A New Light

My story begins with a two-week visit to China in March 2008. Throughout my visit, I couldn’t help but notice people, practically everywhere, doing a gentle form of exercise. On the faces of the young and old, I noticed a sense of calm. I was almost hypnotized by their gracefulness. Shortly after returning to the States, a health bulletin advertised T’ai Chi Chih classes with certified instructor Margaret O’Connor at Chilton Memorial Hospital in New Jersey. With nothing to lose, I enrolled and wondered, “What’s a 62-year-old man taking a course like this for?”

I was one of two men in a class of twenty-five. Margaret explained the meaning of TCC and how it differs from T’ai Chi. She taught Around the Platter and Around the Platter Variation. While they were really effortless, somehow they also felt really good. By the end of the first class, I eagerly awaited the second. In the days that followed, I developed a routine that included morning prayers, feeding the birds, and doing the TCC movements that I’d most recently learned. My faithful dog, Satchel, would lie near my side as I practiced; he seemed to know not to disturb me. As I worked through the movements, I became aware of the ever-changing light on the leaves and tree bark. And I recall a moment when the leaves looked like a cascading waterfall. I developed a keen understanding of light – perhaps akin to what Claude Monet understood and expressed in his paintings.

After the fifth week, I noticed physical changes too. Having been diagnosed with diabetes five years ago, it’s been a constant battle to maintain my blood sugar levels. I watch my diet, walk two miles a day, and more. One morning, after pricking my finger for the day’s first reading, I was surprised that my blood sugar had dropped twenty points! I took it a second time to confirm the unexpected. I weighed the constants and the variables, and the only significant factor I could identify was TCC. My blood sugar numbers stabilized after that.

Two weeks later, another surprise was in store. I’d been working on a book of religious poetry, The Cyrenean Prayers, for some ten years and had been experiencing a writer’s slump. After the seventh TCC class, as I was walking through the forest, I was struck with an idea for a poem that I had been mulling over for some time. The thought was there but it didn’t want to take shape; the words refused to be committed to paper. When I returned home, I sat down at the computer and my fingers began hitting all the right keys. In the hours that followed, poem after poem emerged; the floodgates opened. I couldn’t believe that I had finally crossed the finish line with this book. Once again, I looked at the constants and the variables, and … you know the rest.

I truly believe that I’ve received a glimmer of an understanding about the Knowledge of Supreme Ultimate. It’s difficult to put into words – the feelings, the peace, the serenity that TCC provides. I do know I’m more sensitive to light and its nuances. I know I’m more in touch with certain muses. And I know why a certain 62-year-old man took the course. It’s simple really: Joy Through Movement.