Taiji and Qigong

You may remember Bill Moyers series exploring Tai Chi Chuan.  On the other hand, like me, you have noted that AARP recommends that as we gets older we practice Tai Chi Chuan.  Medical trials indicate that Tai Chi helps reduce blood pressure, increase flexibility and improve balance.  I have practiced internal martial arts, the group of stuff Tai Chi is part of, for the past four years.  I agree with all of this as far as it goes, but I must politely point out that I believe that AARP and most Americans have it goofed up.  This short note will put it into some perspective.

After four years of internal martial arts practice, I can pick change off the floor without grunting.  I can stand on one leg for a long time; I put my socks on balancing on one foot.  I can even put on and lace my work boots balanced on one foot!  I stand and meditate for 30 minutes daily.  I stand straighter, move with assurance and handle pressure with aplomb.

At four years of daily practice, I am Tai Chi beginner.  I hope to be a novice in 10 years and hope to hit Gladwell’s mastery by my 80^th birthday.  The point I am making is that the mechanics of this exercise can be learned in a few years, the subtlety takes a lifetime.  I chose Tai Chi while I was looking for effective meditation for stress on the job.  Tai Chi Chuan means ultimate fist.  Here in the states, we have mistakenly determined that Tai Chi is non-violent.  It is an internal martial art; it is meant for defense.  There is meditation in the external martial arts like Aikido and Karate, yet they are what the most people think about when the term martial art is mentioned.  External or internal, meditation is the root and cultivation of that root is called Qi Gong in China. 

Qi Gong is where the rubber meets the road.  Contrary to Western medicine, traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) concerns itself with the manipulation of the life force Chi.  This is about the time when people start to back away muttering that this is pretty weird.  Yet, here in the west, we have begun to accept acupuncture as a treatment for pain and if you think about it, putting needles in your foot to relieve pain in your back the height of weirdness.  Things change and we must change with then (or stagnate.)

How do you find out more about this stuff?  This is the tricky part.  In my exploration, I have found that the best information comes from a trainer who trained with a Chinese master.  Better still, train with the Chinese master yourself.  The maxim is the closer to the original Tai Chi master, the better the quality of information.  This does nothing for the quality of instruction.  Despite the old saw, if you can’t do, teach.  A Tai Chi teacher must be able to do and communicate effectively and repeatedly.  Sometimes the teacher repeats the same instructions to the same people for a year!  I know I am slow.  Further, instruction is hampered by the traditional way to teach, everyone into the pool at the same time, translation problems, there are multiple spellings for the same word and the notion that the techniques should remain secret. 

Why is it so slow, the better for your body to learn exactly how it feels at each movement?  After all, the exercise is practice.  In an encounter, you move without thinking.

Canada Eh?

I hate to drive.  This has influenced my wife’s perception of my ability to drive.  She believes wrongly that my dislike of driving affects my ability.  I am an expert driver and very safe and in order to prove my abilities, I volunteered to drive roundtrip to Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Her concern boils around my habit of loudly expressing my views to the other drivers who do the stupidest things.  These educational monologues concern her.  I promised myself that I would hold my tongue.

This highway is high-speed boredom punctuated by random neon stops.  Each entrance is packed with cheap motels, truck stops and garish gas stations.  Leaving Santa Fe, we arrived tired and hungry in Clinton OK.  We sought a restaurant that was higher on the scale above Denny’s.  When your only entertainment is the stop, marketers have homogenized and systematized the offerings to the weary traveler.  Almost everything is fried or coated in sugar.  There are, of course, regional specialties, in Oklahoma, Texas, the only meal is steak, preferably fried and vegetables are an option, unless they are fried.  We chose a chain restaurant and bar attached to another low cost motel, near our even lower cost motel.  We were the first customers for the evening rush at 4PM.

