Back to Nature

I got lucky today. The fam and I took off for the Great Smoky Mountains for a hike up a little creek there called the Middle Prong. We walked about four and a quarter miles in to a nice three-tiered waterfall beset with picturesque pools and framed with rhododendrons whose blossoms are failing and falling now that summer is getting late. For some reason that I can only guess has to do with their mating game, thousands, and I mean thousands, of spicebush swallowtail butterflies were all over the trail and the falls area. Once to the "top," I ditched my shoes and rolled up the hem of my shorts and waded out into the frigid mountain stream, sticking my hand and then my head into the cold, hard-falling water coming off the first tier of the falls, each of which was roughly fifteen to twenty feet in height. Once I adjusted to the temperature of the water, I found a comfortable spot near the middle of the pool but still close enough to catch spray off the falls and assumed the Lion Opens Its Mouth posture and did my standing in knee-deep, chilly water flowing down from a mountain spring located no more than a mile or so from where I was (the top of the mountain wasn't that far away).

My point is twofold. When the chance arises, I like to take my training out into "nature," not just out in my yard, but out in a less-tamed wilderness with cleaner air and a fresher spirit, although I realize that usually my training there has to be rather limited. Turning where I was wouldn't have been advisable due to the terrain, and strikes seemed to not fit the ambiance in the least. Secondly, just about everywhere I go offers a special and unique opportunity to train, to feel the familiar forces in an unfamiliar and perhaps wild environment. It's refreshing and different, and (if you have a camera with, which I did not today) it makes for interesting photos.

Though it wasn't "in the wild," last night, I turned in the dark since Life robbed me of the opportunity to do so during the day. Here, by Life I mean the children, really the child, who chose not to follow simple instructions and led us into a day-long ordeal of sorts. By the time I had the chance to turn, I took it, though it was already quite dark out. The most interesting sensation that came up in the practice was the impression that my slight remaining irritation at the ridiculousness of the day's events seemed to make me feel as though I was revolving around my circle more quickly than usual. According to the clock, I don't think I was, at least not appreciably so, but the sensation was that the entire affair was going much too quickly. It was an interesting experiment in how emotions can affect the quality of a turning session. My take is that it's definitely something to keep in mind.