Earth will, on the other hand, be a daily blog (I hope!). Short and sweet.

Call me a neophyte or Neanderthal, since I don't know how to find blogs other than through their web address the new blog is at: http://taichichihmoments.blogspot.com.

Check it out!

T'ai Chi Chih Thanksgiving

Yup. I’m gonna do it. At least begin. Then what?

For years I’ve imagined creating a bigger space in my life for a daily t’ai chi chih practice followed with a blog entry. Like Julie Powell’s one year experiment with Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking as detailed in her book, Julie & Julia: 365 days, 524 recipes, 1 tiny apartment kitchen, I want to launch into a regular commitment that requires something more of me … something yet to discover.

Truth be told, it’s been a long time—years!—since I’ve engaged in a daily t’ai chi chih practice. After I moved to the middle of the woods there was always something else to attend to, much of it survival-based: gathering wood, tending the fire, cooking, washing dishes, cleaning and maintaining the house (I’d never been a home owner before!), gardening, paying bills, shoveling snow, to say nothing of work….

But now winter approaches … a quiet(er) time here on the Bayfield peninsula. It’s now or never.

This morning’s t’ai chi chih practice was en-deer-ing. I began in front of the patio door listening to “Circle of Compassion” by Marina Raye, a comforting blend of native flute and acoustic guitar. The sky was overcast, the house dark, the woods grey—brightened only by orangey rust-brown leaves scattered over the ground—and the bird feeders were bird-less. All was quiet, peaceful. One thought floated into my head…. “I wonder whether I’ll spot any deer passing through the woods while I practice.”

Several minutes later I sighted the flash of a white tail flipping up and over. Deer coats blend so completely into their surrounds that it’s hard to spot deer even when they’re standing directly in front of you.

Quickly I noticed another deer … a pair. Soon after, two more deer slipped out of their camouflage and into view. I continued my practice moving softly and slowly. Deer five appeared. Then number six. It reminded me of a card I recently sent to a t’ai chi chih student diagnosed with breast cancer. The card featured a Jim Brandenburg photo of deer lined up in silhouette on a tree-filled hillside. It read, “May peace … and peace … and peace be everywhere.”

That’s the essence of t’ai chi chih practice. Centering, quieting the mind, relaxing into the moment … reaching a stillpoint. Perfection.

And so I submit myself to this commitment: perform a daily t’ai chi chih practice and write about it. Move. Write. Slow down. Write about it. Take note of what I notice within and around me. Detail it on my blog.

Can I do this? It’s hard to know as I’ll be scrabbling for computer time with my partner, a die-hard on-line stock investor. But, for the moment, it’s worth the effort. As Powell writes in Julie & Julia:

A few words strung together, is all. But together, out there, they seemed perhaps to glow, only faintly. Just enough.

Serenity in the Midst of Activity

That’s the theme of spring here in our woodland home … serenity in the midst of activity. Our 2002 move to the northern Wisconsin woods began as an escape into nature. Securely swaddled in 25 acres of trees we thought we were protected from outside intrusions. Still, “The only constant in life is change.” How many times have I heard that refrain?

How do we cope with change? Put simply, we learn to adapt.

The Town of Russell is the most recent location for expansion, development, and construction in the Bayfield area. This spring we start most days with the sound of moving equipment and heavy-machinery operating over a mile away up over the ridge behind our house. First trees were uprooted and removed. Now the gravel crusher has arrived. Pound-pound-pound-pound-pound. Screech-screech-screech. This project is scheduled for completion within four to six weeks assuming that operators can work from 7:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. The next noisy step is yet to be revealed.

Every weekend night—and some weekday nights as well—we listen to bar noise from across the road (about a half-mile away). Summer was already a rowdy time as bar patrons moved outside to enjoy warmer temperatures while they conversed and drank, laughed and yelled. Live music shows entertained the entire area. One neighbor living on the hill behind us said that he could tell when a friend played at the bar because he could hear his instrument…. Our neighbor lives a mile beyond our house.

As of April 2009, we now enjoy occasional weekend evenings filled with loud, provocative music and hoots and hollers as the bar presents exotic dancing. Though we don’t attend these performances they still affect us. Initially there was a change in management. Now I hear that as clientele change, the bar atmosphere gets rougher and sleezier. But most significant, there's a subtle psychic energy shift that accompanies the sex trade business. Does anyone talk about it? No. For as long as no obvious physical changes can be identified (bar fights, wife beatings, public prostitution, etc.), it's not a problem.

How do I ignore the goings-on around me? How do I cope with the noise and continue on with my life, unaffected? How do I remember that someday, once again, I’ll be able to hear the songbirds without interruption and sense the presence of deer and bear by the light shuffle of their feet through the leaves and brush on the forest floor?

These questions bring me face-to-face with Taoist philosophy. I’m reminded that I’ve been practicing and teaching t’ai chi chih moving meditation for over 13 years. What do I do?

I emulate the Eastern Phoebes nesting above our kitchen window. These hardy souls build their nest under the eaves in order to share a protective overhang with their human hosts. In our case, the birds cope with Frances, Namaste, and my frequent exits and entrances through the front door right below their nest. Our kitchen window looks out on their nest as well. We also climb a nearby ladder twice daily to hang a hummingbird feeder over our front step.

