Learning to Dance

Explorations in the Spiritual Life

Date: August 14, 2004

evening

Tornadoes came to the valleys below, thundershowers flash flooded fire ravaged hills. But not here. We only had the appearance of inclimate weather, without the actual inclement weather itself. The wind would pick up, shadows would disappear, all the land turned dark, but then an hour later all would become a little brighter, the wind would die down, and the air settled to a mere cloudy day.

I had a day of taking care of tasks creative and overdue, so it was a productive day, if not a great day. I feel mellow this evening, unsure of the source, or even whether its a positive or negative kind of mellow.

This is part of what I did, and since it amuses me I’m including it here as well.

Again tonight my mind doesn’t wander over introspective fields, no issues or concerns or delights press my thoughts. I think I need some space, or I’m walking on the right path, and feel only the ease of a well formed groove. Either way I end this day feeling good, ready to move forward, finding moments of inspiration which seem to add up to something over the weeks.

And I watched a moment of the Olympics, several moments, interspersed throughout the day. One of the sports which I never watch which I watched (the reason I like the Olympics is the chance to see obscure sports) was fencing. Images of swashbuckling and musketeers went through my head, only it’s not that. Two men lunging at each other, whoever lunges the quickest wins. No parrying, little movement around, and generally very quick. The reason, I realized, was that fencers care hardly at all about defence. As long as they get the first touch, getting hit in return is meaningless.

Defense, I guess, is what made the old sword fights interesting. You wanted to win, but you had to do so without getting a sword thrust in return. The real art was the defending. Except in sport and ceremony.

Curious, that.

morning

The sun is out, barely. Most of the sky is white rather than blue, the smell of rain still permeates the air, and thunder showers have a thirty percent chance of visiting once again today.

The beauty of all this, besides the drama of a change of weather, is that the temperature is twenty degrees cooler. Such a drop is relaxing, almost too much so.

But I still worked this morning, waking up before dawn and pressing on with website design, trying to get a uit of Romeo and Juliet finished before I leave for a bit on Monday.

Did I mention I’m going to Tombstone, Arizona for the week? I don’t know why. My brother, a high school world history teacher, has become obsessed with the history of the Old West, and when I casually mentioned we should go to Tombstone he not only agreed but ran with the idea far beyond my meager suggestion.

That means a break for me, my first time away for a few years. Given the movement in certain areas in my life I’m not sure I want or need the break, but it will likely be more beneficial for my soul than I realize. Plus, it’s quirky, and nothing rejuvenates my being as much as something quirky. It twists my conceptions and restores a sense of fun and humor which may emaciate from overlong contemplation.

A hummingbird just flew by, and has landed on a cedar branch. Tiny and quick, it is a moment of curiosity for me when I see one paused at rest. I need to get a feeder or appropriate plant. This is the third time I’ve seen one, so I think it would happily make a stop here on its regular route.

That’s that, I guess. Nothing pokes my brain asking for mention, and I sit here this morning neither elated nor depressed. I suppose I’m feeling bland, now that I think about it, but it is a busy bland, an occupied bland, and that is not a bad kind of bland to be.

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