The hostess greeted us by saying.  "oudyadoomechaeaseakaseatlllBitcha,"broadcast through a radiant smile.  With sign language and patient loud careful enunciation, we got to our booth and placed our order.  We ordered two Tanqueray martinis dry and up with olives, the salad bar and a baked potato.  Our hostess and waitress beamed her thousand-watt smile at us, wrote everything down in careful bubble letters with hearts above each I and instead of going into the kitchen left the dining room.  She was gone for long enough that after we went to the salad bar we returned concerned. 

A stately woman entered carrying a tray with two drinks in old-fashioned glasses walked to our table.  She gingerly placed both drinks in front of us, stood back looking expectantly at us as we sipped the concoction.  Rather than complain about the drink, we thanked her for the drinks and sipped warm gin with a dejected olive floating in it.

During the interlude, other patrons came to dinner.  The room was equally filled with travelers who stayed in this motel and locals who came here for the special.  Tonight’s special was chicken fried steak.  Chicken fried steak is a delicacy in this area.  It is usually flank steak pounded flat, to about one quarter of an inch thick, breaded and deep fat fried.  This restaurant proudly proclaimed that their steak was sirloin served with mashed potatoes, coated with heavy brown gravy and fried okra with a trip to the salad bar for only $9.95.

As we were concluding our meal, two regulars received their specials.  The steak covered the entire plate and appeared to be the color and consistency of a pine plank.  With mashed potatoes piled on the plate, fried Okra in the side dish, iceberg lettuce inundated with Ranch dressing and a long neck beer; it was the Tuesday night feast.

This was the kind of place where you pay up front, or in her words "supere."  We went to the cashier to pay, was greeted radiantly with, "What part of Canada are you folks from?" 

I held back my response, “Oh the southern part, Chicago.”

Canadian translations

                                                    

“oudyadoomechaeaseakaseatlllBitcha,” means Howdy how are you doing?  Why don’t you take a seat and I will be with you (shortly).

“supere,” means up here.

Seven Stages

Hot syrup sex, forbidden explorations, all me you.  Whispers of this time haunt the waning of the moon.

Frequency leads to lust.  Body parts put to places to probe and prolong sweet release, sighing and yielding to our mutual exploration, now you me.

Yielding renews commitment.  We create our universe.

Repetition remembers fading youth; we question our devotion and look away.

The bounty of our friction brings special recognition to our universe, now not me not you.

Time brings a drying of the dampness and a flexibility of the steel.  Planning is the key, medication, preparation and forgiveness.  Ourselves our selves.

The blue moon moves slowly renewing and reaffirming our bond, constancy is the theme.

When I became martha.

I owned up to being Martha three years ago when I started a group in my church.  I am not sure, when I first learned about Martha.  It could have been as bored child in church during the cycle of readings.  More likely, I found Martha in my explorations of quirky ideas since research is my first love.

Martha is “the” Martha from the Christian bible’s story of Mary and Martha (Luke 10: 39-42).  This brief passage centers around Christ and the Apostles going to Martha’s house for lunch.  Christ gently reminded her that the meal was not the important task, but the hearing of His word was the “one needful thing.”  Mary was doing the right thing, while Martha although the dinner was lovely was mistaken.  Along the way, I learned that Mary was Mary Magdalene, sister of Lazarus (the leper).  Martha, Mary’s older sister, owned the house where Jesus, the Apostles and the various followers and hangers-on had this meal. 

Not that I sought out being Martha, quite the contrary I found Martha in nooks and crannies.  Walking along a beautiful garden path in Bayview Michigan, I noticed grave markers in the flowerbed.  Certain residents of Bayview choose cremation and had their ashes scattered among the flowers.  The Mary and Martha Society tended the garden.  While rummaging through old cookbooks at a used book sale, I found one written by the Mary and Martha Society.  Looking through an art book, I saw Martha steely looking out from her kitchen while Christ and Mary reclined in the background.

