End of the Garden

Blimey Limey

2011-04-08T15:27:00.000+01:00

Well, last year I met an NHS angel. I had requested a referral from my local GP to see a specialist in Lyme Disease, someone who knows a bit more than the average medic. After a few months waiting I received an appointment at a hospital that is sort of in my area, a bit of a drive, but hey.

Rolled up at hospital with no expectations - or at least the usual in and out within five minutes, ten at the most that an NHS consultant can offer. After a bit of a wait, an ecg (all OK) and a few other investigations by two nurses I was welcomed in by a most charming gentleman, hand outstretched greeting me with "Your case is very interesting" and a wide smile.

Then followed an illuminating, interesting and heartwarming hour of information about Lyme disease. We peered at web pages on the internet, I learned about bacteria die off - and the tiredness this can cause, which I expereienced for months, and about how pheasants in the UK carry Lyme - which could easily be eradicated by stopping the commercial breeding of the birds, the crucial differences between the USA.

And now I am a fortunate person who had Lyme Disease. I diagnosed it, and the NHS through my local GP and that lovely specialist took action and healing started. All the more reason to protect our wonderful National Health Service.

Rings of Saturn - The Lyme Disease Bull's Eye

2010-04-22T10:31:00.001+01:00

This is my saga of Lyme disease which began in July 2009 and finished, I hope, in April 2010.

In July last year, 2009, I notice a red patch behind my left knee. It didn't itch or hurt. Later that month I saw that it was starting to creep around my knee, so I phoned Anna, homeopath - have been seeing her for over 20 years. Anna asked if the rash was on the knee I had had replaced in 2007. No. She recommended calendula cream and to continue with the homeopathic remedies she had given me when last we met, which I did. Then I forgot about it.

In October I went with my friend Ginnie, in picture, on a jaunce to Portugal - and the weather was amazing, so to the beach we headed, saw dolphins dancing in the sea. We swam in clear blue water under a hot sun. And in that dazzling light I noticed that, like an alien creeping through my body, I still had the central splodgy red rash behind my knee plus two rings of rashes, one heading towards my ankle and the other heading up my left thigh towards my hips. It didn't hurt, it wasn't inflamed (though the central rash was a wee bit hot). Licking our icecreams we inspected it in the sunshine. Then forgot it.

In December I was doing some muck spreading. A neighbour's had grazed her two horses in our paddock for most of the summer leaving piles of lovely manure to be shifted to the vegetable garden. Pushing a laden wheelbarrow up a very muddy slope I wrenched my back. On next London visit in January osteopath Gill got back into form and noticed a heart shaped rash creeping up my back. These rashes resembled the mark of a high tide left behind on the beach, or one of the rings around Saturn, not attached to the original. Still there glowing red was the rash behind my knee. Gill told me to use Tee Tree oil to calm it down and to kill off the infection. So have been a Tee Tree queen ever since.

I don't know about you, but viewing one's back, especially the lower back, requires more contortions than even I with my loose body can manage. It was also far too cold to stand naked in front of a full-length mirror this snow-bound winter. So again forgot about it and had faith that this Tee Tree bombardment would clear it up.

On Monday February 8th I treated myself to The Times, I usually don't feed my newspaper addiction on a Monday as I still have all the weekend papers to plough through. The Times that day had this article:

Lyme disease: ‘I knew whatever was troubling me wasn’t a sports injury’

Lyme is a tick borne bacterial infection, and the ticks live mainly in deer populations. They are very tiny... this fellow on the right is hugely magnified. You can read more about it on this web page: Lyme Disease.

That Times article described EXACTLY what I was experiencing, the bull's eye rash, moving around the body etc. A little brick of heaviness in belly grew as I researched Lyme Disease on the internet. Make an appointment with the doctor. First available appointment was Monday, 15 February. A charming and full of cold man who I have never met before listened with a slight suspension of disbelief: "Lyme disease is rare, and how come you think you have it?" he mumbled through the mucus pouring out of him. "Well, I do live in the sticks and there are deer around these 'ere parts," I responded, my confidence in my self-diagnosis wavering. But he kindly pandered to an aging lady and ordered blood tests: one for inflammation and one for the disease itself.

On Wednesday 17th February I saw a lovely nurse who had to consult a colleague to learn the procedure for the bacterium Borrelia burgdorferi, pictured right, not something she had done before. On the Friday 19th the results of the inflammation tests were in, no inflammation. Phew. Almost two weeks later on Monday 1st March the doctor phoned me at home sounding a little surprised, the second blood test showed I had Lyme Disease and he was leaving an antibiotic prescription (doxycycline, also treats venereal disease) for me at reception. He strongly advised me to take it when I said Anna, homeopath, had given me a remedy for Lyme. He also asked me to come in and have an ecg as Lyme can affect the heart, liver and brain. Oh.

I wavered in what treatment to follow, so phoned a friend or two. But my friends are busy people so no response, and my message was bit veiled, didn't wish to cause alarm. Now knowing that Lyme can be debilitating, swallowed the antibiotics for the next two weeks.

On Friday 5th March had the ecg. The lovely nurse refused to interpret the read-out, she said she didn't know what the wiggles meant. I had a look at it, and there was a little message at the top saying something about an enlargement. I breathed away the little alarm bells tinkling away in my mind.

I was teaching in Birmingham the following morning and requested doctor call me with the result of the ecg on my mobile: heart fine, and the enlargement was natural, the left side of the heart is bigger than the right, he told me. Silly me! Huge relief.

Another blood test a fortnight after finishing the antibiotic course on 30 March. Result came in on 8th April, I learned later when I went into the surgery on 13 April. The receptionist was puzzled by the verdict: reactive. So requested doctor phone, which he did on the evening of 16th April. He didn't get it either and phoned the Southampton microbiologist who had looked at my bloods (that's the term used: bloods) on 19 April, Monday. Spoke again and doctor said that I must have had Lyme for a long time (yes, noticed rash last July) so now my blood carries resistance to it, thus the 'reactive'. Think I have got that right...

So if you notice a rash that looks like a bull's eye or the rings of Saturn, ask for a blood test for Lyme disease. Wear socks and leg coverings if walking where deer roam - it might not be as rare as we think, there are many pretty deer out there, all over the UK.

A Day in Dingestow Village Hall

2010-03-23T17:49:00.001Z

Exhausted. EXHAUUUSTED. Long day, weary, legs aching, feet mashed. Have I overreached myself today? We shall see.

I was up early, had to do hair and slap on make up (oh, where art thou, Rosemarie?) before leaving at around 7.30am. Arrived, made tea, then piddled about for the next coupe of hours whilst Ian set up the lighting and camera. I know from my film experience that the technical aspect always takes loads of time. There is a lovely village shop next to the hall where I bought up all the available daffs to dress the very plain hall and a newspaper to keep me calm before we could start filming. Dingestow is a small village outside Monmouth that happens to have this very smart hall which was built with lottery money in 2001/02 - and opened by Princess Ann, no less. Pictures of her maj in the lobby. Dingestow is a quiet place, just what we needed.

We started the shoot with some easy warm-ups for us both to set the scene, get the lighting adjusted, change a few things. It was then that I acknowledged that my energy was all over the place.

Today for me was psychologically challenging, the physical challenge crept up on me during the day. The challenge was to keep my demons at bay, to silence all the little monkeys whispering 'you are too old to do this', 'you are not good enough', 'your form has gone down the pan' 'who do you think you are, thinking you can make a T'ai-Chi DVD, especially the way you do it now. Twenty years ago, yes, but not now, not at your age and your physical decrepitude, when there are all those extremely fit blokes out there doing it so well....' (don't think I thought the word 'decrepitude' when willing myself not to say to Ian that this was all a huge mistake, let's stop now and go home and do something sensible like have a cup of tea. But it seems to be the correct word to describe my condition today.) So had another cup of tea anyway and didn't go home then. During all this negative bombardment I forced myself to focus on the benefits that this planned DVD might offer to those who study with me - and lots of other people who do not have a great athletic ability. I do believe that our efforts today will encourage many who believe they can't do T'ai-Chi and to think otherwise, to get out of their comfort zones and give it a go. We shall see.

These monkeys clarified why it has taken me so long to be in action around this filming. I am the barrier. And today I did manage to surmount these barriers and just get on with it.

