Friday, August 12, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
The Dao of Life
"Those who know others are intelligent; those who know themselves are enlightened. Those who overcome others have force; those who master themselves have integrity. Those who know what is enough are wealthy. Those who persevere have direction. Those who maintain their center endure. Those who die yet do not perish, live on." - Dao De Jing, Ch. 33
Sunday, March 13, 2011
1/29/11 – Night at the Museum
Aaron and I went to the Denver Museum of Art. To examine how human beings preserve and honor the past is to experience a fascinating aspect of the Metal element. The building itself is a geometric set of wings of peculiarity, architectural refinement and unusual unique quality. The physical structure evokes in me feelings of austerity, over-the-top form, and gray sterility. The structure itself is lifeless, and imposing, yet beautiful in its shapes, lines, and unusual energetic qualities. If a person were like this structure, they would pride themselves on how different, unique, and special they are. How polished, refined, and simple they were in their self-created complexity. This person would be hollow and empty inside – a void – either filled with garbage or the highest quality treasures – yet on the outside the edifice would be imposing and oddly attractive.
Once inside, the scent of cleanliness and the energy of respectful silence and sterility hit me. Each exhibit hall provides slightly different scents of dust, age, chemicals, spiciness, and decay that would occur in the upper nostril. Some exhibits would add rancid notes of paint, framing chemicals and floor wax. High geometry and form composed each room. The museum showed its treasures against the empty gray walls of nothingness – showing once again that you must first have a void in order to contrast the essential. The walls were lifeless neutral tones, evoking nothing. This created the necessary contrast to highlight the true treasure.
Each exhibit hall had an individual patrolling the halls, enforcing correct behavior and decorum. Respect, stiffness, and importance were upheld by their very presence. The windows to the outside world were small and mostly artificial light filled these places. This place was protected, withdrawn and taken out of the outside world. It reminded me of a hermit who takes themselves out of the day to day world to worship at whatever alter they deem important.
When I entered into the room of Indian, Tibetan and Nepalese art I was overwhelmed with the spiritual energy of the pieces. The high quality of spiritual qi and meaning that was imbued into certain spiritual objects created in me an awe that brought tears to my eyes, stopped my mind and made me refine my thinking, purify it and lift it towards the ideal. This was the energy of Middle Palace, LU 1.
I stared one particular piece for quite some time. It was an ornate temple doorway. It was red, green, and gold. Inscribed with intricate designs it evoked in me imagination. How many souls had passed through those gates over the ages carrying with them ritual, intention, and the Ling spirit – spirit of spiritual potentiality. I was transported in their presence to another world. I felt how it is to be in the presence of a great preacher, or wise elder who’s words and story weaving transport you from day to day reality into the transcendent experience of the world.
I’m reminded of how it must feel to be breathless and what it feels like when you cannot use language to describe an emotion or state of being. Like the finger pointing at the moon, the Museum was otherworldly.
Lastly I stepped into the East Asian room showing Japanese art. I felt myself saying wow over and over again as I became present to the highest sense of refinement that the human hand can create. Each object and scroll contained within it such aesthetic perfection and flawlessness that being in the very presence of such high quality of qi made me feel energized with wonder and spirit. Each object was imbued with the qi and love of its maker. The higher the quality and refinement, the higher the qi the object contained. When our qi is brought in resonance with such objects, we cannot help but resonate and be moved by their power.
When I left the museum, I felt more alive, more purposeful, more loving and respectful of the beauty of people and their work. At the same time I was mournful for how unique my experience had been and how unfocused and uninspired the hardened faces of the people walking the streets seemed. Unfocused, uninspired, flat, and consumed with their thoughts, plans and to do lists. All my need for worldly things other than food and sleep were dissolved.
Once inside, the scent of cleanliness and the energy of respectful silence and sterility hit me. Each exhibit hall provides slightly different scents of dust, age, chemicals, spiciness, and decay that would occur in the upper nostril. Some exhibits would add rancid notes of paint, framing chemicals and floor wax. High geometry and form composed each room. The museum showed its treasures against the empty gray walls of nothingness – showing once again that you must first have a void in order to contrast the essential. The walls were lifeless neutral tones, evoking nothing. This created the necessary contrast to highlight the true treasure.
