Winging to East Coast after an amazing four-day stint of Dancing Hands in San Francisco. What an exquisite journey of heart and spirit this is for me. To peer into the glittering eyes of so many and see how perfect your souls truly are despite the filters that convince so many otherwise is again and again such a gift.
Outside of these “God Goggles,” and not staying in the hotel where the 17th World Congress of QiGong/Tai Chi/TCM was held had its own set of lessons. We were two women navigating the City on a busy holiday with excellent weather, in traffic and out, with BART tracks being rebuilt on the line most needed and bustling, learning Uber, trusting hotspots and energetic soft spots and wi-fi in a hotel from the turn of the last century, dragging heavy gear on wheels in a sometimes sticky world where the homeless and mentally and spiritually fragile wandered the streets of San Francisco in droves, but gave Suzi and me wide, safe passage, startled mama me after so many years in Hawaii.
I saw in equal measure the razor sharp contrast of sipping four dollar coffees while a tossed last bite of a sandwich and a half sipped soda dug out an overflowing garbage can was one man’s prize to share with his ragged, ambling friend. They weren’t begging for a hand out. They were thin, tired, and hungry. I could peer into the heart of one and see two disenfranchised Vets no older than my brothers whose spirits had snapped under unspeakable pressure to fight and had returned without proper respect or support, so here they were trying to merely survive. There but by the grace of God go I. It could have happened to any one of us. Again, I felt my heart widen with what I’ve said before: there is no time to waste, there is no time for ego, there is no time for anything but us pulling together in a great family of cooperation and true support for us to help one another lift to their/our divine gifts. But how?
After these two wandered away from my view an elegant, but tiny, elderly woman sat down beside me in Starbucks. She pulled from her incongruous Victoria’s Secret bag an equally tiny half sandwich and placed it next to her small cup of coffee. I was creating our new playlist and agreed with her that it was a splendid summer day, which was all the opening she needed. I smiled, mixing music and nods while she chatted away, so utterly cheered to have someone listen to her about how the sunshine always comes out by 2:00, but it was early today, and did I know, that just across the bay laid an idyllic town that was warm and sunny, no fog ever, and full of flowers – all – the – time. She was as my mother, just in red-hair, just wanting to connect, just happy to share some light-hearted conversation — a nosegay of Larkspur. And oh, if that clock didn’t tick tock as my event grew closer. Finally, I gently squeezed her delicate, little hand hoping to inject the dinkiest pause into her breathless, merry monologue, to say goodbye, but as she took that for more encouragement I finally had to apologize for interrupting, but I must dance off to work. Her milky, blue eyes filled with surprised tears as I looked deeply into her perfection. I gave her a wordless feathering of love that kissed both cheeks so that she could always find company and keep her loneliness at bay and said, “Until the next time. I hope to see you in that town soon.” Perhaps next time it will be you or I just wishing to have someone, anyone, hear how the sun does come out and to expect it. Remember this. More there but by the grace of God go I. Gracious lessons from growing up in the foggy Bay Area.
This last Saturday night, after I sent out my last blog, not only did we have a packed room for the Dancing Hands, but much to my delight many of the participants who attended from the Congress didn’t speak a lick of English. How cool for me to again, trust that no matter how strongly my mind wanted to be a part and hoped to share the words to put all at ease and allow one’s body to go with the flow, those who spoke only Tai Chi — from whatever country they were from — simply jumped in, began swaying and dancing and did their best to mimic what my hands danced. I think some may have come to learn the “Dancing Qi,” as it was listed in the program – there were many classes this weekend — but it’s all so new, as far as I know it’s not something to be learned; more, experienced, much like a tickle or a hot, sweet rush of learning within. But without language, what could I do? How could I share even that? I had to let go of instructions. No net for anyone. Source had this – just like always. Slip aside, Sibbett. Rest your mouth. Trust. It was awesome. I had to trust. That was easy here. Everyone came for their best and highest good. It’s a given. I looked at Suzi and shrugged.
When my hands snapped, they snapped. When I clapped, they did their best to keep up with the intricate rhythms or make up their own. And when I did the mudras, well… their hands went up and then soon, beautifully went into receiving mode. It was fascinating. Sometimes when these hands dance the dancing mudras the fingers and wrists spin, twirl, and bend so quickly that it’s a blur and clearly it doesn’t matter what language rolls from the receiver’s native tongue. This is language for the soul, for the cells, for the quanta. Ah, what laughter burst forward for both recipient and myself! To see the delight bubble up from some deep place of sparkling light that understands this is all so much more than what we know was again something I’ve never experienced before this year. Remember those deep belly laughs that overwhelm you with uncontrollable joy so you sometimes snort or wheeze or as I do, go bent over and silent shaking with it all…. This. This is sometimes what happens too, and did here again in plentitude for the QiGong Masters, for the Queens of Qi, the heart-broken and hearty alike. When we allow ourselves to open to gifts of a communication from the divine, we may cry tears of release, but sometimes it is laughter of how insanely serious we’ve been playing this game of life. Sometimes it is the crack in the door where light spills forth or the whistle in the trees to come play – come play outside yourself. Ollie, Ollie oxen free… Here the gift is pure. Pure Source. Purely Source’d. Pure love.
I hope we find you playing, dancing, healing, sharing, laughing, crying, BEing all who you truly are in or out of this great, sparkling circle of love soon!
Thank you for being here with me. Thank you for being here for this grand journey for us all. Thank you to all angels on this adventure called dancing hands and harmonizing hearts.
With tender and wild aloha… Jane