Of course Ian had his demons too! Like me he was doing his best with limited time, limited equipment and an extremely limited budget. An instructional DVD is not exactly high art, it needs to be clear, concise, easy to use.... So I knew this venture was going to challenge his finely honed artistic sensibility, especially when I squashed some of his imaginative suggestions that might have looked wonderful but would have clouded its purpose. Thank you, Ian for your patience and perserverance today - most of all at the end of the day when we tried to re-shoot the complete short form with better lighting. By then my legs had most definitely had it and I started to fall over and had to keep stopping. So we gave up, packed up and drove our separate ways into the pouring rain.

The Winter Solstice, written in December 2007

2010-03-22T10:35:00.002Z

Yesterday I participated in a Winter Solstice ceremony. Our hostess, Chrys, reminded us of the turning of the wheel, that now is the time of the shortest day and the longest. Time to reflect on our achievements of the past year and to let go anything we do not wish to carry forward into the New Year, the time of the sun returning into our lives.

Never have I needed such reminding that circumstances change, like the seasons. These past few months have been a period of deep darkness, a time that on awakening each morning I have consciously taken a vow to be happy, to be grateful for what I do have. Without this constant reminder that life is precious and so much to be appreciated I would have rapidly slipped into a deep depression such were the circumstances of those months.

T'ai-Chi DVD

2010-03-19T16:29:00.000Z

For many years the people who come to my T'ai-Chi classes have been asking for a clear step-by-step DVD of the Yang style Short Form I teach to beginners. I did manage to get a VHS video made a few years ago which took about two years from the filming to the editing, to the packaging and printing and copying before it was ready for use. It was simple film: one camera angle of Matthew, Kate and I going through the short form in St John's Hall, Isleworth. T'ai-Chi practitioners have found it useful but it only presented the front view, so was always a challenge when attempting to copy the movements back to front, so to speak.

Last year in the autumn one of my Monmouth T'ai-Chi student's told me that her husband had a place on Mon-TV's very comprehensive film training course. It is free - and for those who want to know more, it is funded by the Welsh Assembly and tutored by professionals in the media industry. People come from far and wide to participate. Part of the course is writing, shooting and editing a five minute film, and Ian Wallace, Diana's husband, was looking around for a subject. Diana suggested he do something about me, mainly because of my dance background, she thought it might be interesting. Go to Mon-TV to see Ian's film Living Without Regrets, - a title that Ian chose and now I have to live up to. (Thank you, Ian)

Ian has a great eye for framing a picture, he was considerate and organised when working out the storyboard and during the shooting. I was bit nervous at the editing stage, but I think he has condensed the over two hours of material to the required five minutes rather wonderfully. What do you think? Let me know, leave a comment at the end of this blog. Mon-TV think so, they are using Ian's film to show potential fund-raisers, including the Welsh Assembly. And he was given a distinction on graduating from the course, congratulations, Ian

Then the subject of the much requested T'ai-Chi DVD floated into the front of my mind. A guide that offers clear step by step instructions in easy-to-use chapters, that is clear and filmed giving both front and back views, as though the student is standing behind the instructor as in class. I mentioned this to Diana at our T'ai-Chi session last Wednesday and she told me that Ian was going to be taking on some supply teaching soon so would not be available for a few months after Easter. I contacted him the next day, he responded enthusiastically, we met this morning, Friday 19 March, and on Tuesday 23 March we meet to shoot the film in Dingestow Village Hall for an 8am start. If anyone wants to come along and lend a hand, or make a cup of tea, or get your T'ai-Chi slippers on and join in, please do! We need a couple of runners, equipment wranglers etc.

I am making wishes that this time it will not take two years between filming and completion. I'll let you know when it emerges - and keep you updated here as we go through the process of writing, filming, editing, recording the commentary, designing the cover, making copies, packaging....

What Happens on a Qigong & Meditation Retreat Week?

2010-03-13T13:05:00.004Z

When I arrived on Holy Isle in September 1999 Lama Yeshe Rinpoche gave me instructions for my year of retreat. To my surprise Lama provided only two guidelines one of which was to not do anything unless I could rejoice. Not what I had expected to hear. The subtly of this has been filtering through ever since: can I also rejoice when things fall apart as well as on a sunny day when all's well?

Lama's instruction is a precious gift that I share freely with others through Qigong and T'ai-Chi, which I have been practising and teaching for many years. When in the summer of 2003 The Centre of World Peace and Health opened I immediately offered to lead Qigong & Meditation Retreat weeks. I knew from my year on Holy Isle that this place would make a superb holiday destination offering beauty, wellbeing and adventure.

At the beginning of each course I guide everyone through a deep relaxation that allows his or her retreat to begin after the convoluted journey to the island. Over a week or weekend course participants, always a mix of ages, backgrounds, beliefs and abilities, learn the gentle, releasing and healing movements of Wild Goose Medical Qigong. We practice this flowing form alongside simple peaceful mind and loving kindness meditations. People who have arrived as strangers rapidly form friendships as the work and the island weave their magic. Many are at a watershed in their lives. The company, the practise sessions and the non-denominational spiritual sanctuary of Holy Isle provide a space for insight and inspirational choices to bubble through.

As well as the Qigong and meditation the island itself is restorative. In the afternoons, which are kept free for all to enjoy its beauty, participants might climb the mountain even though their greatest fear is of heights - and return filled with glowing confidence. Another day they may help in the garden, take walks along the shores and some plunge into the cold waters of the Firth of Clyde. All reasons to rejoice! The volunteers who so generously look after Holy Isle ask visitors to help in the kitchen. These could be labelled Laughter Sessions, for this is what is heard during the cleaning and washing up.

Relaxed and revitalized participants take back home with them skills to sustain their own ability to rejoice. Katherine's feedback speaks for many:

'What a wonderful, magical and transformational week. I arrived tired and depleted and now have fully restored, and with so much more than I ever imagined.'

And the other instruction that Lama Yeshe gave me at the beginning of my retreat year? I'll share this with you when next we meet on Holy Isle, the perfect place to study the art of rejoicing!

Still Breathing!

2010-02-03T09:44:00.024Z

Today, Thursday February 4th, is my birthday - one of those birthdays that are termed 'a big one'. And as I rejoice at the daily miracle of still being able to breathe each morning on awakening, I decided that this is not the time to be coy and say silly things like 'I am as old as my tongue and little bit older than my teeth' when friends politely slalom away from the question of age as though none of us really wants to know how old anyone is thus giving us the opportunity to gauge how we are doing ourselves when we slyly compare skin, teeth, health, hair, vigour and shape (a very subjective statement that tells you a lot about me...). Yes, we all secretly want to have an inkling of everyone's age - go on, admit it. So today I toss into the (yes, I know, very small as not many of you read this, but thank you for doing so) arena the fact that today I celebrate surviving 65 years. Not a great age, but still breathing.

Yet I can't quite believe I've got this far, and still feeling like a spring chicken - but the woman who looks back at me in the mirror is most certainly not the one that I am expecting to see, as in this picture of me taken a few years back (not many) holding my precious doll, Mary. The current version is much more like my mother, or dare I say it, my grandmother, who both seemed as old as Methusula when I was younger... Anyway, if you follow this link, Mon-TV you can see the plumped up older model for yourself. It's a lovely little film, nice pictures, thank you, Ian Wallace, who made it.

So, do I now start knitting, give up driving, stop working - or pack my knapsack to sail the seven seas, climb Everest and go and live in a hut in the Himalayas - or move into sheltered accommodation, or book a single ticket to Switzerland, or retire to a sunny spot, maybe Spain or India or South America and chew the cud, or mangoes, in endless warmth? So many choices. Advice please.

Currently none of the above fits. For the present I have decided to carry on as I have always done: learning something new regularly - I am attending a Wild Goose Qigong course next weekend in Manchester led by Sheila. I am utterly committed to my current classes and retreats in Monmouth, Pontypool, Abergavenny, Twickenham, Stourbridge and on Holy Isle. I am hugely grateful for the ongoing education I receive from all the courageous (yes, T'ai-Chi is difficult) people who rock up to the T'ai-Chi, Qigong, meditation sessions and residential retreats. And also to those who come along for a therapeutic massage which I offer at lovely Lorraine's Relaxation & Therapy Rooms. And I plan to do more gardening, cooking, walking, dancing, sudoku, reading, Qigong, writing, MONEW newsletter editing, eating, T'ai-Chi, wine drinking, meditating, slimming, tax paying - and top of the list, nurture and value every amazing friendship that my never-boring life has blessed me with - and you know who you are!