Each exhibit hall had an individual patrolling the halls, enforcing correct behavior and decorum. Respect, stiffness, and importance were upheld by their very presence. The windows to the outside world were small and mostly artificial light filled these places. This place was protected, withdrawn and taken out of the outside world. It reminded me of a hermit who takes themselves out of the day to day world to worship at whatever alter they deem important.
When I entered into the room of Indian, Tibetan and Nepalese art I was overwhelmed with the spiritual energy of the pieces. The high quality of spiritual qi and meaning that was imbued into certain spiritual objects created in me an awe that brought tears to my eyes, stopped my mind and made me refine my thinking, purify it and lift it towards the ideal. This was the energy of Middle Palace, LU 1.
I stared one particular piece for quite some time. It was an ornate temple doorway. It was red, green, and gold. Inscribed with intricate designs it evoked in me imagination. How many souls had passed through those gates over the ages carrying with them ritual, intention, and the Ling spirit – spirit of spiritual potentiality. I was transported in their presence to another world. I felt how it is to be in the presence of a great preacher, or wise elder who’s words and story weaving transport you from day to day reality into the transcendent experience of the world.
I’m reminded of how it must feel to be breathless and what it feels like when you cannot use language to describe an emotion or state of being. Like the finger pointing at the moon, the Museum was otherworldly.
Lastly I stepped into the East Asian room showing Japanese art. I felt myself saying wow over and over again as I became present to the highest sense of refinement that the human hand can create. Each object and scroll contained within it such aesthetic perfection and flawlessness that being in the very presence of such high quality of qi made me feel energized with wonder and spirit. Each object was imbued with the qi and love of its maker. The higher the quality and refinement, the higher the qi the object contained. When our qi is brought in resonance with such objects, we cannot help but resonate and be moved by their power.
When I left the museum, I felt more alive, more purposeful, more loving and respectful of the beauty of people and their work. At the same time I was mournful for how unique my experience had been and how unfocused and uninspired the hardened faces of the people walking the streets seemed. Unfocused, uninspired, flat, and consumed with their thoughts, plans and to do lists. All my need for worldly things other than food and sleep were dissolved.
1/25/11 – Skiing
I couldn’t sleep the night before my ski lesson. The anticipation of the day to come and the fear of falling and hurting myself had me awake. I watched the hours tick by as I finally caught two hours of sleep between 5 and 7. In the day to come I fell over and over again. I tried to listen to the instructor who kept saying to ‘relax’, ‘lean into the mountain’ and ‘less is more’. I struggled hard against the impulse to be in control of every muscle, every movement, and every emotion and feeling that arose. He said that in skiing we have to unlearn everything that seems natural. We want to brace against impact. When faced with gravity we want to fall backwards and push against it. Skiing is all about going into, giving into, and going through the fear and anxiety and leaning down into the mountain on each turn. Keep your head up, and never look down – in other words, face life with courage. I can feel the energetic difference between looking down in dread, or up with determination.
I felt dread looking down the mountain slope, my mind predicting scenarios of my impeding doom - crashing into a tree, or falling off the edge – or worse, getting onto a Black Diamond by mistake and rolling down the mountain, breaking every bone in my body. Despite these fears I felt courage rise up in me to get up after each fall and try, try again. I ignored the predictions of doom and simply focused my intention on the present. I was the slowest student in the bunch. I felt ok with that – I somehow knew I would be before we even got there. At one point, the ski instructor told me, that the more of a perfectionist, or control freak I am, the harder the learning will me for me. He said I must simply give into the mountain, and move in only subtle small ways – the mountain will amplify my movements. The sharper the action the greater the consequence. If I try to be perfect without reacting fluidly and organically to each circumstance, the mountain will teach me the lesson.
There was a passage that I would always accelerate at and had little control in stopping. I would be weary of it each time I would approach it. To me it was my KD 21, The Dark Gate. Instead of relaxing into it, my body would stiffen and become more aware, calculating and aware of the circumstances. My eyes would dart to and fro as my whole body would poise for a crash – fearing the absolute worst.
