Stirring the Pot and Scraping Down the Sides

I would like to reply to a theme that I have heard arising in different T’ai Chi Chih settings . . . – at the Seijaku/Meditation Retreat in March, 1996, in The New Mexico T’ai Chi Chih News, and at the 1996 Teachers’ Conference in San Diego: That Justin Stone is just an ordinary guy, an aging old guy and that some part of him is full of likes and dislikes, quirks, habits, etc.

(He has to eat on time, and it has to be a good-sized meal, not too light. He watches football and basketball games on TV and tells you to call back if you happen to phone during the broadcast. He won’t do T’ai Chi Chih outside on the grass. He likes his one old hat and doesn’t want a new one, thank you. He does T’ai Chi Chih at 7:00 a.m. every morning and when you stay at his house, you’ll know because he wakes you up in a time with a loud voice “bellowing” down the hall. Very often he goes to Luby’s Cafeteria for his meals. His favorite breakfast is blueberry pancakes.)

I’ve been studying Justin for a long time. And I used to wonder myself about all these seemingly “oh so human” characteristics. But, after a while of observing him, I finally began to see the incredible craftsmanship of his art. He’s working on all of us! He’s “scraping down the sides” and “stirring the pot”! I don’t believe there really is a Justin Stone left. Maybe I’m blowing his cover, but I find it so hilarious to watch him with others and myself.

One time, before I was completely convinced, he really got me! This was at Seijaku Training in San Diego in February, 1995. It was the last day, and after the morning’s practice, I approached Justin to ask him a question. Now, I don’t remember what the question was, but obviously, it wasn’t supposed to be asked. He was talking to Jim Lestor in a perfectly cheerful “Justin” manner, enjoying himself. Then, as I approached and began to speak, suddenly Justin’s whole face changed to worry as he reached inside his coat pocket.

“Where is my plane ticket?” he called out to Susan Patterson, who was hosting the training.

Susan came right over, “I gave it to you this morning, I saw you put it in your inside coat pocket.”

“I don’t have it,” said Justin, in a pained voice.

Suddenly, Justin had become an upset, feeble old man, unable to be consoled or assisted. He wouldn’t let anyone look in his coat pocket for him. He just kept saying he didn’t have the ticket. Susan stayed calm and said if it didn’t show up, she’d take care of getting him another one. She left for lunch. I, on the other hand, fell into a dutiful grandaughter/nurse role and tried to help him, becoming off-balanced in the process.

At one point in this whole episode, I ended up alone with Justin just outside the door to his room. He had evidently lost the key to his room, too, so Ed, my husband, went to get a spare. In a kind of condescending, talking-to-an-old-feeble-person tone of voice, I asked, “Are you SURE you don’t have the ticket in your coat?”

Justin held his upset, feeble, worried expression, saying nothing, then a little smile cracked through, for just a moment, and on only one side of his face. He quickly regained his feeble expression, saying “Well … yeah. That’s why we’re here. (To search the room).”

At the same time as I saw that smile, and maybe even slightly before, I realized how ridiculous I sounded. I realized what an idiot I was — how did I ever wind up in this mess? This is Justin Stone! I woke up out of the altered state he had so deftly gotten me to slip into. I told Justin I was going to my room and got out of there as quickly as I could.

Ed was in our room. I described the scenario. “Yeah, yeah. But you didn’t know?” he asked, and laughed even harder. By this time, I could laugh — once I realized that I had not really offended Justin — that he was in charge of the whole situation. Laughing at yourself is a great way to let go. It’s pretty hard to keep taking yourself seriously when you’ve just made a complete ass of yourself!

“Where was it?” we asked.

In his coat pocket. (Of course).

Later, in reviewing what had happened, I realized that Justin had even tried to give me a clue, as Susan walked away calmly to lunch, he said, “I never worry about Susan — I know what she’s made of.”

What I have observed is, in teaching, Justin tried different tacts with people, until one works. Sometimes he changes completely into something else. Usually, humor is involved. Tons of his teaching happens at the dinner table.

Justin’s entire life is his teaching. It’s not just when he leads T’ai Chi Chih, Seijaku, or Meditation. Or when he tells spiritual stories.

I truly believe that he has no quirks or desires, but he pretends he does, because somebody (or everybody) around him is in need of seeing the lessons he’s imparting.

When I hear people exclaim, “Justin’s such an ordinary guy” or “He’s so human,” I have to laugh inside. I’m not laughing at the person who said it. I’m laughing at the whole thing. I’m laughing at the perfection of his teaching. I’m laughing at myself. I’m laughing with Justin, (who I am sure is always laughing — he’s always joyous), and I’m laughing in anticipation of all of us laughing when we’ve all gotten the joke!