I was recently inspired by a woman who was the teacher of Dr Hu, an excellent man, Qigong teacher and Chinese medicine practitioner, no tardis, now well into his 70s (I am guessing here, maybe someone will put me right on this). His teacher, Grandmaster Yang, Mei-jun, died when she was 106 years old. Apparently she was still teaching at 102. That's her, wielding a sword, not sure how old she was then, probably pushing a hundred years. So my aspiration is to keep going, teaching, practising and all, at least until 103 (why stop at 102?) if my genes offer this. Way to go, don't you agree? Sword in hand, yes. Memo, must buy sword.

So not for me sliding into graceful old age (or wearing too much purple) but my plan is to get out there as long as my great good health allows and celebrate each moment of this precious, precious life. And keep reminding myself to accept whatever life places into my own small begging bowl. For me the myth that we have choices is questionable: I may appear to make my own choices, but actually all I am doing is responding as skillfully as I can to the conditions that life presents to me each and every moment. Some of which are marvelous, and some challenging. Gird loins, (wield sword?) offer gratitude and carry on.

Happy birthday to all February fourthers! And to all the other Aquarians reading this who share this snowdrop time of the year to celebrate their arrival on earth.

Please, light a candle, make a cake and celebrate your own birthday today. Every day is our birthday. Raise a glass and sip precious nectar, share a plate of delicious food with a friend, be emotional, laugh, cry and have fun - and remember the words of dear Lama Samten spoken in his Tibetan-Kiwi accent:

THE MEANING OF LIFE IS TO BE HIPPY

Our dancing world

2010-01-17T09:42:00.013Z

On Friday 15 January it was a white world here:

On Saturday 16th it thawed and flooded.

And revealed this magic that had been pushing up under a thick blanket of snow:

And on Sunday the floods disappeared, the sun shone and the fields are green.

It is very heartening to remember that things do change, nothing is permanent, and that the dance of life flows on carrying it with us - whether we want to move or not... So I might as well loosen up, be flexible and keep my heart open to all possibilities.

Come dance with me!

Happy New Year

Happy Christmas!

2009-12-25T09:53:00.007Z

Happy Christmas! It is a white one here.

Seen recently: two beautiful foxes walking over the snow right by the house a couple of days ago. A few weeks ago when coming home late I saw a white barn owl, like a ghost floating through the trees. yesterday driving back through the white sunny countryside a Buzzard was sitting on a telephone wire.

Two pictures taken this morning on Christmas day

And may 2010 bring you all joy, peace, health and prosperity

The Abhina Foundation: How did this come to be?

2009-04-29T09:48:00.024+01:00

What did you dream of becoming when you grew up? I bet it wasn't the founder and chair of a charity! I know this did not feature on my life plan. My dreams all focused on my passion: dance. And dance I did. Dance has taken me to places and opened doors that were never part of that first childish dream of being a ballerina. My dance took me to performing, choreography, teaching, working in film, theatre, TV, cabaret. I danced on stages, studios, art galleries, village halls, lawns, islands, mountains, schools, universities, communities; in India, New Zealand, Peru, Colombia, Curacao, Algeria, Egypt. most European countries, Mexico, Turkey, Iran, Sri Lanka.....

And it was as a movement tutor at LAMDA that I met Anoja Weerasinghe, Sri Lankan film star. Anoja took a year out in 1989 of a very successful career, she had previously won the best actress award at the Asian 'Oscars' in Delhi, to study acting on LAMDA's one year classical theatre course. During this time we became firm friends. And yes, it was an extraordinary action that Anoja took - to study acting whilst at the pinnacle of her career. But then that is Anoja, an extraordinary and inspiring being.

My first visit to Sri Lanka was as an adjunct to the British Council sponsored trip I was making to India in my role as a theatre director and movement teacher. On that first trip Anoja requested that I devise and deliver a month long course for all the leading Sri Lankan film artists. In the middle of this on 1st May 1993 the president Ranasinghe Premadasa was assassinated by the LTTE in a suicide bombing. This was my introduction to the volatility and violence of the politics in this small and beautiful country. Premadasa's funeral opened my eyes to the power that performers have when they glow from a silver screen into the lives of others. My early passion was ignited, I saw clearly how important it is to have skilled, talented and truthful performers entering our living rooms and cinemas on a daily basis.

I returned many times to Sri Lanka over the following years, I designed and delivered courses to varying groups of people: teachers, actors, dancers, singers, social workers, psychiatrists, doctors, community leaders and others. Some of these courses brought together teachers and community leaders from all over Sri Lanka to Bellangwilla Temple in Mount Lavinia. These groups were a mixture of men, women, Tamil and Singhalese, Hindu, Buddhist, Christian, and Muslim. The emphasis of these 14 day courses was on theatre in its most ancient, sacred and healing apparel, a theatre of uniting communities that transcends separating beliefs.

My own search for healing was ongoing. I had never held the notion that I could help others. I struggled with life in my own little bubble. I went on courses, workshops and trainings looking for insight. I studied T'ai-Chi, Qigong, massage, Reiki, meditation, anger management, NLP, shamanism, Buddhism and other self-development philosophies. I met several wise and compassionate teaches who helped me, and continue to support me, be kind to myself and extend this kindness to others. I respnded to an urge to learn T'ai-Chi in 1986. I started teaching it in 1990 when a group came to me wanting to learn. Through teaching others I have gradually learned more about myself. In 1999 I went into retreat to deepen my meditation practice. One of the treasures I took from this time in retreat was some advice Suzuki Roshi gave to one of his students when told that she wished to help others. 'Be careful', Suzuki said to her, 'Sometimes when we we help we harm.'

How to help without harming? Running a charity is fraught with the dangers of harming when intending to help.

Sri Lanka, a land unparallelled in its beauty, is also a land with a unique set of challenges. The Tsunami of 2004 devastated the country and its people. The on-going war has spanned over thirty years and has left over 70,000 dead, many more wounded and an unimaginable number scarred. and displaced.

In 2005, not long after the tsnuami, I went to Sri Lanka to find out for myself how to support the work that Anoja was doing to aid those suffering the effects of that disaster and the on-going civil war. Anoja was leading all the community courses herself, wearing herself to a frazzle, travelling all over the country to respond to the many requests for her and her team. To help spread this load I returned in January 2006 and delivered a course to train the trainers, enabling many more people to have the skills to go out into the remote areas and work with communities in shock. This programme has carried on since then and is supported by the Norwegian government.

After the tsunami Anoja and I gathered a group of committed professionals from Sri Lanka and the UK to form The Abhina Foundation. Abhina uses the Performing Arts as a means of developing people, of healing hurts, of refining talent, of releasing anger, of honing skills, and equipping people with confidence; to live life fully, to work creatively, and mostly to be free.

After the disasters of the 2004 tsunami and the ongoing civil war, where so many people lost everything, the replacement of material goods, jobs and homes to live in was a priority. But beyond that is the task of enabling individuals and communities to lift themselves out of dependency and depression to a place of hope and creativity. This is the work of the Abhina Foundation, offering hope where before there was only bleakness.

The work of Abhina is urgently needed as the situation in Sri Lanka worsens and thousands are homeless. On Friday May 22nd we aim to raise sufficient funds to ensure this vital work continues in the camps scattered across Sri Lanka that give temporary shelter to all those displaced as a result of the current crisis.

We can all help and every penny goes where it is needed

Be there on 22 May- or if you really, really cannot join us, buy tickets to be part of
The Clothes Swap Evening!

I look forward to receiving your donation, made payable to 'The Abhina Foundation UK' and to seeing you on Friday May 22nd at Bridges, 6.30pm - 9.30pm for an uplifting and inspiring evening. And if you cannot attend your ticket will go into the raffle.

Warm wishes
Sue Weston

Autumn Morning

2008-09-26T09:25:00.009+01:00

It is the most wonderful autumn day: dawn arrived with a soft mist, now the sun is breaking it up. Whispy fingers linger over the hills. I have just sat outside munching breakfast, sipping tea, watching 'house' pheasants nibble seeds offered to them and other birds of all colours flitting round the the bird table. Will soon go into the fields and pluck some blackberries to go with our fine harvest of apples. Blackberry and apple pie, jelly - and maybe even some chutney.