 I became martha after listening to a heated conversation between women who were dissecting the preacher’s sanctimonious sermon on the passage.  The point made, and the cause for my conversion, was that Martha served Christ and the 14 or so additional people in her home at, what seems, a moment’s notice.  It is common then as it (sadly) is today to have the women prepare, serve and clean-up after a meal.  Noticing that her younger sister chose to sit down with the (other) apostles, while she (Martha, the older sister and homeowner) made a meal for the group, Martha asked Jesus about this hoping to get help in the kitchen.  Christ gently reproached her.  Martha had claim on some help from Mary, nowadays the apostles would be expected to pitch in themselves and even Christ would be expected to carry dishes into the dining room!  That sealed the deal for me-- I am a martha!  This started me looking.

 The first official notice of the Mary and Martha Society was in the Catholic Encyclopedia.  In 1877, the Roman Catholic Sisters of Charity took control of the group that began in 1836 in Cincinnati Ohio.  Similarly, St. Mary’s African Methodist Episcopal Church (AME) noted Negro members of the Society in North Carolina and that the Society acted as a stop on the Underground Railroad north.  In the 1880’s, The Sons and Daughters of Mary and Martha were prevalent in Upson County, Georgia.  References from burial markers and obituaries show that the Society spread from North Carolina to Canada from 1845 until 1972.  The Society has groups in Roman Catholic, Russian Orthodox, Church of Christ, Reformed, Lutheran, Episcopal, Community and American Baptist Churches.  Geographically, Societies are scattered from New England to the Southwest and Canada to the deep South.

I wrote and called the larger and older religions and congregations for organizational material on the Mary and Martha Society.  The consensus is that the Society is a volunteer group directly associated with each specific church it serves.  It is not hierarchical; each is independent.  It is known under different names, The Society of Mary and Martha (most common), The Daughters (and Sons) of Mary and Martha, Saints Mary and Martha Altar Society, and the marthas (sic).  It has amazing scope from creation and management of schools and hospitals, as a missionary society, fund raiser, cookbook writer (most prevalent) and a burial society for indigents (most prevalent during the 1800’s). 

 I assume the first Society came from Europe.  My only European connect came from a book published in 1986, The Fat Pigeon File, by a Christian retreat house in Devon England.  It notes the humorous activities of the Society and their affect on the life of the parish minister.  This gave me a toehold to Europe for inquiring into the Mary and Martha Society.  Sadly, the group did not respond to my inquiry.  Lutheran historians pointed me to the Society in Canada.  My inquiries were acknowledged by the various churches, but offered no further lead as to the origin of the Society. 

I received an elegant hand-written letter detailing the history of the Society in the Brook Highland Community Church and an apologetic email from the minister who told me the author of the letter “just didn’t truck with the Internet.”  The author, a founding member, said, “We chose the name “Mary and Martha Society, because we felt that it identified with both the internal and external service projects, which was our primary mission.”  Similarly, the Constitution of the Society in Waterloo Iowa notes that their primary interest is their bond of friendship between the ladies (sic) of the congregation and the financial assistance of the parochial school. 

Certain URLs cited the Society as a group involved with the Benedictine Sisters group named MOMS, a support group movement sponsored by the Benedictine Sisters.  I wrote to the authors of the material.  They categorically stated that the Society has no relationship with them.  I presume a Mary and Martha Society grew in the church and adopted the MOMS materials to meet the needs of its own congregation.  Recently I searched again and found the Martes, a group of hygiene lecturers in Finland founded in the 40’s.  Whither it is a glitch in my search engine or gremlins, the Martes seems linked to the Mary and Martha Society.  When I have an opportunity, I will follow up this lead.

Here in Chicago, Evanston really, I created “the marthas” three years ago in order to provide service to a small congregation.  The marthas provide simple cleaning, repair of the Church, and garner as a result, comradeship.  The name is the marthas.  There are enough Marys in the world talking about the ideas; someone has to do the physical labor.  Martha is intentionally not capitalized in homage’ to my favorite poet e. e. cummings.  It is an act of humility and a statement that I am not a proper noun.