I spoke with my friend Judith later that day. She said that Skiing had helped her incredibly with her music career. By giving into the mountain and learning to let go of control and perfectionism, her music became more beautiful, more natural, free flowing, and heartfelt. I knew that I would instantly love this sport and I do. I am addicted. By the end of the second day I skied two 20-minute runs perfectly. I felt the movement of the mountain and the skis under me. As I gained speed, instead of panicking, I simply leaned into the curves and let the skis and snow do the rest. The snow is an incredible teacher and I am in awe of how much I have to learn about the free flow of qi and to play in the dance.
I went together to learn with my friend Aaron. He got it much quicker than me. We had five people in our group, and two had skied a little before. Aaron wanted to go on harder slopes to push himself. I was fully aware of my own limits and I didn’t want to graduate to a harder green slope until I had confidence with the ones I was on. I was aware of my limits and knew I would not be convinced otherwise. This was a rigidity and stubbornness born out of self-awareness. Perhaps I can call that a moment of personal wisdom.
The two students who skied before encouraged him and gave him peer pressure to join them. He decided to do it. He tried to get me to go. I stood my ground firmly, thanked him for the offer and told him I was quite happy where I was. When I met him at the bottom of the mountain after having taken the easy trail I found him shaken, hyperventilating with a dazed and blank look in his eyes as if he were reliving each moment. He said that he was done for the day and couldn’t imagine going up there again. He had several major wipeouts down a hill that tested him beyond his limits. I was reminded of KD 20, Through the Valley and then him sitting on the bench, experiencing Walking on the Verandah (KD 22).
Next time I go, I will once again resume on the bunny hills and test various turns, stops and techniques on a safe and slower slope. Once I amass enough skill, confidence and courage I will accelerate, move through and push myself to harder greens. As my Water adapts to new circumstances and new challenges, I will continue to learn the lessons of flowing with the Universe.
The people at Winter Park had a fascinating energy. Interacting with the snowboarders, skiers, and shopkeepers and waitresses there was an energy of self-confidence, ease and flow. It was clear to me that these people’s spirits and lives had been altered by snow sports and by the mountain in profound ways. Their very energy was reassuring and self-confident.
When asked about their lives and experience, they’d get a self-reflective inward look – not one of excitement over their lives as much as deep self-knowledge amassed through their experience. When they asked us about our experience they didn’t laugh, joke, or make light of our novice experience. They emanated an aura of reassuring respect. They’d share their knowledge and wisdom. We’d overhead people sharing their stories of the mountain – spectacular wipeouts, most dangerous encounters, and feats of incredible ability and skill that either amazed them, or seemed like old hat.
The words of the instructor struck me “Once you ski one slope with confidence, it will no longer be enough. You will want harder and harder hills. Before you know it, you’ll be paying $350 for a helicopter to take you and drop you on the peaks of a mountain because regular ski lifts just won’t be enough”.
To know oneself is to head into and through our fears. Are we self-aware of our potential, of our limits, of our capabilities? What personal mountains are we climbing in life? Where are we stopped? What fear blocks our progress? What are we practicing? All these questions about Mastery arose in me about Acupuncture, T’ai Chi, or anything else for that matter. I have a feeling that skiing will be a gateway to self-discovery like none other…
I felt dread looking down the mountain slope, my mind predicting scenarios of my impeding doom - crashing into a tree, or falling off the edge – or worse, getting onto a Black Diamond by mistake and rolling down the mountain, breaking every bone in my body. Despite these fears I felt courage rise up in me to get up after each fall and try, try again. I ignored the predictions of doom and simply focused my intention on the present. I was the slowest student in the bunch. I felt ok with that – I somehow knew I would be before we even got there. At one point, the ski instructor told me, that the more of a perfectionist, or control freak I am, the harder the learning will me for me. He said I must simply give into the mountain, and move in only subtle small ways – the mountain will amplify my movements. The sharper the action the greater the consequence. If I try to be perfect without reacting fluidly and organically to each circumstance, the mountain will teach me the lesson.
There was a passage that I would always accelerate at and had little control in stopping. I would be weary of it each time I would approach it. To me it was my KD 21, The Dark Gate. Instead of relaxing into it, my body would stiffen and become more aware, calculating and aware of the circumstances. My eyes would dart to and fro as my whole body would poise for a crash – fearing the absolute worst.
