Yin and Yang: Triumph and Humiliation

I had to go grocery shopping today.

Don't know if you know this about me, but I hate shopping. Grocery shopping is the worst, but one must do it, because one must eat.

I hate the lights, the music, the crowd, the unending choices. But most of all the uncaring bagger person who always bruises my fruit and mooshes my bread. I walk out of there feeling like every cell in my body is vibrating in hypersensitivity. I just wanna get in, run through, and get the heck out.

But today would be different! I would stay present. Not be affected by the bazillion ridiculous choices we have of everything. I wouldn't become frustrated with those around me. I would not become angry with the bagger lady. I would try.

And today, I noticed something as I wound my way around, trying not to forget toilet paper and trash stickers (another post all together).

There is weird balance of flow and stagnation between people in a grocery store.

Like water in a creek.

Some people are like big rocks, completely unaware that they have positioned themselves to take up most of the aisle, slowing the flow. Sometimes they just position the cart so that it takes up the shelving area you want to get to. Like a couple of branches at the side of the creek that have caught leaves in their twining arms. You can eventually get what you want, but it takes some time.

There are others who whip through the aisles, either forcing you to the side like whitewater or allowing you to catch the wave they produced by riding right behind them and moving with their flow.

Flow and tranquility. Movement and stillness. Yin and yang.

I wasn't grocery shopping anymore! I was watching flow, part of flow. It was tai chi!

I waited in line. The aisles next to me flowed. Mine was stagnant.

Flow! Stagnation! More complementary opposites! Yin and yang. I was in my element!

I watched...waited. Gently began to place items on the conveyor belt. Feeling each item carefully, not breaking the flow of this experience.

With each item I lovingly placed on the item, with each scanner beep I heard as my carefully chosen item rolled down the conveyor belt there was a slight tightening of my existence. What's this? The flow became constricted. The coherence was disrupted. I looked up.

Into the eyes of my nemesis.

The bagger lady.

She was trained to place yin and yang in each and every bag. A can of tomato sauce on bread. Delicately ripened bananas wedged under a box of crackers and cereal. All the while staring right into a shopper's eyes. Almost in challenge.

There are times when you can't watch flow. Times when you can't just move with flow. You have to create it. You have to be the rudder in the stream. You have to guide yourself, move yourself in this water.

I grabbed the pears from her blunt-knuckled hands and gently placed them with the apples. I took out the soup can and put it in with the box of cereal.

"Yin and yang may not be in each bag," I told her gently, not realizing I had embodied the accent of Shaolin monk Kwai Chang Caine. "Yin bag, yang bag: all go in same cart." I said, softly. "Balance." I nodded to the bags and then gently bowed to her. "Have good day."

I walked slowly behind my grocery cart feeling at peace. I made it through. Not only was I not stressed out, but this time my fruit and bread were saved. I was triumphant.

Until I realized I had forgotten trash stickers and had to get back in line.

"Just trash stickers," I said quietly to the cashier. I glanced down at the bagger lady. She held my glance, then rolled her eyes and moved to the fruit and cans of the next line.

Balance, I thought. I was triumphant. I am now humiliated.

"Have good day," I said quietly to myself as I walked out.

Of Mice and Men

I try to practice taiji outside. For three reasons, mostly: I like it, there isn't enough room in my house, and my cat winds through my feet or continually plops down wherever I am stepping. It's good practice, actually, but sometimes I'd rather not have him around.


Several years ago I was practicing 'intention' which is one of the 10 Essentials of taiji practice. You can practice taiji with no intention, but it doesn't really count as taiji. It's really just moving around slowly. Which is fine, if you like to move around slowly with no intention. But don't try in any busy public place because people will intentionally push you over.

Okay, so back to my intention of writing about intention:

It was 4:30 in the morning. I couldn't find my shoes and didn't want to wake my husband rummaging around for them. Spiders walking in the basement wake him up. So I went out in bare feet to practice.

My intention most times is on my invisible taiji opponent. When she strikes, I block. When she kicks, I catch her kick and strike back by kicking at the knee of her standing leg. When she strikes to my jaw, I step out with my right foot, blocking upward with my arm and throw her over my leg.

Oh, please. Don't feel sorry for her, I wouldn't have to do these things if she wasn't able to keep coming back at me.

So this day I chose to practice taiji with the intention of bringing qi to my hands. It was a simple intention, and I was practicing keeping intention throughout the form. Could my simple brain stay focused on bringing intention to my hands throughout the 64 movements? Or would it get bored and start thinking about some miserable thing that happened 15 years ago; or worry about possible phone calls I was missing; or bug me about an email I had to return.

So, I began first with a few deep quiet breaths, feeling my hands. Just feeling them. I sensed the warmth and tingling there and felt it move up my arms. My intention was in my hands, but at the same time, when you practice taiji, you are aware of what is happening around you. Even though it's pitch black at 4:30 a.m. you still sense the bushes are where they are. You feel the dewy grass beneath your feet. You breathe in the air, are aware of your connection to the earth and the sky.

And I move. With my hands feeling full, I move. I breathe, folding into the qua, foot moving back slowly, arms are light, sense of self disappears, sense of duality disappears, I move with everything around me. I move. And my hands are very clear in the landscape I am part of. I sense them most. I feel them pulsing as a sense of peace and connection fosters itself inside me. I am moving as one, as a whole.

Until shearing pain cuts into the bottom of my foot. I disconnect. I am me entirely and not whole. My hands are lost.

I drop down and lift my foot, seeing a gray mouse hanging there whose last possible breath was made defending itself against my weight.

Now what? Do I save a dying mouse? Do I get a tetanus shot? Do I continue my form with a mouse stuck to my foot?

You know, a master would have felt the dying mouse's qi BEFORE he stepped down, crushing more of its tiny bones. You know nothing. Go inside and move around slowly without intention so you don't hurt anything.

It reminded me of another time I was practicing (again, in my backyard - this time with shoes on) and at the end, for some reason, I really felt a connection to the tulip tree in our back yard. I walked over to it. Looked up at it and it's beautiful green leaves and orangey tulip blooms. It was beautiful.

My instinct said: Hug it!
My brain said: Don't be ridiculous.
My instinct said: HUG it!
My brain said: Grow up.
My instinct said: HUG IT!!

So I was in my backyard and said pllltthhh to my brain and I slowly put my arms around the tree and gave it a great, big hug!

I pulled my arms off just as fast. I don't know what the hell was on that tree, but it must have been squirrel barf or something. It was all over my hands.

UHHHGGG!

I don't know if I want to analyze why these things happen. But I'm looking at my cat right now weaving through my legs. Looking for a perfect place to plop down and get comfy.

I guess the "best laid plans of mice and men often go awry".

Peace.