22 March 2001
"Let me explain— no. There is too much. I will sum up."
Class yesterday, but I didn't practice today, not really. I did some stretching and worked on Grasp Peacock's Tail, and— I think I decided to let my mind work on all the "notes" from last night's lesson. There were a lot of "notes."
— Inigo Montoya in The Princess Bride
It's raining. I can hear it running in the gutters, and I can hear it rumbling over the dam. It's nice to hear the first spring rain.
This evening was the monthly meeting at Jo's. We've been calling it the Healers' Circle, but that isn't quite right. I'm certainly no healer, though others who meet with us think of themselves that way. There are Reiki Masters, and a Shaman or two, and— we're all energy workers. Chi. We're all different, but we're alike in that we are all just trying to work with Chi. The people are very nice, very open and accepting of differences.
Jo asked me to lead the QiGong circle, so I did. I just do the same as David does at the end of our T'ai Chi Class, but doing it in a roomful of very open, receptive, kindly, calm, energy workers who are all experts at generating chi, well, the effect is absolutely amazing. We took a few moments after the QiGong for silent meditation and I assumed the Hugging the Tree stance. I felt so light— weightless or bodyless maybe, I'm not sure— that I could've stood there comfortably all night.
After the circle broke up, I stayed to talk with Jo. We're going through a lot of the same spaces— parallelling almost, she in Native American me in Chinese. Same thing, only different. It's nice to have company, someone to talk about it all with. Jo tells me she has applied to go on a Vision Quest. I hope she gets accepted.
There are water diamonds hanging from the tips of all the branches. I wish I could take a picture. I have the back door open, and I remember telling Jo last night how much I wish I could have my green hair back.
I began reading a book about journal keeping last night. Leaving a Trace by Alexandra Johnson. It begins interestingly. I'll let you know how it goes.
I don't really feel like practicing, but I know I'll feel better if I do. Guess it's time.
Practice got cut short today when I noticed a little fountain in the neighbor's backyard. Sump pump. I went to check my own basement, and discovered that the northeast corner— which has never leaked— was leaking copiously. Must be because the ground is still frozen. Either that or some nasty animal has dug a burrow under the front porch and the burrow is channeling the water. Whatever. I had to move a bunch of stuff, put it up on blocks. Rats.
On the way to work I stopped to watch the water coming over the dam. Impressive. I've never seen the water so high. It looked like a slab of brown glass laid over the dam, except that it was alive with the movement of debris sliding underneath the glass-like surface. And the water below the dam was a mad, frothing nightmare of rootbeer run wild.
Churning water filled the basin below the dam nearly full— water was up to the sluice holes, and nearly filled the arch under the bridge. On the Stillwater Mill side the river was within 18 inches of the top of the stone race that the mill is built on. Wow.
I can only wonder at the pressure and weight of water that must be pressing on the stones of the bridge.
Copyright © 2001 New Moon
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