Yesterday evening I initiated a new Beginners T'ai-Chi Course in Abergavenny. That first class, when people rock up, slightly nervous, their bodies telling them that this is something that is useful, their minds a bit scattered at actually being there and then at the realisation that they are starting to do some of the slow, languid moves for themselves. And it is OK, because everyone else is also engrossed in the magic of being gentle and slow. Taking all the time in the world. When do we do that?

Good atmosphere in the class, but as always, the usual hurdles to jump over. The main one is lack of confidence in our abilities. So many of us can rapidly plunge into a 'I can't do this' mode. Over the years I have sought various ways to allow people to stay with T'ai-Chi even though their belief is that they are not good enough. My main tool is introducing the notion of practice being a place of refuge, a moment in maybe a busy and stressful day, where we can breathe deeply, relax, soften, spend time making friends with any knots, tensions or pain we might be carrying in our bodies, to put to one side all our worries, plans and fears, and simply breathe and move and focus gently, not worrying about getting anything 'right'. I want practice, like it is for me, to be something DELICIOUS, something we really wish to taste each and every day. Then the true values of T'ai-Chi practice will seep into all aspects of our lives. Through the gradual entering of the practice we no longer have to make an effort to be at ease or make an effort to meet life's obstacles with equanimity. It begins to happen naturally. And one day we turn round and notice that yes, I have handled that situation so differently to how I used to. And feel good about ourselves. Very good.

And today, what a day to stand still, breathe deeply, open our hearts wide, lift our arms to the sun, connect softly with our bodies, cultivate ease, settle into our inner ground, and celebrate this precious, short life we are all given!

Waiting in Ambush

2008-08-06T21:11:00.016+01:00

Don't Wait in Ambush. I love this slogan. It is one of the Buddhist Mind training slogans. There are 59 of these pithy sayings. They are all a bit tough, designed to wake us up. This one refers to the fact that most of us aspire to be 'nice' people. But sometimes we reveal our ability to attack others when they show weakness. Especially those who might be making themselves a bit more prominent out there in the world. Not that I am referring to the current cult of celebrity here, I am referring to actions far more mundane. Someone like myself, for example. I have practiced and taught T'ai-Chi for many years. It is something that grew from a life-long passion and interest in the philosophy of movement. It is how I earn my living, teaching T'ai-Chi and Qigong. I have chosen not to use my skills in the realms of adult education but to work independently, giving me freedom to be autonomous in my work and seek the greatest benefit to those who study with me as as myself. In order to get the courses into the public eye and thus let those know about them who wish to study this martial art I have to look for and book rooms to work in, write and distribute publicity, keep my web page updated and many other administration tasks, a considerable effort, requiring skill and financial investment. My experience of others who have never worked independently is that they often do not have a picture of the self-employed, which is understandable.

So how does all this activity refer to the slogan 'Don't wait in Ambush'? In order to get my T'ai-Chi classes available to the public I have to stick my head above the parapet. I allow myself to be noticed in the region that my classes will generate interest. This isn't a big deal. I am not looking for world recognition! I am only disseminating information in a small area, the areas in which I hold these classes. In doing this, I lay myself open to comments that might not be useful if I took them too seriously. Comments such as "the Weston empire moves on" or "I see you are taking over the spiritual life of Monmouth." Yes, people do say these things, and more! Ambushed!

I was at a concert recently. A male voice choir. One of the two soloists was a hugely talented young man of 18. When introduced it was mentioned that he was receiving vocal training. The purity of his voice sent shivers through me. His commitment to the song he was singing was total, very rare in a singer, amateur or professional. In the interval I went to find out more about his training, assuming he must be heading for an operatic career. He told me that he was studying to be a primary school teacher, the singing lessons were on the side. One of his fellow choir members butted in saying, "We can't let him get big-headed." It was said lightly, laughingly, but it was said. I thought about this then reflected, "Culturally we tend to put down those who are talented, we tend not to openly celebrate their gift." I continued, "There are many primary school teachers, and they are very precious, but we have few great singers with your obvious talents."

I left it at that.

How many of you aspiring artists and enterprising women and men have stopped in your tracks for fear of what others may say or think? How many of you have had the courage to nurture your gift then offer it to the world? And then claim the right to receive payment for the initiative you have shown in developing your skills and talents into something that others can benefit from?

More pertinently: have you ever put someone else down when they shared an idea they had with you? Have you ever been less than enthusiastic when another succeeds at their new venture, or widens their sphere of ope

ration? Are you able to celebrate another's success and achievements? Are you able to wholeheartedly encourage a friend's efforts to build an income for themselves through their own talents and skills? Or does a twinge of envy or jealousy prevent your heart from opening to their initiatives?

I taught at some of the major drama schools in London for many years. Quite swiftly I saw that the culture that most talented young actors arrived with was not useful for their development as actors, vulnerable creatures all. I saw that their ability to put each other down had come from a culture that encouraged criticism and analysis, both useful in their place. It was a

picking to pieces culture and a cutting down to size mentality. As a young dancer I was fortunate to witness and receive how the more experienced dancers in the company unstintingly gave of their knowledge and talent to the newcomers. Praise was offered on a daily basis for achievements. Help was given when it was noticed that a dancer was struggling. I passed this craft of enabling others onto the young actors requesting that they learn how to celebrate another's success, to always put themselves in the shoes of the prizewinner. That feels good, being a winner. Can we allow another to feel good? If I can get a sense of your success, be you for a moment, than I can celebrate your achievement. And if you succeed, then chances are that I might one day!

Waiting in ambush is the path of the coward, not the warrior. Our ability to communicate generously from our hearts is what makes us human warriors, fearless operators in a turbulent world, whatever our line of business.

Celebrate your own achievements, cheer another's. Allow what others say if it teeters over into cynicism or criticism to wash over you. Yet always open your heart to those who ambush you (or if you ambush another yourself), it is only their fear of taking action and making their mark that is being revealed. It is our duty to use the talent we are born with, find the teachers, develop the platform, deepen our insight, offer to the world. then those who wish to benefit from our skills and gifts will. They are waiting, and not in ambush.

Specsavers

2008-04-09T16:51:00.003+01:00

Time for new glasses. Actually time for a new prescription months, if not a couple of years back. So on Thursday last I rolled up for my appointment with the optician at Specsavers on Mono Street.

Have you tried to find a suitable set of frames when you can’t see clearly? In the opticians in Hounslow where last I purchased a new set of specs, there was either the possibility of temporary contact lenses or a video camera that allowed one to see the effect of new frames with old glasses in place. No such service here in the sticks. I wandered around with their only magnifying mirror trying to ascertain if the glasses made me look old, trendy, ridiculous, OK or very elegant. It was the latter I was after.

I was called into the treatment room. There was the usual eye-testing and eye-watering paraphernalia on display. I sat myself in the electric chair.

“Can you see the bottom line?” asked the Welsh Bangladeshi (I had inquired) optician

“No,” I said, wishing that I could. In life, particularly.

He loads yet more lenses on to the mediaeval metal contraption digging into the bridge of my nose. He leans over and reads my details which include my date of birth. Is nothing secret these days? No, of course not.

He starts to make gentle ‘retirement’ chit-chat as he fiddles with his machines.

“Are you retired?”

I am never quite sure how to answer that one.

“Not really,” I explain, “I have always been freelance so don’t quite get the idea of retirement.”

“What do you do?” he politely and rather uninterestedly asks with his back to me as he reaches into yet another case filled with glass lenses.

For some reason that day I gave an honest answer.

“I teach T’ai-Chi, meditation and Qigong.” I explain, “I also practice therapeutic massage and Reiki.”

Usually I mutter something along the lines of ‘This and that’ staying purposely vague about my skills. I have in the past attracted odd and unwelcome reactions to what interests and excites me. I don’t know why I was so open that day.

“Where do you teach?” he asks.
I explain briefly about The Bridges Centre, wondering if because I can now see the bottom line with my left eye and that the red circle is brighter than the green one he has a arrived at a formula for my prescription, all the time worrying about how to choose new frames when I can’t see them without my current glasses in place.

His next question jolts me out of my anxiety:

“Do you write?”

Well, having attended a creative writing course for the past few months since moving to Monmouth my answer was an unconditional “Yes.”

“I run an events magazine and we need an article for the next issue. Would you write one?”