I spoke with my friend Judith later that day. She said that Skiing had helped her incredibly with her music career. By giving into the mountain and learning to let go of control and perfectionism, her music became more beautiful, more natural, free flowing, and heartfelt. I knew that I would instantly love this sport and I do. I am addicted. By the end of the second day I skied two 20-minute runs perfectly. I felt the movement of the mountain and the skis under me. As I gained speed, instead of panicking, I simply leaned into the curves and let the skis and snow do the rest. The snow is an incredible teacher and I am in awe of how much I have to learn about the free flow of qi and to play in the dance.
I went together to learn with my friend Aaron. He got it much quicker than me. We had five people in our group, and two had skied a little before. Aaron wanted to go on harder slopes to push himself. I was fully aware of my own limits and I didn’t want to graduate to a harder green slope until I had confidence with the ones I was on. I was aware of my limits and knew I would not be convinced otherwise. This was a rigidity and stubbornness born out of self-awareness. Perhaps I can call that a moment of personal wisdom.
The two students who skied before encouraged him and gave him peer pressure to join them. He decided to do it. He tried to get me to go. I stood my ground firmly, thanked him for the offer and told him I was quite happy where I was. When I met him at the bottom of the mountain after having taken the easy trail I found him shaken, hyperventilating with a dazed and blank look in his eyes as if he were reliving each moment. He said that he was done for the day and couldn’t imagine going up there again. He had several major wipeouts down a hill that tested him beyond his limits. I was reminded of KD 20, Through the Valley and then him sitting on the bench, experiencing Walking on the Verandah (KD 22).
Next time I go, I will once again resume on the bunny hills and test various turns, stops and techniques on a safe and slower slope. Once I amass enough skill, confidence and courage I will accelerate, move through and push myself to harder greens. As my Water adapts to new circumstances and new challenges, I will continue to learn the lessons of flowing with the Universe.
The people at Winter Park had a fascinating energy. Interacting with the snowboarders, skiers, and shopkeepers and waitresses there was an energy of self-confidence, ease and flow. It was clear to me that these people’s spirits and lives had been altered by snow sports and by the mountain in profound ways. Their very energy was reassuring and self-confident.
When asked about their lives and experience, they’d get a self-reflective inward look – not one of excitement over their lives as much as deep self-knowledge amassed through their experience. When they asked us about our experience they didn’t laugh, joke, or make light of our novice experience. They emanated an aura of reassuring respect. They’d share their knowledge and wisdom. We’d overhead people sharing their stories of the mountain – spectacular wipeouts, most dangerous encounters, and feats of incredible ability and skill that either amazed them, or seemed like old hat.
The words of the instructor struck me “Once you ski one slope with confidence, it will no longer be enough. You will want harder and harder hills. Before you know it, you’ll be paying $350 for a helicopter to take you and drop you on the peaks of a mountain because regular ski lifts just won’t be enough”.
To know oneself is to head into and through our fears. Are we self-aware of our potential, of our limits, of our capabilities? What personal mountains are we climbing in life? Where are we stopped? What fear blocks our progress? What are we practicing? All these questions about Mastery arose in me about Acupuncture, T’ai Chi, or anything else for that matter. I have a feeling that skiing will be a gateway to self-discovery like none other…
1/21/11 – Berthoud Pass
The road to Winter Park revealed the majestic snowy peaks of the mountains. The high winds were blowing the powder off the peaks and valleys into huge morphing castles of snow. These huge eddies created awesome sky monsters that traversed the highest parts of the world with their play. These vast elemental forces had me feel small and tiny in the presence of their awesome power. Their ease of movement showed me the play of the gods of this place – communing directly with the raw qi of the heavens. As I felt my car rocked by the blasts of winds and snows I felt so out of place in this cauldron of matter forming and dissolving - shapeless, powerful, dangerous, pure alchemy, pure magic. Only the pine forests stood as sentinels watching over the play of the gods – an army of witnesses.
When we’re overwhelmed by the forces of the world around us that seem to move in chaos and control we can seem powerless and awestruck by life in such a way that we feel insecure even being in the presence of people who move with such ferociousness in life. This gave me the feeling of being intimidated by a power greater than us. If we do not trust Heaven and Earth and are flung into life with an outlook of cowering before it, we truly can occur as powerless. These feelings remind me of BL 67, Extremity of Yin. Even in the most extreme of circumstances in life, we can reach for the depths of our reserves and connect with the mother element, Metal – to give us a connection with Heaven and a renewed trust in the Universe.
