Look Closely [David’s blog on Two Artists Tuesday]

Look closely.

The turkeys slept in the neighbor’s tree. All night. Only two. The third turkey was last seen gobbling at the end of the street. In the dim grey light of morning, while the coffee brewed, I checked the tree. They were still there, very large birds perched on too skinny branches. How do they do that?

Look closely.

“It looks like a heart!” she said, reaching for her camera. Dogga was fast asleep, paws twitching. I wondered what he chased in his dreams. She sees hearts everywhere. Most of us, myself included, walk through life and miss the hearts. She seeks them. Or they seek her. She never fails to stop and admire the heart, capture its portrait, breathe in its affirmation. “Can you believe it!” she exclaims, as if this heart, one of thousands, is the very first she’s found.

Look closely.

The memory was visceral. I’m doing the push-hands exercise for the first time. I am a beginner and my partner in the push-hands has practiced tai-chi for years. I am struggling with such a simple exercise. All I need do is let go and feel. My mind wants to control. To achieve. To win. Saul is standing behind me and I can sense his amusement. My partner joins Saul’s delight. A grin breaks the surface of his neutrality. Both burst into laughter. I am suddenly surrounded by laughter and, although confused, I laugh, too. The entire group breaks down, howling. The laughter is infectious. Cleansing. My belly hurts from laughing.

“I think he’s ready now,” Saul says to the group, wiping tears from his eyes.

read Kerri’s blogpost about LOOKING CLOSE

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buymeacoffee is a close-in-look, an opportunity for amazement at the ripples we send.

Truly Powerful People (452)

452.
Join me in inspiring truly powerful people. Each day I will add a new thought, story or idea to support your quest and mine.

In mid-form today, Saul-the-Chi-Lantern swirled from the practice and into a tale. We were midway through class and midway through the form and apparently being on the midway inspired a story in him that reminded me of old masters and why our ideas of learning are so far off the rails.

His tale was of a certain school of thought in Tai Chi in which a newcomer will practice the form for 2 years before being allowed to do exercises with another person (he called them circle exercises). After practicing circle exercises for 13 years a student might advance to the status of beginner and be allowed to actually touch another person in the practice; to work with the energy of another. 15 years of continual practice to consider yourself a beginner. That’s akin to a college senior saying, “Now, I am ready to begin.” Imagine a diploma, not as a completion, a marker for arrival, but as an acknowledgment of readiness to begin.

When I was young the only thing I wanted to do was paint. I used to dream about being shipped off the to the master, to learn by apprenticeship. I’d sleep under the bench, I’d spend the first few years learning to clean the brushes and mix the paint and watch. I might, at age 9 be allowed to hold a brush, to do exercises on used canvas. I might at 12 be allowed to gesso the canvas, to prepare the ground and glue and perhaps paint the under-layer. I’d be drawing all along and learning color and technique and perhaps at 15 I’d be allowed to paint the sky or the clouds in the master’s paintings. And, if I started at 7 years old I might, by the time I was 25, be accepted into the guild. I might be ready to begin. And if I continued to grow, to paint everyday, when I was 50 I could take students of my own. This was my little kid ideal. Learning by doing has always made more sense to me than incarceration in a desk and abstractions. I’ve always understood mastery was so much more interesting and rewarding than arrival.

At the end of his tale Saul-the-Chi-Lantern stepped back into the form as if he’d never left it. He is a master. He was a beginner 40 years ago after 15 years of practice. He is poetry and power and humor and lighthearted. At 70 he could throw me across a room using my own aggression. He assumes nothing. He reminds me each week what a human being can be when they give up the idea that the wealth is in the acquisition; Saul knows the wealth is in having a story to tell.