I love the definitions of grace as offered by the Random House dictionary. There are 11 variations on the meaning each equally evocative of a feeling. All paying homage to a grand word.
My life is full of grace. It is Sunday morning which has got to be my favorite morning of the week. There is a quality that is both poignant, and nostalgic. The light this morning is beautiful. The world outside must be asleep and so seems non-existent. Inside it’s me and Bodhi making breakfast while Meg sleeps too. I love this time with my littlest son. I get a chance to slow down to his rhythm, to not rush off anywhere, to have no agenda. We eat and then go play. I watch him closely to witness all that is shifting in him so quickly – he is standing, balancing on his own, creating little games, then moving on to another interest. There is this big sheepskin on the floor of his playroom that I lie on. We are listening to music (Explosions in The Sky – The Earth is Not a Cold Dark Place*) which Bodhi will often start bobbing to then go back to playing. As I lie there watching him experiencing life he lifts a small ball in his hands and offers it to me. I find myself flashing on a memory from long ago.
It is the end of summer 1980. My good friend Val and I have just finished our “Knights Without Armor” training in Boulder Colorado at the Blue Poppy Chi Kung Association run by Bob Flaws. We had spent the summer learning how to stand in low horse for an hour without moving by the Boulder Creek. We learned all about acupuncture points and Tai Chi Ruler, and Taoism and Buddhism. We drank beer and danced wildly into the early morning hours, then went to the 24 hour diner and ate breakfast. We rarely slept. We walked the mall in bare feet Val with his Bo or staff, me with my wooden sword. We would spar for no reason at a moments notice. We lived like kings without a country to rule. We perfected our art, let our hair go wild, grew strong and meditated like statues. We lived on Chi Gung exercises, faith and Dots Diner burritos. It was a summer I’ll never forget. In early September we left to hitchhike to Portland Oregon to visit a girlfriend of mine who over the summer shacked up with another man. Like samurai on a mission we left Boulder on a blazing hot Sunday.
Our first ride drove us all the way to Cheyenne and the junction of I-25 and I-80. I remember thinking how unusually hot it was for September with the sky a perfect deep blue, not a cloud in sight. Slightly parched and a bit hungry we walked down the ramp to get onto I-80 westbound. I looked down and saw a piece of fruit in the dirt on the shoulder of the ramp. I bent down to pick it up. It was a peach. I looked at Val, then at the peach. It was cool in my hands and felt perfectly ripe and totally un-bruised. I looked around at the sage and open land surrounding us. No peach trees, no fruit stands, nothing. I looked at Val again. We both smiled. I took a bite and handed it to Val. We shared the most delicious peach I have ever tasted and to this day 28 years later have not tasted another peach so juicy and sweet. Our story at the time was that the 18 Lohan, who look after warriors with integrity, had left it there for us as a sign of their approval.
My story now is that was Grace.
I start to remember all those moments in my life that had that feeling of Grace to them. At the time I may have called them heartbreak, failure, tragedy, longing, loneliness, struggle, surrender, searching. Now I see it all as just plain Grace. Like Bodhi learning to first crawl, then stand in balance, then walk, and finally run I see the beauty and grace in the moments of learning and progression from birth to death as one magnificent tapestry woven from one strand without end.
Grace.
In so much love.
J
*I highly recommend this music to assist in opening a channel to a magical place.
My life is full of grace. It is Sunday morning which has got to be my favorite morning of the week. There is a quality that is both poignant, and nostalgic. The light this morning is beautiful. The world outside must be asleep and so seems non-existent. Inside it’s me and Bodhi making breakfast while Meg sleeps too. I love this time with my littlest son. I get a chance to slow down to his rhythm, to not rush off anywhere, to have no agenda. We eat and then go play. I watch him closely to witness all that is shifting in him so quickly – he is standing, balancing on his own, creating little games, then moving on to another interest. There is this big sheepskin on the floor of his playroom that I lie on. We are listening to music (Explosions in The Sky – The Earth is Not a Cold Dark Place*) which Bodhi will often start bobbing to then go back to playing. As I lie there watching him experiencing life he lifts a small ball in his hands and offers it to me. I find myself flashing on a memory from long ago.
It is the end of summer 1980. My good friend Val and I have just finished our “Knights Without Armor” training in Boulder Colorado at the Blue Poppy Chi Kung Association run by Bob Flaws. We had spent the summer learning how to stand in low horse for an hour without moving by the Boulder Creek. We learned all about acupuncture points and Tai Chi Ruler, and Taoism and Buddhism. We drank beer and danced wildly into the early morning hours, then went to the 24 hour diner and ate breakfast. We rarely slept. We walked the mall in bare feet Val with his Bo or staff, me with my wooden sword. We would spar for no reason at a moments notice. We lived like kings without a country to rule. We perfected our art, let our hair go wild, grew strong and meditated like statues. We lived on Chi Gung exercises, faith and Dots Diner burritos. It was a summer I’ll never forget. In early September we left to hitchhike to Portland Oregon to visit a girlfriend of mine who over the summer shacked up with another man. Like samurai on a mission we left Boulder on a blazing hot Sunday.
Our first ride drove us all the way to Cheyenne and the junction of I-25 and I-80. I remember thinking how unusually hot it was for September with the sky a perfect deep blue, not a cloud in sight. Slightly parched and a bit hungry we walked down the ramp to get onto I-80 westbound. I looked down and saw a piece of fruit in the dirt on the shoulder of the ramp. I bent down to pick it up. It was a peach. I looked at Val, then at the peach. It was cool in my hands and felt perfectly ripe and totally un-bruised. I looked around at the sage and open land surrounding us. No peach trees, no fruit stands, nothing. I looked at Val again. We both smiled. I took a bite and handed it to Val. We shared the most delicious peach I have ever tasted and to this day 28 years later have not tasted another peach so juicy and sweet. Our story at the time was that the 18 Lohan, who look after warriors with integrity, had left it there for us as a sign of their approval.
My story now is that was Grace.
I start to remember all those moments in my life that had that feeling of Grace to them. At the time I may have called them heartbreak, failure, tragedy, longing, loneliness, struggle, surrender, searching. Now I see it all as just plain Grace. Like Bodhi learning to first crawl, then stand in balance, then walk, and finally run I see the beauty and grace in the moments of learning and progression from birth to death as one magnificent tapestry woven from one strand without end.
Grace.
In so much love.
J
*I highly recommend this music to assist in opening a channel to a magical place.
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