When we’re overwhelmed by the forces of the world around us that seem to move in chaos and control we can seem powerless and awestruck by life in such a way that we feel insecure even being in the presence of people who move with such ferociousness in life. This gave me the feeling of being intimidated by a power greater than us. If we do not trust Heaven and Earth and are flung into life with an outlook of cowering before it, we truly can occur as powerless. These feelings remind me of BL 67, Extremity of Yin. Even in the most extreme of circumstances in life, we can reach for the depths of our reserves and connect with the mother element, Metal – to give us a connection with Heaven and a renewed trust in the Universe.
1/13/10 – Ice Shelves of Idaho Springs
We’re passing by a creek and seeing the ice shelves formed over the riverbed. The ice rubble and breaks into thick spikes of crystals. Thick layers of frozen melt have hardened into over a foot of ice layers over the stream. The freeze has pushed the water higher – expanding it into structure. As the ice shelves move across the top they create various shapes like blocks of lava. This shows to me the complete illusive nature of the water element, its malleability, the ability to take on any form whatsoever when necessary – an endless sea of potential for any kind of being one can be. They shall remain this way if the circumstances (temperature) do not change. This speaks to me of the energy required to accommodate to any circumstance – to be the chameleon and adapt oneself to life’s circumstances rather than resisting it. This is yet another example of how water can flow freely in between states as needed. When the melt comes, the water will adapt itself again and again.
Another example of hanging on for dear life came when we rounded the bend and saw a crystalline ice sculpture waterfall – like a giant chandelier of layers upon layers of icicles which turned a running stream into a vertical sculpture. I can imagine each drop of water hanging on for dear life and becoming frozen in fear rather than dropping into the depths of the unknown river below.
If change comes to our lives and we’re frozen in our old skills, abilities, strong suits and fixed ways of being – we many never be able to adapt to the needs of the circumstances. If the ice never melted with changing circumstances, we would be stuck with the past, which would prevent us from progressing into the future. This evokes in me a feeling of stubbornness and fixity. The fear of change can prevent us from adaptation – it takes courage to change our shapes and to adapt but when we need to, we find that the strength of the human spirit is always accessible in the depths. This reminds me of KD 25, Spirit Storehouse – a sea of spiritual courage to enter life under any circumstance, and when we’re frozen in fear, points such as KD 7, Released Stream can release the grip we have on our reality and learn to once again go with the flow with confidence and courage.
Another example of hanging on for dear life came when we rounded the bend and saw a crystalline ice sculpture waterfall – like a giant chandelier of layers upon layers of icicles which turned a running stream into a vertical sculpture. I can imagine each drop of water hanging on for dear life and becoming frozen in fear rather than dropping into the depths of the unknown river below.
If change comes to our lives and we’re frozen in our old skills, abilities, strong suits and fixed ways of being – we many never be able to adapt to the needs of the circumstances. If the ice never melted with changing circumstances, we would be stuck with the past, which would prevent us from progressing into the future. This evokes in me a feeling of stubbornness and fixity. The fear of change can prevent us from adaptation – it takes courage to change our shapes and to adapt but when we need to, we find that the strength of the human spirit is always accessible in the depths. This reminds me of KD 25, Spirit Storehouse – a sea of spiritual courage to enter life under any circumstance, and when we’re frozen in fear, points such as KD 7, Released Stream can release the grip we have on our reality and learn to once again go with the flow with confidence and courage.
1/6/11 - Flagstaff Mountain Boy Scout Trail
The ponderosa pines smell like a warm gingerbread rotten rancid sawdust smell and the winds are howling around us in all directions. It doesn’t sound so much like a shout as a weeping wail. The wind has uncovered a fascinating ice formation. The frequent thaw and freeze that takes place atop this mountain created these crispy shelves of icy snow that crunch under foot. The powder has been blown off to reveal crevices and hardness to the water – some of its unknown revealed. No longer powdery and flaky but seemingly solid and therefore treacherous. You never know when it will crack. This snow has an energy of water that has repeatedly been frozen, and then melted enough to move just a bit before being stopped and frozen again. This stop and go quality reminds me of what uncertainty caused by anxiety over movement and flow in life might look like. With such uncertain progress, you cannot rely on any solidity or flow. It is flaky and unreliable. If life occurred to me this way, I’d be afraid to move forward in life and would be exhausted, or resigned.