Well, the question of what frames would suit and how I was going to choose something that was flatteringly fashionable and didn’t make me appear an old fogey was swept away. It isn’t every day one gets requested for an article from a commuting-from-Cardiff optician. He tells me that he does the Specsavers job part-time, at other times he edits his magazine and also is a life-coach. And currently the next issue of Ubizy, for that is the name of his A5 free publication distributed to all the bars, restaurants, cinemas, theatres, art-galleries and civic centres in Cardiff and Swansea, lacks one feature writer.

When I get home I immediately look for the magazine on the internet. It is a groovy little publication with some interesting articles amongst the advertisements. It resides at www.ubizy.com, have a look for yourself.

A few days later I sent an article down the tubes to him, with the message that I welcomed feedback and suggestions. He responded pretty quickly:

Hi Sue

The article was good but i think the lay person may not be aware of the practical benefits of T'ai-Chi or the how it can help them in everyday life. Would it be possible to alter the article to a more practical perspective?

The intro and history of T'ai-Chi is great, but i think the public would want to know what the 'Supporting The Sky' and 'Instant Flow' will help them to achieve.

I hope you take this as constructive criticism rather than be offended. I’m only looking at it from a reader perspective

thanks and cheers again

David

I replied:

Absolutely the feedback required, you know your audience. So good to get constructive advice. Will have another look, and send another version soon.

He wrote:

Thanku so much

I was a bit worried as you are an expert in your field, but l don't want the reader ignoring your article!

So the more practical it looks the better.

We will also add a photo / cartoon to get attention grabbing cues for it,

I re-wrote the article attaching this note with the second submission:

Have had a bit of a rewrite, refocused the article. Hope this fits the bill better. Please do let me know if more adjustments required: it is so useful for me to go through this process. T'ai-Chi is such a vast subject, getting it into a few pithy, accessible words is challenging! Also, I am not bothered about the title, the one I have given it is only a suggestion.

Look forward to your comments.

On Monday received this:

Sue

Perfect

Thanks and speak to you soon

Regards

DR

I have often wondered how a writer gets commissioned. Now I know. Have an eye test. At Monmouth Specsavers. On a Thursday. And get scribbling.

Tai-Chi, The Secret Strengthener

2008-02-26T10:29:00.004Z

Many people have heard of T’ai-Chi and have no idea what it is. T’ai-Chi Ch’uan means ‘Ultimate Supreme Form of Boxing’, no messing there. A surprise to most is that T’ai-Chi is a martial art. A martial art in its purest form is self-protection, an inner and outer awareness. When I first started T’ai-Chi in 1986 I knew nothing of this, only that it was an unusual exercise form performed very slowly. The martial art aspect was a revelation opening up a whole new world that linked physical health with mental strength and self-confidence.

Having osteoporosis can affect our balance, flexibility and poise; one fall can lead to a huge loss of confidence. In trying to protect ourselves we limit our activity, our world shrinks, our health suffers. Learning T’ai-Chi all those years ago transformed me; it improved my general health and taught me skills to deal with all the ups and downs of life. During many years of teaching T’ai-Chi and Qigong I have watched people change and become balanced; physically softer and stronger and growing in self-confidence. This is true self-defence, one that has none of the hard punching, kicking and other acrobatics of a Kung Fu movie.

Recommended by NICE as suitable exercise for people with osteoporosis, T’ai Chi and its relative, Qigong (pronounced Chi Kung) are excellent ways to help maintain balance, bone density and flexibility. Both forms of exercise strengthen muscles and joints, help to stabilize blood pressure, ease breathing and calm the mind. In China Qigong practice is prescribed in hospitals for many medical conditions. Meaning ‘energy work’ it is simpler than T’ai-Chi to learn so is suitable for those who haven’t attended a formal exercise class for a while, and both offer similar benefits.

The relaxed, circular movements of T’ai-Chi and Qigong appear like waterless swimming, a smooth continuous, flowing dance. Do you remember those inserts on BBC TV? One was a group practising T’ai-Chi by a lake like a flock of red birds in slow- motion. These graceful movements have none of the hardness of other martial arts, the power, strength and healing properties lie in this softness. The slow pace allows us time to become aware of physical and mental habits developed over years and gradually we can adjust to a more beneficial way of breathing, standing and moving. Over time strength and flexibility improve without stressing joints and straining muscles which can occur with more vigorous exercising.

To help understand the simplicity of these forms try this ‘Supporting the Sky’ Qigong exercise at home. Stand with the feet 12-18 inches apart and parallel. Gently release tension by imagining your limbs are like over-cooked spaghetti; heavy, soft, warm and flexible. Spaciously breathe in and out several times. Imagine your back is long and wide. On a long in-breath slowly float the arms up in front of you in a ‘ward-off’ posture (imagine a huge beach ball between your arms) until they are as high as you can comfortably take them. On a complete out-breath open the arms wide floating them down towards the thighs. At the same time slowly bend the knees in time with the out-breath keeping the heels on the floor. Repeat this sequence several times taking all the time in the world. Relax the belly and jaw, feel more weight in the feet and soften the shoulders. Stop if anything is uncomfortable; work with how you are, and not with how you wish to be.

Raising the arms promotes fuller, easier breathing. Working with knees bent tones the calves, helps circulation and preserves bone density. Moving slowly and calmly deepens our self-awareness and allows confidence to grow.

T’ai-Chi & Qigong help us to make friends with our bodies and their inevitable changes. A good teacher will encourage you along the way and will have that twinkle in the eye, the essence of enjoyable T’ai-Chi & Qigong practice. Take the first step; find a teacher and begin learning. Now!

Our Lady of Tintern

2007-09-10T20:59:00.000+01:00

Yesterday Jeanne and I had the most wonderful and sacred time at Tintern Abbey, in the Wye Valley. For those who don't know, Tintern Abbey is the ruin of a Cistercian Monastery that was knocked about in the Reformation (Cromwell and all that), about 500 years or so ago. William Wordsworth wrote a poem, go to to read it http://www.blupete.com/Literature/Poetry/WordsworthTinternAbbey.htm : He composed this a few miles above Tintern Abbey, on revisiting the banks of The Wye during a tour. July 13, 1798.

We had read in a local paper that there was to be sung vespers in the ruins so off we trotted. Wonderful weather, with our folding chairs and warm clothes (not needed) and joined about 1000 others, turn-out amazing! Loads of monks, nuns and other ordained beings, looked like a Gilbert and Sullivan opera when they processed into the ruined Abbey together. No organ, so we all sung gustily a cappella the hymns and antiphones and psalms and all. What Jeanne and I hadn't known about was that a statue to our Lady of Tintern was being blessed. This statue, see http://www.ourladyoftintern.co.uk/ was recently carved by Philip Chatfield, who specializes in medieval techniques recreated (and created) this Lady of Tintern from being shown bits of a statue that was found in ruins, He had carved this over the past two years. So the vespers yesterday were dedicated to Our Lady of Tintern, and it was the most feminine of Christian services I have ever attended.

Whilst on Holy Island this August for the Qigong & Meditation Retreat I was re-inspired (inspiration faded somewhat in years post retreat) to restart daily Green Tara practice. Marvelous, great stuff, imaging strong powerful deity and oodles of compassion from her each day. Making prayers for fearlessness as we start this new life here at Mill House Farm in Llanvihangel Ystern Llewern. And there we were, sitting in the magnificent ruins of the Abbey with swallows flying overhead, the view of the green Wye Valley through the huge empty window frames, the sky overhead, the pillars soaring up.... Watching a beautiful, alive statue being blessed with Holy Water and Incense whose pungent perfume spread throughout the ruined Abbey.

The homily was delivered by Rt Revd Br Stuart Burns OSB, Abbot of Burford, a very Scottish guy and very straightforward. He chose as his subject the time that Jesus as a child had gone missing and his parents spent three days looking for him and finally found him in the temple talking to the doctors: and Mary told the doctors to listen to his son. Br Burns made the point that there is a huge hunger for spirituality yet no-one thinks to look in a church, all sorts of other means are explored. And he added that he understood, as the Church is in a mess. His words. And he is right. he also spoke about how some think that the Church as we know it has to die in order for it to find again its strength. And more. I hope there will be a transcript on the web soon. Will look out for it.

Praising God outside in a ruined Abbey with centuries of prayer and silence and reflection seeping into the land and ruined walls is good. As we drove back to Mill House Farm, after joining people, bishops and monks and nuns in Tintern Village Hall for tea and cake, I felt and saw the power of the land around here. And feel truly blessed to be living in such a beautiful and sacred part of Britain, of Wales.