Research originally published to Wikipedia as The Mary and Martha Society

Making Copies

When I retired this past June, my wife wisely gave me a six-month hiatus to figure out what I wanted to do.  She knew I cannot sit still without getting into trouble.  We weathered the learning curve about living on a pension considerably lower than the working paycheck.  I learned about being the person responsible for the household duties.  Yes, men can swiffert!  More importantly, I am learning to hush up, but not give up.

I have decided to become an artist and acquiesce to my wife’s suggestion that I write more.  I know from experience and education that both are solitary arts.  Practicing privately can emphasize one’s peculiar habits of dress and expression.  Leaving this private practice unchecked can increase one’s obdurate nature.  I figured that joining groups dedicated to these artistic purposes would be a good idea, sort of protective coloration.

More importantly, I learned that I am a tenderfoot.  The news blithely announced that 2011 is the year that the first Boomers reached 65.  Being an early Boomer, I get to see how the world deals with my age group getting to the end of the stroll.  Boomers entered life during peace and plenty.  We are the first television viewers, first personal computer users, our old songs; the ones that grip your heart have a rock beat.  Few were war protesters yet it is in the Boomer culture to act the part.  In my case, I chose to put act into my social activism.

My exploration into writing set me on the track of writing groups that meet during the day.  One group lead by an earnest pair of women dedicated their group to cathartic writing.  A box of Kleenex was a requirement for participation.  A second exploration brought me to the senior center at the Cultural Center. 

Sadly, the SC copier was being serviced, so we could not copy our one page writings for the group.  This group is large and populated by a host of Chicagoans, that is to say, unique people with something on their minds and a Midwestern way of expression.  As I entered my golden years, I learned that I have never met a toilet that I did not visit.  Given the opportunity to bring the writings to the office for photocopying gave me the ideal opportunity to do just that.

The photocopier repairman just finished when I arrived and seeing no clerk in the office, I stacked the work in the tray and pushed the button.  Being a Boomer, I have worked on all of the duplicating devices from mimeograph machines to wireless hubs daily for forty years.  A clerk ran to the copier and admonished me for using it, because the default paper tray was set to legal paper.  I did not know that, nor did the repairman standing next to me.  Rather than respond in kind, perhaps by offering her a quarter for the copies, I hushed and modeled silent acquiescence.

Mollified, the clerk told me that for the writing group she only used waste paper that is printed on one side and haphazardly tossed in a box on the file cabinet.  Interestingly, the clerk discarded the copies I began with the copier repairman present.  She resorted, rejogged the originals again and placed them into the paper tray.  She took a handful of fiesta colored waste paper and loaded the machine, instantly jamming the machine.  At first she blamed the repairman for not adjusting the fourth tray, then she attempted to dismiss me, but like a wreck in slow motion I was transfixed by her frustration.  She reloaded the machine and jammed it again.  Exasperated at the fifth jamming, she went to her supervisor received a stack of discarded 24# bond city letterhead to use.  We completed the copies in amiable silence.  Mathematically there were seven original and fifteen people, one hundred and five copies about 20% of a ream of paper.  The true cost of photocopy for a machine of this nature and volume is 1.3 cents per copy, or $1.356 for this adventure.

The advertisement for this group says the rule is to bring one page of writing and only one page.  Seems to me that the fellow, who wrote a painful reminiscence of his relation with his father, thankfully resolved but greater than one page, made the right artistic choice to duplicate the beginning of the story, making the handout two pages (Oh my!).  Ignoring, I hope, the repeated admonishments to keep it to one page.  The evolving murder mystery and the journaling may be improved by being allowed to grow.  The decision to make the writing one page is not artistic, but wrong-headed economics.

I wonder what will happen when the Aquarians take center senior stage.  Will we challenge or yield?