Practice, Practice, Practice

My heart is full this morning, just as my head is swirling. I have spent the last few days in retreat at under the guidance of very able teachers. The only way I can describe it is with a story:

Once upon a time, and a long, long time ago it was, there was a young woman. Her hair touched her waist, danced across handwoven blouses and played hide and seek with turquoise earrings. Her pockets held treasures: a small rock, a bit of metal, threads, and the occasional currency. Her feet wore sandals, although she kicked those off whenever possible to feel the dirt or sand between her toes. She laughed a lot and was very, very curious.

This young woman's mother taught her to build a loom. First, four pieces of wood were gathered and fitted together into a rectangle. Next, a row of nails was hammered into the top and bottom of the rectangle. Then, a linen thread was tied to the lower left nail and wrapped up, around the first top nail, down, around the next bottom nail, up and down and up and down, until all of the nails were wrapped. Then the weaving began with the weft threads passing back and forth and over and under these threads.

Everything necessary for weaving was available in this loom and the young woman wove many things: wall hangings, purses, bags, mats, pillows. Big fluffy yarns and skinny threads, yarns that she spun, and yarns spun in faraway places, all found their way into her weavings. Yes, all of weaving was available in that small, simple loom.

Then one day the mother brought another type of loom into the weaving room. When the young woman saw it, she was curious. That evening, using what she knew from the first loom, she saw how to put the linen thread on the new loom and ready it for weaving. There were no nails to wrap. Instead there were heddles to thread and reeds to sley and a big beam at the back of the loom to wind the linen warp on. When she began to weave, the young woman had to use her whole body, not just her hands and fingers. Her feet tromped the treadles, and her hands threw the shuttle all the while pulling the beater forward. There was a way to sit on the bench, and a way to use her arms and shoulders. There was a deeper rhythm and in this rhythm, the young woman wove in beauty. Outside this rhythm, the young woman wove raggedy selvages, bumpy cloth and sleazy fabric. It took practice, and through the years, as the young woman practiced, the weaving improved and the rhythm became more natural. Slowly, the young woman became a weaver. And, yet, no matter how much she practiced, the weaver knew that she was always a beginner because each step simply revealed another step. And that is why, to this very day, the weaver continues to practice weaving.

Thank you, Mother, for practice, and next steps, whether in weaving, Tai Chi Chih or other parts of my life.