Parting the Clouds

Joy cometh in the morning, or so the psalmist tells us. But all things are relative, which I'm sure I don't need to tell you. I have no complaints about how this particular morning began. Before surrendering to the call to be up and about, I lay nestled in the peaceful bliss of a couple of cats still dreaming by my side.

"Poopsie, what's it like out?" I asked and was immediately assured that I was right to assume the sounds of water running nearby meant Ms. Wonder was enjoying a dunk in the Volga tributary running out of the tap in the salle de bain.

"Overcast and blustery," she said and I nodded. It was a useless gesture, of course, as she was in the next room.

Zen Garden at Straw Valley

No, not a bad little morning, but life doesn't loiter underneath the coverlets. It moves fast and eventually one must face the reality of gray skies and coolish breezes. 

I was on tap this morning to lead a meditation class at Straw Valley, and the class was making its last call before raising the curtain on today's performance. It was for me the work of a moment to drape myself in something loose and comfortable and then flash from east to west along the southern corridor of Durham.

Sunday morning meditation cleasses are never expected to be large and today's expectations proved correct. Straw Valley was quiet. I'd been notified by text and voicemail that about half the regular crew would be otherwise engaged. No, not a large class but still, I didn't expect to be the only one there. 

Now, as you know well, I have no sympathy for those who whine. Still, I don't want to mislead you. I hate as much as anyone the cosh behind the ear that Fate delivers when I'm not looking. Reminding myself that the most important gifts in life are Time and Place. And reasoning that I had plenty of Time in the perfect Place, I began to qigong like the dickens.

I entered the Zen garden where I began with Wuji Swimming Dragon. Under the bamboo arbor, I executed Parting the Clouds. In front of the art wall--Embracing Heaven and Earth. It was in the middle of this qigonging that a young man and woman entered the courtyard carrying laptops and coffee.

"Are you with the meditation class?" she said.

I confessed that it was true because she had caught me waving my arms around my head and it seemed futile to deny it.

"Is that 'ki gong you're doing?' she said.

"Chi gung," I said because I always like to get it right.

"We were wondering about that," said the male half of the sketch.

"Wonder no more," I said. "Join me and do what I do."

"Want to?" she said looking at him with eyes that sparkled like fireworks after a Durham Bull's game. I could tell that her smile was to him like the sun and he was her Chanticleer, ready to flap his wings and strut his stuff. 

They joined me and we worked our way around the courtyard until we came to the cabanas where another couple, friends of the first, were invited to join us. They did.

"This isn't what I expected meditation to be," said the new woman.

"Ah," I said, for the Genome is quick and I knew exactly where she was headed with this comment. "We have a few minutes left. Let's go inside and I'll introduce you to Zazen." 

Daybreak by Ms. Wonder

No sooner had we entered the back room of Sanderson House than I realized the room was not as empty as I'd left it. Another couple enjoying coffee and scones were surprised to see us. After a few pour parlers, they too joined us seated on the floor in front of one of the abstract photos, Daybreak, by Cathryn Jirlds.'

And so with a little acceptance and with willingness to live life on life's terms, we not only bucked up our immune systems and improved our cognitive abilities, but we also had a great Sunday morning in the Courtyard. 

Every day should be just so. Data, set a course to the Age of Aquarius. Engage!

Let the Good Times Roll!

If things had gone as planned, not that they ever do, I would have arrived in New Orleans that afternoon. It was Mardi Gras! 

Didn't happen, of course. Cobblestones are the reason. If you're one of the regulars who are never happier than when curled up with one of my stories, you may remember the post about my last visit to Charleston, SC. You can find that post by searching for: 'Charleston Memories.'

Those charming old alleyways between colonial-era shops are wonderfully uneven, irregular cobblestone paths. The footing is never predictable, and walking them requires a ramshackle gait and mindful maneuvering, something I sometimes forget. To put it simply: I stumble. Life is often like that. Well, my life feels that way. You may tell a different story.

But this post isn't about Charleston; it isn't even about New Orleans. It's about my planned pilgrimage that would take me to the sacred places of my own personal mythology. New Orleans, of course, is one of those special places from my past, and if there are secular pilgrimages in America, then Mardi Gras is surely one.

Mardi Gras, of course, is framed by Epiphany at the beginning and Ash Wednesday at the close. Between those holy days is a period of indulgence and joyful celebration of life. 

This symbolic timing is significant when viewing Mardi Gras as a secular pilgrimage. Just as Christmas combines a secular aspect, represented by Santa Claus, with a religious one, celebrating Christ’s birth, Mardi Gras also unites the spiritual and the profane. 

As I mentioned at the beginning, I didn't make it to New Orleans; I'm actually sitting in Wilmington's Luna Cafe, far from Durham, where I originally made plans for my pilgrimage more than twelve years ago.

Obviously, those well-laid plans for a mythological pilgrimage 'ganged agley.' I still plan to make the journey one day. But, for today, I'm happy to be in Wilmington, thinking of New Orleans, and celebrating the joys of being alive, even if life is sometimes paved with cobblestones.

I hope you're celebrating too. Laissez les bons temps rouler!