Mama Phoebe initially responded to our shenanigans by flying out of the nest whenever we left or entered the house. She soon adapted her behaviors depending upon her level of comfort with our activities, sometimes flying away, sometimes staying put. But, now … Now we have new babies. We saw two fuzzy heads, beaks protruding over the side of the nest, yesterday. (We hope that there are two more huddled somewhere deeper in the nest.)

For the next few weeks Mama and Papa Phoebe will engage in almost-constant insect hunting in order to feed their young. They’ll time their feedings to correspond with the demands of their babies as well as the comings and goings of their human cohabiters.

And, guess what? Their babies will survive … and quite likely, thrive. There’s a lesson in this for me, I know.

Moving Slowly

This morning I practiced my t'ai chi chih moving meditation in front of the patio door. S-l-o-w-l-y. I automatically timed my movements to the drifting, swirling, soft descent of snowflakes. My own words to my students echoed back to me: "Notice how your practice location affects the feel and pace of your practice. For example, when you practice along Lake Superior's shore, your speed will vary depending upon the time of day, weather, wind, wave action, and the sound of the waves against the shore. Why? Because we are all part of an ocean of energy that flows around and through us and we naturally attune ourselves to the rhythm that surrounds us."

This is one of the reasons why my own rhythms have slowed while living here in the North Woods. Divorced from the noise, activity, and stimulation of busy freeways, crowded malls, and frantic workplaces, I can quiet myself down into the rhythm of earth and sky, wind and water. Here I live among acres of trees and miles of land that rest quietly beneath a protective mantle of pure white. During the winter months I emulate the bears and curl up within my protective shelter as I peer out at each new day's layering of lake-effect snow. Oh, the beauty!

After feeding animals and rekindling the wood fire this morning, I read from "Earth Prayers."

The mountains, I become part of it ...
The herbs, the fir tree, I become part of it.
The morning mists, the clouds, the gathering
waters,
I become part of it.
The wilderness, the dew drops, the
pollen ...
I become part of it.
NAVAJO CHANT

Here, under the forest canopy, I feel the oneness of all life and I celebrate that unity. And so ...

The snow, fallen and still falling,
I become part of it.

From Woods to Beach and Back Again ... and Again

Last Tuesday we ventured to Little Sand Bay for some much-needed relaxation. I had to convince Frances first that it was warm enough (mid-70s) to remove her long underwear--it was July 17th for Heaven's sake--before we headed to the sun-drenched shore. Once there, I read a book aloud as Frances sewed a sweatband into her new 50 cent straw hat and Namaste explored the beach and napped in the shade.

While I wrote in my journal I paused as a fishing boat glided past surrounded by seagulls. The sunlight reflected off the flapping wings and turned moving birds into tiny sparks of light. It reminded me of a pointillist painting, a technique that uses dots of paint which blend together in the viewer's eye. It was truly an impressionistic scene, my feelings stirred by the visual effect of light on fluttering wings, dancing gulls, and the smooth forward motion of the fishing boat. As I watched the light glance off the water and shimmer through the air I could see and sense the forward momentum but felt entranced by this one brief, captured moment. The sun, lake, birds, boat, and sky were my art museum as I tumbled into the light-infused painting, my senses sparked.

Soon, an eagle swept over the surface of the lake directly in front of us and flew to the top of a tree that poked its head high above the rest on the near-distant shore. It was hard to return home to work; the rhythmic waves had depressed the pause button on our frantic lives and I'd lost the desire to release that button and resume "Play."

Yesterday morning I drove to Bayfield to lead two t'ai chi chih moving meditation classes on the lakeshore. About halfway down our hill I saw a tall, long-legged bird standing in the drive--a Great Blue Heron--who took flight in that same instant, great wings lifting and rising, rising, rising above the driveway, above the trees, and out of sight. What a gift of beauty in the daily rush of responsibility! Downtown I practiced t'ai chi chih along the lakeshore while a Cormorant, or sea crow, glided silently by nearly touching the lake's surface.

We returned to the lakeshore near Meyer's Beach last night around 7:30. As soon as we stepped onto the sand, a family of geese along the water's edge--two parents and six adolescents-- watched us with suspicion. We walked the opposite direction, not wishing to interrupt, and soon noticed a Merganser family (Mom and eight babies) swimming out from the shoreline. Mom led the way and her clutch followed, some more reluctantly than others. Just when I thought they were all gathered together, another two small fluffs of feathers shot out from the shore. They streaked across the water, running on tiny feet. Once reunited, youngsters piled onto Mom's back (see picture at the top of this entry) and she swam further into the waves. They rode, smoothly, for a short while before they piled off again.

Occasionally Mom dove under water to search for fish while young'uns flashed ahead, like enormous water bugs whisking along the lake's surface. Now Mom had to struggle to keep up. What a sight! I laughed ... this small family group with its humorous and unexpected behaviors reminded me of Last Comic Standing. Surely no one could top this act. Again and again, nature and her many actors feed my soul with their shining, bobbing, sweeping, flashing, flying, lightning mix of art, culture, music, and entertainment.