Pray for us as we start our journey here, a journey to offer people a place for healing, relaxation and inspiration. I feel the love of the wider community of our friends out there - and here too, helping where help is needed in all sorts of wonderful ways. helping this transformation of us, this building, our land, our lives - your lives?

May Our Lady of Tintern and Green Tara together bless our endeavours and bring blessings to all who touch us and whom we touch.

Red Handbag Hoist

2007-07-12T10:25:00.000+01:00

Never hang your handbag on the back of your chair when eating out. A rule I abide by at all times. Always keep handbag safely nestling between feet, or on lap.

Recently I bought a lovely red handbag from designer Monica Boxley. Beautiful thing, an interpretation of a handbag Monica copied from a 1940s photo of her mother. Too good to go on the floor, too big to sit comfortably on my lap. We met in a nice eatery, Café Rouge in Strand on The Green, up market Chiswick. So I hung the bag on the back of my chair.

Later, CiCi who was sitting opposite me with a view of the whole café quietly asked me if I had a bag on the back of my chair? Yes, I said as I turned round and felt suddenly naked. No.

CiCi got up and went out, she asked Bob to accompany her and both ran to her car. I phoned the police and reported the theft. And then did a mental list of what I had in the bag: my one and only car key, passport (moving home the next day and that day had been hurrying around various banks to move money, all had wanted proof of identity), all my bank, credit, debit and membership cards, Freedom Pass, cheque book, diary, my wallet with some of the above in and about £50 in cash, new sim card set up to change server, keys to Rosemarie's flat, the key to our new home in Wales... Breath out, let it all go. At least I am insured.

The police told me they would come immediately.

CiCi drove back to café. Sitting beside her Bob held my bag aloft. The most amazing sensation of relief.

They had caught up with the woman who had lifted my bag. She had met a man outside the café and both walked off together. Bob and CiCi had swiftly caught up with them. She stopped the car, leapt out and approached them, leaving the car doors wide open. Bob challenged the woman, who had the bag in one hand and the wallet in her other hand. "You took that bag". She, and the man, said they had found it. They gave the bag back and threw the wallet on the ground. Bob challenged them again. They started protesting and shouting, CiCi withdrew: "Thank you, thank you, that's fine, that's fine." And the woman gave her a kiss on the cheek and said in a very heavy Irish accent "God bless you, God bless you" over and over again. She appeared drunk. Later the detective told me that in this sort of petty crime the perpatrators are always very desperate, drug addicts or the like.

As we celebrated the magical return of my bag, me checking the contents, a rather shabby blue car with a blue light flashing on its roof sped up the road and did a sliding turn into a car parking space. Two very fit young men casually dressed got out showing us their identity cards. Quickly they took in the situation and asked CiCi to come with them whilst they did a search of the area. Bob and Rowan, our young 13 year old friend, looked on with envy as she was driven off in this very souped up police car.

The police phoned me back. I gave them all the details I knew. The plain police car returned and I handed my phone over to CiCi.

Missing from my bag, very little. they had taken all the cash, coins included, and the Freedom Pass, today canceled. Blessings and luck - and CiCi's amazing instinct and ability to act diverted what would have been a most inconvenient result. Today I drive down the M4 to our new property in Wales. Without the contents of my bag containing all sorts of essential items this would have been possible, at least, not today..

What amazing friends I have. And how little I yet understand that first posture in T'ai-Chi: attention. And how what was going to be a simple farewell supper to West London with friends turned into a theatrically dramatic evening.

And Rowan did get a ride in the police car. The Sergeant driver took him round the block as the detective took statements from waiters and others. His evening, as a car mad young teenager, was just made.

My hero: the amazing and beautiful (and very tall) CiCi!

Change and Moving On

2007-03-01T08:50:00.000Z

When I first started learning T'ai-Chi in 1986 my teacher, Dr John Kells, used to talk about change, that T'ai-Chi was a vehicle to help us to deal with the changes that arise in our lives. I thought I had got this. But it took me several years to understand what he was referring to. I simply assumed that because my life had been very nomadic I could and did deal with change with ease. But then the other changes that affect each and every one of us as we move through life started to affect me: people close to me dying, the work I had relied on for so many years no longer being available, my own personal development and growth; not all comfortable issues to absorb and accept. And I started to understand the more subtle ways of dealing with change beyond moving from country to country and lugging the same baggage wherever I rocked up. I started to understand that the soft yielding strength of T'ai-Chi could help me through some extremely devastating changes. It was not there to make anything 'better', but to help me to stay present, accept, grieve and learn. And change.

The T'ai-Chi form is a model for life: it begins in great simplicity, like birth, becomes more complicated, as in life when starting to learn and earn a living, evolve partnerships and friendships, have children, make financial commitments and all the other things in life that can keep us awake at night. Then we head towards death.

Last year one of The Islworth School of T'ai-chi Ch'uan's long term students and assistant teachers, a beautiful woman called Christine, took early retirement at 55. A few short months later she was dead. She died with great grace. It was still shocking to lose such a splendid friend and colleague. Her unexpected and sudden death underlined the realities of our short lives: none of know when we will die, and that NOW is the moment to start living those dreams. Her death moved me profoundly - and I remember her with love and warmth. And got me thinking about my own life and if I was being fair to my own dreams.

There is one dream I have held for many years and a group of us have shared this dream together. This dream is to live in community, to have a place where we can give each other space whilst at the same time support each other. The others in this small circle are still tied up with their every day careers and child raising duties. But Jeanne, my sister, and I are a bit more footloose and fancy free at this stage in our lives. So we decided to go for it. To not wait any longer, but at least get the ball rolling towards the formation of community. The others can join us when they are ready. Both our properties are now under offer and I suspect I will be leaving Isleworth very soon now. And yes, this has been a bit of a shock to me! It is lovely here, I have loads of dear friends, great transport, a village atmosphere, a garden and a very comfortable home. A part of me can't quite grasp that I am letting this go, making a change and moving on to new challenges.

Together we have put an offer on a large property near Monmouth. It is secluded but not isolated. When we started to search for this place of our dreams, where we could host residential courses and retreats, we drew up a list of criteria and looked in Devon, Cornwall and Wales. The place that matched our list and touched our hearts is two miles outside Monmouth, on the Welsh borders, so it is very easy to get to. It has a Victorian walled garden, about nine acres of land which includes three paddocks, ancient woodland and a stream with a waterfall. The property itself has the potential to become a warm, comfortable and friendly place for people to visit: either for a restful break, for a course, on retreat - or as a willing helper to assist us in looking after the property and land.

I first started learning T'ai-Chi in 1986 and have been teaching it since 1990 in Isleworth. This past year The Isleworth School of T'ai-Chi Ch'uan has seen some positive changes. Christopher Pippard and Linda Tillman, two long-term students at the school, have come on board as teachers and have been leading the classes alongside me since September. They wish to take my long thread of years of T'ai-Chi teaching onwards into the future. I am delighted. I have watched both of them become more and more confident each week. During Wednesday 28 February's class, I spoke to the students about these changes winding it around the practice of T'ai-Chi and this being the vehicle that enables us to make radical and creative choices in our lives. My own journey with T'ai-Chi Ch'uan is also changing. This past year I become enamoured with Chinese Medical Qigong - the next session you can join is on Saturday 10 March at St Johns Centre, and Jeanne and I have booked ourselves onto a Qigong training course in China in April. So first China, then Wales.

My final T'ai-Chi class in Isleworth is planned to be on Wednesday 28 March. Will you join us?

A Moment

2006-12-29T11:16:00.000Z

A random thought flared
Like the sudden bark of Delhi dogs in the middle of silent night.
Metal tinged with acid crimped her lips, drew her face tight,
Body corseted, breath stopped.
That one short thought stank like the must of dry rot.
Its sudden shock glowed white hot,
Clenched at her gut.
Just that one thought
Spiraled her into all those stagnant years.
Her audacity shrouded by fear,
A life lost in endless dullness.

A Sacred Contract

2006-09-26T09:21:00.000+01:00

There are times in each of our lives when a contract is made or a vow spoken. This vow, the sacred contract, is made knowing that life does not run smoothly, that there will be times when, being human, we wish to run away or change course or abandon our original heart path. A vow helps us through those rocky times. A sacred contract is a lifebelt to hang onto when unimagined obstacles arise that encourage us to throw away the relationship we tied ourselves into years back when things were very different. Doctors make contracts with their patients, vows are exchanged to seal a partnership, a priest will make a vow of service to God and a therapist makes a contract with his or her client. All these contracts are sacred. When these contracts are severed, lives are shattered. There is also a contract between a teacher and student. This too is sacred.

