A Tribute

Clifford, a man of sweet energy with a lightness of being, a genuine humbleness. He embraced T’ai Chi Chih practice as if he had already known it. He often called out the movements, stooping low to read them off the page. He approached the practice with reverence and humility, gracefully accepting (even welcoming) small corrections suggested. Whenever there was a handout about the spiritual benefits of the practice, he listened with attentiveness and often nodded in agreement or thanked the reader for a new awareness.

None of us knew much about Clifford. He talked about living in Chicago. He didn’t say much about his family or education. But it didn’t seem to matter; he was complete as he was. Those who visited his tiny studio apartment remarked about its simplicity, its lack of a television, its spiritual feel. One observed that it felt like a monastery.

He usually travelled on foot by skateboard. When entering a room, he usually bounded in, exhibiting an innocent enthusiasm and anticipation. He appeared and acted much younger that his 44 years, but he had the depth and maturity of a much older person. The room brightened upon his entrance, just as our lives were brightened by his presence. He left us too soon, left us longing for his presence, sweetness, energy. Each time we share the practice, Clifford is with us, squinting at the printed movements and sharing his joy.