![]() There was going to be a Soul Writing series on April. I started frantically chasing all that was suddenly airborne, trying in vain to pin it back down again. I wouldn’t be where I am if that wasn’t true. If only I would trust the way Life only ever seeks its own balance, seeks harmony. ![]() There are exquisite arrangements that it will all settle into, eventually, if only I would leave it to its dance. It’s all so beautiful, what has been stirred up, like a swarm of butterflies. I got spooked, sped up, made stuttering grabs at all that was flying around me, trying to cram it in the neat row of jars I’d arranged, themselves getting perpetually knocked over by the gale. Even though I knew it was coming, the disruption startled me. This past week has been a swirling dust devil of transition as I step more fully into the work of Soul Writing. I grew quickly to love the minute itself, and even more so the invitation that leads into it. One in which I could stand still with eyes closed, or to move and stretch to the outer edges of my space, or to watch the dogs playing on the patch of grass nearby, to feel gratitude or peace or anxiety or longing or whatever is moving through me in the moment. I actually found myself mimicking the subtle movements he was making as he stood in his body, in the now.Įventually I caught on to the fact that this was my minute. Heh? The first time I heard him say this I kept my eyes on him, watching for some instruction on what to, ya know, do with that minute. After a few movements to thank our bodies, our teacher holds up a finger and says, simply, “take a minute.” My favorite part of each session comes at the end, during our “cool down” (which these days involves standing in a sliver of sun trying to warm numb hands). Seek the needle at the bottom of the sea. ![]() To learn the 24-move yang style form, start to make some headway on the 48. But having long ago regained full strength, I still protect the 8:30-9:30 hour every Thursday morning to soak up the richness of this gorgeous practice and community. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until I was hobbled by surgery last summer, forced to slow down, that I finally said yes to the invitation. The invitation to learn this beautiful, mindful art from him was a no brainer. Our teacher is a wise and talented friend with whom I’ve been writing and practicing Aikido for years, and from whom I’ve learned the names of birds and trees. Since last fall I’ve been learning Taichi with a group of fellow beginners in a nearby park. ![]()
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