As I chatted with my husband before practice this morning I started crying. I can’t explain it, I feel very at ease here with my teachers, the practice, the work, the dirt, the street, the other students, the power cuts but something feels off, unsettled, unsure, and a little sad.
This morning I realized that I will only see primary series on Fridays. It is the practice that I turn to in these moments of uncertainty. It is the practice that has become like a great friend. Working intermediate in this level of intensity has me flummoxed, and for the first time in 6 trips asking myself…..can I do this everyday?
On past trips I have wanted to be playing my edges in practice more. Well, this trip I fished my wish…..edges are being played, and for the next four weeks the heat is being turned up and I hope this little chickpea comes out tender after all is said and done.
|A chickpea in a pot leaps from the flame,
out from the boiling water,
Crying, “Why do you set fire to me?
You chose me, bought me, brought me home for this?”
The cook hits it with her spoon into the pot.
“No! Boil nicely, don’t jump away from the one who makes the fire.
I don’t boil you out of hatred.
Through boiling you may grow flavorful, nourishing,
and united with vital human spirit.
I don’t inflict this suffering out of spite.
Once green and fresh, you drank rain in the garden;
you drank for the sake of this fire.