We first meet this contract when as little children we are placed in the care of our primary teacher. We may fall in love with this teacher, it can be our first experience of loving kindness outside the family circle. Adoring our teacher, bringing our mentor little gifts, declaring our undying love for them – all can be very innocent and fleeting. As we grow up this first love is quickly forgotten. But not that experience of being inspired by another through their skill at teaching, a true form of teaching which draws out and inspires the learning. The body remembers, the heart too.

As adults we search for meaning and power in our lives. Finding a teacher who inspires, who moves us out of a place of dullness and depression into meaning through their skills can be awe-inspiring. The mature adult discerns the difference between loving their teacher for the wisdom they pass on from falling in love with this special being. Someone who cannot discern this difference falls in love with their teacher as they fell in love when a little child, and not understand what is happening.

The teacher is a human being. Carrying the responsibilities of transmitting knowledge that has fired and inspired them to follow a path of tutoring can be at times dispiriting and unrewarding. For weeks the sessions are dull, things plod along at a pedestrian pace. One day a new student arrives. This person soaks up everything offered and demands more. This is exhilarating. The teacher is re-inspired, is fired again with enthusiasm. Magic.

Education is sexy. We long to learn. We long to be empowered. We are empowered by many subjects: academic, artistic and physical. At every stage when we stand in front of a teacher, or we are the teacher standing in front of the student, making clear the different roles is crucial to a clean student/teacher relationship. In Asia the student touches the teacher's feet as a sign of respect. This act can be shocking to those educated in the West who have a more informal relationship with their professor or instructor. Witnessing this ritual we see that the student is paying homage to the knowledge being passed on by the guru. The student recognises the teacher as the container of the knowledge. When the feet are touched by the student the guru passes this blessing up to a higher power in the understanding that all teachers are only containers for a certain set of skills. Both student and teacher are human, yet separated by their different roles. The guru does not touch the feet of the student.

As human beings our own nurturing was most probably flawed. Our parents did their best, but like us, they were human too. A part of our psyche remains in childhood and longs to be nurtured. An element of a teacher's remit is to hold and nurture the student. Another element is to help the student mature, become autonomous and independent. Many teachers have not looked closely at their own needs. They forget that they too wish attention, to be nurtured. They find having power over someone else very sexy. Their own un-nurtured child interferes with the clarity of the student/teacher relationship and inappropriate behaviour starts to arise. The play 'Oleanna' graphically deals with the stepping over of these boundaries and the teacher taking advantage of their power over the student - or the student taking advantage of their power over a professor. Both are stepping into places that harm the quality of the transmission. They are not able to see the muddle that arises when a need for intimacy clouds integrity. The sheer joy of finding something that ignites a reason for living gets confused with physical attraction or romantic need. Our want for nurturing and excitement is so present that the unaware teacher or student can lose his or her self in the bliss of learning and can delude his or her self into believing this to be true love.

I have seen this so often: a person’s life becomes dull and grey, then something comes along that helps the sap to rise. It might be pottery, gardening, cooking, or T’ai-Chi. As this greyness disperses there is the potential for confusion to arise between the teacher and student. This confusion gets worse when the student is vulnerable, the teacher powerful and neither have the maturity to recognise their own needs. Teacher: ‘At last, here is someone who loves this as much as I do!’ Student: ‘This is fantastic, and he (and it is usually a he) is so powerful, soft, compassionate. I have never met anyone like this before.’ Both: ‘We have so much in common.’ The teacher’s sacred contract is forgotten. The boundaries are crossed. The transmission is no longer pure. It becomes muddled and muddied.

Life can be tough. At times harsh and heart aching decisions have to be made. How can I live with myself if I do not respect the sacred contract entered into when a new student arrives? The practice of T'ai-Chi Ch'uan goes beyond the outer, beyond the physical inner, into the heart of integrity and respect. The teacher‘s role requires wakefulness and responsibility for the roles that respect their sacred contract. When a student regresses and becomes that adoring child how we, the teacher, manage that moment, then we will know how much we have absorbed T’ai-Chi beneath our epidermis. If we have integrated some of the practice into our every day life then it is possible to keep to the often unspoken contracts made between the student and teacher. Without that absorbtion, a contract can be shattered with devastating effects.

It's Too Quiet

2006-09-24T09:31:00.000+01:00

We are in Dorset. The second day of a weekend T'ai-Chi & Meditation Retreat. It it still. No noise, not even the wind. Perfect conditons for practice and meditation.

"I can't bear it", exclaims a participant, "The silence is deafening."

Beware the quiet. We may long for peace, but when it arrives, can we deal with the noise inside?

Greed

2006-09-20T07:35:00.000+01:00

Who isn't greedy for something? We all recognise the greed that gets us into a shopping centre, a new car, a bigger house - and the most obvious, that which expands our waistlines. But there is a more subtle form of greed: greed for knowledge. We can stuff ourselves with facts just as much as we can stuff ourselves with food. And like that drug that prevents fat from being digested which necessitates a form of nappy being worn to deal with the inevitable leakage, so we can overstuff ourselves with facts and skills without absorbing their meaning or taking them into our every day life. Bits of knowledge leak out undigested, without sticking to our gut.

Someone has read about T’ai-Chi, seen it on the telly or a friend has spoken glowingly about its effects. They sign up for a course. They don’t know what to expect when they roll up to their first class. This person has never met anything like this stuff before, it is mind-blowing. During the first few classes there is so much to take in. Being an average Jane or Jim, (who aren't really average as when we get to know someone there is no such thing as average), he or she has learnt that to achieve in life we have to strive, to push, to be out there, to compete, and get as much as possible out of whatever is on offer. Wow, this is great stuff! Then: things change, as they often do in life. By the third or fourth or fifth class this stuff is far too slow. Why can't the teacher just get on with it? Why can't we do more?

Of course in the same class there are those Winnies and Walters who are struggling to keep up, who feel that the work is being presented far too quickly, why can't we do less in each session? Why do I have to practice? There is a feeling that they are not getting it, or at least not getting it right, whatever 'it' is. Is there a way of learning this without me having to remember anything? It feels 'nice' when we work together, but really, it is too much having to think too.

Both are tied up in some sort of greed. One is the greed for more facts without reflection, a Teflon approach, the other is a greed for experience without responsibility. The teacher too wishes to see the students progress, to have realisations and understandings about the physical philosophy offered. Their own desire can often be a barrier to transmitting the work clearly, with ease and humour. Their own greed to wish to see a group of students ‘doing well’ can prevent the heart of T’ai-Chi being explored and digested.

So how to cut through that lot - all the different belief systems, ages, levels of education, physical ability and expectations brought by the rainbow variations of people coming to the average T'ai-chi class. Being able to hold this disparate group together is like a juggler attempting to keep at least six balls in the air.

T'ai-Chi offers wonderful solutions to the different desires we all have. One student wants to learn more, demands to learn more, because that is what one does in an educational situation. Another begs to not have anything new that week. Several are ambivalent about it all and are rather drifting along - and may not be there the following week. To offer something of value to all the different expectations each student projects onto the teacher means that he or she has to delve deeply into the heart of T'ai-Chi - the process, posture, breathing and the calm, steady mind. By putting into practice the pith of T’ai-Chi the teacher can prevent him or herself from getting caught up in all those fears and expectations. If the teacher understands in his or her heart that T'ai-Chi is a process not a goal, a journey, not an arrival, then it becomes easier to balance all the differing types of greed being displayed by everyone including the teacher’s own desires.

T’ai-chi is the art of life. The form is a model of existence which starts simply, in the middle comes lots of twiddly bits and ends in great simplicity. We start life as an embryo, a helpless baby: simplicity. As we grow up all the twiddly middle bits take over: school, university, career, relationships, children, retirement, hobbies, big financial decisions, travel, etc. etc. Growing older we reach another great simplicity: death. In practising T'ai-Chi we are modelling how to give birth to the new - or change, each and every moment of our lives, and how to die, to mve on, or let go. T'ai-Chi is about meeting change with ease and grace, to let go and unburden, to free ourselves of all the clutter we carry mentally and physically and to learn to live fully.

