“Nature follows the Way of the Tao”
I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels the stuffing has gotten knocked out of them over these past months. Pick any of the current events and it’s enough, but combined in rapid succession, still under the shadow of this pandemic, it’s become too much to feel, even for the most resilient among us. Many I know continue to spout optimistic euphemisms. Others I know express their outrage through ugly memes spewed all over their social media. I find myself in neither of those camps, instead choosing to withdraw from social media, the news and spend more time in my garden.
I’m turning 65 this September, which also marks my 45th year anniversary in the martial/internal arts. I remember when I walked into my first dojo and saw Sensei Carson, who would become my teacher. He was sitting at his desk in the back of the school. He told me to remove my shoes and walk across the mat. He stood up and shook my hand and asked me to sit down. He simply said, “Why do you want to study Judo?” I had no idea, really; I answered, “I don’t know. It’s always something I’ve wanted to do.” We discussed logistics and made plans for me to start class the following Tuesday. I walked back across the mat toward the lobby; I knew everything in my life just changed. I put my shoes back on and left through the large solid metal core door. Though I didn’t know how my experience would unfold, I knew it would take courage to live it.
It was a different life before I stepped on the mat that first time. A lost life, an unbalanced life. A life of wandering through a thorny thicket of external circumstances looking for the roses. I followed some faint scent but could never quite find what I intuited was there. I bled a lot from those myriad thorn pricks, but I just kept looking for the beauty I hoped might be there. I remember saying to myself over and over, “if I can just get through this, I’ll teach others how to, too.” I had no idea what that internal voice meant, but it kept me going.
It never occurred to me this path would be the path to finding the roses and sharing them with others. In fact, much of my early experience was a hard prune. But gradually new growth happened, and it was not until many years later I realized how much nurturing my first teacher gave me to get new tender sprouts to push out of that wood. I don’t even think roses happened during those first years, but unbeknownst to me, the buds were there.
Amidst thinking about the world as it currently is, I’m also reflecting a lot about my personal life. I have been so deeply shaped by my practices and all that I have encountered under their guidance that I no longer can separate any of it. The arts I’ve studied, the places I’ve travelled to study them, the people with whom I’ve travelled & practiced, those who have mentored me and those whom I have mentored are woven deep into the fabric of me. It’s been a joyful, fun, grueling, beautiful, surprising, and yes courageous path. Now that 65 looms into view people ask if I will retire. Retire from what? This is my life.
I also reflect I did get through those dark times; I do show others possible ways they might too. I do not see that stopping though admittedly at “retirement age” I thought I’d be doing what I do while simultaneously hypnotized by the scent of myriad roses from a beautiful garden. Unexpectedly I find myself catapulted back into a thorny thicket. This time it’s not the garden of my personal life, but that of our world. What a bleeding fungal mess it all is.
For someone who is comfortable with her voice, lately I find myself gobsmacked into an oddly quiet place. One where I wonder if I have anything to say. I think, not much. But I do have one thing to teach. Will it get us through? I have no idea, yet here it is:
Never miss practice.
Keep breathing. Keep moving. Cultivate your center. Stay grounded. Do these things on purpose. Protest the terrifying tilt our world is in by keeping, nurturing, and returning to your own center. Wake up every day and be intentional about your practices, whether you want to or not. Do not let external circumstances steal your center. When we feel everything slipping out from under us, our practice balances our life and that is important. Why? Because The Sages, the Garden, everything around us reminds us of the one truth: everything changes. We may or may not see the changes in our lifetime, but as my teacher did with me, we can nurture this possibility. And we can only do that if we stay centered, whether there are roses to smell or just the compost they grow out of.
(Rosa Sheila’s Perfume, Hybrid Tea)