The Message in the Storm’s Eye

Since my last post Fate and Luck have been keeping me on my toes, dragging me through events as fast as I can run on tiptoe through them. Fate has had a hold of my left arm, Luck my right, pulling me up and along like overzealous tour guides wanting to show me all the sights at once, each one talking like an auctioneer on crack. I’m dizzy, manic, and my head is spinning.  I won’t bore you with the details, most friends and family have heard them already. Suffice to say that selling a house right now sucks. With a vengeance. But it’s over. Almost.

With moving comes a lot of self-reflection, a bit of nostalgia, and for me, questions about whether or not I’m moving in the right direction. Being stagnant or stuck in a repetative circle is the worst of all worlds, but even when flowing with events I think there’s always a bit of self-correction involved to make sure you stay on the course you want, and not be swept off by eddies and currents that are counterproductive. So whenever the tide comes in, like it has these last few months, and major changes happen I always tend to run through the list: Am I coming closer to being the person I want to become? Is the life I’m creating in harmony with the goals I have set for myself? Am I creating or stifling my inner voice? As much as Mr. A and I believe in Leave No Trace ethics, am I doing my best to live that mantra and minimize our impact on our surroundings? 

I came back to the Great Basin wondering, testing myself as I drove. Will I miss this? Do I feel that heartsick pull that tells me I’m not done with this place yet. And all I could do was smile. These are the mountains that helped me shed many of my demons and fears. They made me stronger, more sure of myself. I’ve spent this last week packing eight years into boxes, and it was a material reminder of how much I have learned in this place and the degree to which I have pulled the Great Basin into my life. The pungent smell of sage, and the sweetness of rabbitbrush after a rain are not things I can pack into boxes but they are not things I will leave behind. The way a lone cloud can dominate the landscape with it’s shade is imprinted on the backs of my eyes, the pink of sunrise on the eastern slopes is embedded beneath my fingernails. The memories of a place are colors that stain the consciousness of a person and create the mosaic that is our identity. Each place, each new experience that affects me, adds a new hue and creates colors I often never knew existed. Those colors stay with me and that’s what keeps me from being sad about what I’ve left behind.

My house is no longer mine. And I think I’m ok with that. The more nostalgic I got over leaving the house the more things seemed to go wrong. I finally decide to let go, and to abandon the claim I had on that house. It was hard. Mr. A proposed to me in that house. I spent a lot of hours with good friends there; I played, cooked, wrote, labored, gardened, and loved there. But that place – the house and the Great Basin - has done all it can for me. It’s hard to give up ownership of something you love, whatever kind of noun it is – person, place, or thing. But sometimes it has to happen if you want to grow.

And as this storm moves on I will too. The trick for me is to absorb it’s energy instead of fighting it. This is where the philosophy from my aikido comes in. Sensei always likes to say, “Why fight when you can flow?” However, this doesn’t mean passively accepting whatever comes your way. The idea is that if someone attacks you (physically, or verbally) you want to meet the energy, flow with it, and then direct it in a way that works to your advantage and neutralizes their energy. It’s hard not to resist or get defensive when you feel like you’re being attacked. But if you can meet that energy with the same intensity and work with it, you actually absorb the ki generated by the initial conflict and the end result leaves you feeling more energized instead of worn out. It’s a wonderful and non-violent concept that you have to feel to truly appreciate. I don’t claim to have mastered it, or even practice it as well as I could, but I think that’s why martial arts holds such a continual fascination for me. As I become more advanced I find that it’s really a study of how people interact, a way to master your own feelings and way of dealing with the world, and a method of connecting with the rest of the world and its energy. I’m assuming that’s why, in spite of all the chaos these last few weeks, I’m not totally exhausted. Either that or I’m going to have a hell of a crash when all the adrenaline wears off.

Of Erosion and Balance

I’m feeling pensive and a little off balance today. Although I’m sure it’s just a symptom of moving, and events of the past couple weeks, lately I spend a lot of time feeling like a palindrome perched atop a piano. Predictable and rhythmic mood swings take me from tranquility to irritation, joy to despair, and back all in a few hours time. It doesn’t help that Towhead has similar mood swings on a regular basis. However, she’s two; I am not. But it’s always been hard for me not to be overly empathetic and influenced by the feelings of those around me, and in times of stress it becomes particularly difficult. 

My study of Aikido and Hapkido has taken a serious internal bent the past couple years as the free time for physical training has decreased. And in the past few months, as certain stresses have intensified I’m beginning to more fully understand certain teachings. In Hapkido and Aikido the goal is to continually master the self: physically, mentally, and spiritually. Or as Morihei Ueshiba’s Art of Peace says, “Life is always a trial. In training, you must test and polish yourself in order to face the great challenges of life.” The lessons I keep focusing on are lessons I have been trying to improve upon for years: listening, observing, confidence (meeting the energy of people and situations instead of shrinking away), humility, and letting go. And these become harder to practice and maintain when I feel full to bursting with emotion and stress. 

It’s funny, stress always makes me think of the time I spent in Italy. Not because it was a stressful trip, but because while there I learned a factoid that has stuck with me. Supposedly, there is no word for in Italian for stress – they’ve co-opted the English term, “lo stress” they call it. The closest word/phrase for it means “the wearing out.” I’ve always thought that term so accurate a description. It’s hard to maintain your vitality when you continually feel worn down and eroded like river rock. It makes for a smooth surface, which everybody likes, but I wonder if you don’t give up too much in the process? I know smooth, finished stone is more highly valued in our society, but I can’t help but contemplate what is missing, and the fundamental difference that exists between polishing and erosion. The time it takes for each to happen and who, if anyone, is responsible for which pieces get worn away determines whether what happens is an improvement of the original stone, or merely the wear and tear of external stresses on the rock. Then again, perhaps we are more like larger rock formations than individual stones, with the influences being more varied and occurring on a time scale larger than our limited imaginations can really understand.  

(I have to wonder if it’s thoughts like this that made me take so many geology classes, or if the classes I took shaped my thinking and vocabulary in this direction. Martial arts meets geology meets spirituality? It’s not a leap that hasn’t been taken before I suppose.) 

I keep trying to find balance. Balance between accomplishing what needs to be taken care of, yet not becoming frantic about getting it all done tomorrow. Balance between my own needs and the needs of those around me. Concentrating on allowing my emotions to happen without letting myself be overwhelmed by them. Balancing my mind and my body so that each has a goal, and space to exercise its potential. As with any exercise in self-control, sometimes I’m more successful at it than others.