The bark splinters and crackles as I peel it off the tree. It flakes off like dried layers of skin. Parched, no water, rigid, hard, hollow, lifeless and shallow in sound. As the sun hits the side of the pine tree, the odor is intensified - it is warmed and expands into the nose. The dry dead bark is given some momentary life as the warm acrid oils penetrate the upper nostril.
I saw a long-needled pine tree and I noticed that all of its needles were pointed up towards the heavens. Its linear, directed growth shooting in one direction. The tree creaked at me, laughing like an old crony. The laugh occurred as sarcasm – a pessimistic knowing of the futility of something – as if it is laughing at me judgmentally.
We passed four students walking to the Flatirons amphitheatre. They gave us a brisk and cold “hey” as if we were intruding upon their endeavor by our presence. One girl walked in pajamas and slippers amidst the snow, clutching at her wet and old fur-piped coat. The legs were blue and her feet bright red. She looked like she was freezing, yet she persevered with a hard and set jaw towards her destination – a look of determination and no glance in our direction. I felt dismissed and somewhat feared. After smelling the pot wafting off their jackets, I understood their paranoia.
As the sun sets behind the mountains, the shape of the mountain loomed over Boulder. The gray black shadow covered the plain with its darkness and grayness as the sunlight was consumed by the moving gray. The Yin became ominous and overbearing. The warmth faded from my heart and I began to worry about the impending dark. This feeling was reminiscent of the foreboding coldness that can set in after warmth of an encounter or a party ends. All parties must come to an end.
The sunset behind the mountains created a gradient in the eastern sky – from a rosy peach into a baby powder blue. The gentle meeting of fire and water – of yang being consumed or interchanged into yin. The shades of the sky were reminiscent of facial colors that I have seen. In the middle where the red and blue meet there is a ruddy purplish gray reminiscent of colors I have seen on Water CF clients. As I watched the sun set, the eastern gradient grew in width and the intensity as both colors changed to gray blue – the ash forming in the sky from the burning embers of the day.
The bark splinters and crackles as I peel it off the tree. It flakes off like dried layers of skin. Parched, no water, rigid, hard, hollow, lifeless and shallow in sound. As the sun hits the side of the pine tree, the odor is intensified - it is warmed and expands into the nose. The dry dead bark is given some momentary life as the warm acrid oils penetrate the upper nostril.
I saw a long-needled pine tree and I noticed that all of its needles were pointed up towards the heavens. Its linear, directed growth shooting in one direction. The tree creaked at me, laughing like an old crony. The laugh occurred as sarcasm – a pessimistic knowing of the futility of something – as if it is laughing at me judgmentally.
We passed four students walking to the Flatirons amphitheatre. They gave us a brisk and cold “hey” as if we were intruding upon their endeavor by our presence. One girl walked in pajamas and slippers amidst the snow, clutching at her wet and old fur-piped coat. The legs were blue and her feet bright red. She looked like she was freezing, yet she persevered with a hard and set jaw towards her destination – a look of determination and no glance in our direction. I felt dismissed and somewhat feared. After smelling the pot wafting off their jackets, I understood their paranoia.
As the sun sets behind the mountains, the shape of the mountain loomed over Boulder. The gray black shadow covered the plain with its darkness and grayness as the sunlight was consumed by the moving gray. The Yin became ominous and overbearing. The warmth faded from my heart and I began to worry about the impending dark. This feeling was reminiscent of the foreboding coldness that can set in after warmth of an encounter or a party ends. All parties must come to an end.
The sunset behind the mountains created a gradient in the eastern sky – from a rosy peach into a baby powder blue. The gentle meeting of fire and water – of yang being consumed or interchanged into yin. The shades of the sky were reminiscent of facial colors that I have seen. In the middle where the red and blue meet there is a ruddy purplish gray reminiscent of colors I have seen on Water CF clients. As I watched the sun set, the eastern gradient grew in width and the intensity as both colors changed to gray blue – the ash forming in the sky from the burning embers of the day.
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