And there is another often unacknowledged greed: for spiritual enlightenment. We want to be better people. We want to be good. In striving for that goodness we miss a lot. We can so easily miss the essence. Basically T'ai-Chi is teaching us how to breathe, how to stand up in the body we live this short life in with ease, how to flow through the joys and difficulties we meet on the way, how to be present each moment, smell the air, listen to a friend, see the trees and snow and sun. To prepare to simply let go into the great mystery of death, as we allow ourselves to experience the great mystery of birth.

We may think we are teaching a physical exercise form. We may believe we are learning a mysterious martial art. Ultimately we are learning how to flow each and every moment of our lives.

When boredom sets in, when patience deserts us or the budding practitioner, go directly back to the breath, the relaxed posture, the calm clear fearless mind. These moments of impatience and boredom are great opportunities to practice T’ai-Chi. That is when we absorb the essence of the art and it teaches us how we can weave the techniques into our being so they are there for us each moment of our lives and not existing solely for that hour and half each week in the classroom. Those moments of frustration can become our teacher, enabling each of to see where we are impatient and uncomfortable with the thoughts and tensions we carry within. It is the process, the journey that counts. Not the getting there. There is nowhere to go in T’ai-Chi. Except to the centre of our hearts. To that generous, vulnerable soft spot.

I breathe, I relax, I loosen up. Instead of having the rug pulled from beneath my feet, I learn to dance on a moving carpet. We open up our hearts as we loosen up. That is T’ai-Chi.

Finding Peace in a Noisy Place

2006-09-19T10:04:00.001+01:00

This morning I received a message from a T'ai-Chi teacher in Houston. He told me about the classes he runs in a local dance studio and the conditions of this space. "There is a large air handling system that runs the entire time of the class so I'm talking over the noise.... " He told me he feels he is going nuts in these conditions, what with the noise and the variety of the backgrounds his participants bring to his sessions. So for starters let's consider how we can create a pool of peace.

Peace arises from within. Outside conditions may be chaotic and noisy. We can include the chaos in our practice. Or - we can try to push the chaos away. One action may be helpful, the other feed the chaos. We have a choice.

When we practice T'ai-Chi or meditate or any other technique that supposedly offers us peace, then we are disappointed when everything seems just as muddled as before, just as noisy either in the mind or externally. The promised peace eludes us. We get upset. We may even go nuts!

One of my teachers went on a solitary retreat. He chose to start this retreat in the mountains on the East side of the USA. He had lovely little home: it had electricity, a bathroom, a kitchen. It nestled in the middle of tress. He was alone with the only disturbances being the animals and elements. Everything was conducive to the deepening of his practice for the first couple of years. Then the community who owned the land decided to build a temple. His little home was torn off its foundations and put elsewhere. The electricity and water were disconnected. A multitude of builders and machinery moved onto the site. He was surrounded by noise. He contacted his retreat mentor telling him that he had to move somewhere else in order to carry on his solitary retreat. His teacher told him to stay where he was. The purpose of the building was pure, so his task was to learn to weave the noise into his meditation. He spent the next few years meditating in the middle of this noisy building site.

His brother was the Abbot of Samyé Ling Monastery in Scotland and encouraged him to move there, promising him a peaceful place to carry on his retreat. Off he went to Scotland. All was well and peaceful for a while. Then it was decided to build retreat houses for the men and women who wished to go into long-term retreat themselves. Once more our meditator found himself in the middle of a bulding site. For the next two years. Again the purpose of the bulding was for the good of others. Again Lama Yeshe wove this constant noise into his meditation.

Now when he teaches us to meditate he passes on this experience to us. We create the peace we wish from our own hearts, our own attitudes. There is never a perfect place to practice. I can remember once when teaching meditation a student complained "I could do this in the Himalayas" inferring that Isleworth was too noisy for meditation what with the traffic and the nearby busy, busy Heathrow airport with planes flying in low every ninety seconds. I have visited the Himalayas several times, conditions there are much harsher than those we meet in our church halls, dance studios or college classrooms. Our studios and classrooms have conditions far superior to any I have met in the Himalayas. Things like running water, regular electricity supplies, good transport systems, heating, cooling, bathrooms..... OK, and I agree that where most of us live and teach there aren't the snow-capped mountains and the clear star-blazed skys, the clean air of the high Himalayas.

When we practice our T'ai-Chi or meditation it is helpful to begin by listening. Simply listen. Listen to the sounds in our heads, in the room, outside the room. They are ALL the music of life. Embrace these sounds, let them be a part of the practice, not an enemy. If they become our enemy we then spend all our time trying to repell this 'disturbance' and use our effort and energy in pushing stuff away and not in the development of our practice. Soften, relax, yield to the noises. Think what our lives would be without them: no airconditioning or heating? Would you be very stuffy or cold? No buses, cars, trains or planes? What would our lives be like without these machines? They are all there for our benefit. It is our attitude that turns them into demons.

So when a plane flies overhead as you try to explain a tricky point in the practice just look up, see the beings in the thin metal tube and welcome them heartily to your country, your town. Bring them into your practice. When noise leaks from the studio next door, rejoice in the celebration of life and return the peaceful quiet place in your own heart centre, and carry on the practice. If the teacher finds it in his or her heart a way to weave the sounds of life into the practice, then the students will do so too. With great ease and simplicity. Use the constant drone of fans sending clean air into the space as the drone in Indian music, the drone is the support of the melodies the musicians weave around it.

Most of all yield to the conditions. Accept that which you cannot change, change that which you can. It is so rare to find a perfect space in which to practice. And if we think about this, the reason for this becomes very clear. None of us is perfect, so expecting perfection from outside conditions is unreasonable. A deep part of the practice of T'ai-Chi is to be able to work with what we have and not with what we want: both physically and mentally.

And always return to the pith of T'ai-Chi: soften, yield, breathe, open the heart, feel the twinkle in the eyes, and trust the practice will always lead you to a peaceful place.

Mother Courage Reflections

2006-04-24T09:42:00.000+01:00

My memories of getting Mother Courage on stage and out there to the public are filtered through veils of tiredness. Tiredness arising out of working long hours in the pre-monsoon humid heat, the difficulties in communicating in another language, the chaotic methods of the designers and others working on our production and ultimately the magnitude of the project: staging a classical piece of theatre with the major part of the cast made up of apprentice actors. After the three initial performances at The Lionel Wendt Theatre I came home to London on 9th April, and fell into a stupor of exhaustion from which I am only now recovering. I had returned in early March with my sister, Jeanne, to Sri Lanka after a fortnight back in the UK that was filled with catching up on things neglected whilst working on Mother Courage during January and February. Jeanne's support during that second trip was immeasurable. Going back to the hotel of an evening after rehearsal and having someone to talk to, or just to sit and have a beer whilst reflecting on the day and planning the next was extremely helpful. Her witnessing of the chaos of how theatre is produced Colombo-style helped ease the strains of staging a performance of value from the disparate threads of our production.

My way of managing each day whilst at Bellangwila Temple was to attempt to have a short nap under a fan during the lunch break trying to stay cool so to summon energy for the rest of the hot sweaty day. One day when lying on the hard floor, I idly reflected on when I was last challenged and stretched like this. I realised that it was way back in the 1970's when I took over as the artistic director of The Scottish Ballet Workshop. Then I was an alien in an unknown world, the ballet world. I had trained as a ballet dancer but had only worked in the commercial field: TV, theatre, cabaret, film etc., mainly as a chorus dancer, 'moving wallpaper' as we called ourselves, in variety shows. Taking over that company was my first experience of the world of ballet. When I joined the Scottish Ballet I felt as though I was sweating blood during the first six months of my five years with that company. Much to my surprise I made a go of it. More, in fact. In our first six months we played to more people and made more money than my predecessor had done in his five years of tenure. Plus we received rave reviews. I thought about this whilst lying on the floor in the mid-day rising heat. These Scottish Ballet reflections consoled me. Maybe I will pull through this, I thought to myself, maybe we will get some sort of performance together which we can be proud of, that will contribute towards to culture of this hot, turbulent country. Through my dozy state I tried to work out how old I had been when I had arrived at Scottish Ballet. It took me a while and a bit of mental math to sort that out. No wonder. I had been 31 when invited to run that experimental and educational ballet company. I was now 61. 30 years later. What challenges would present themselves when 91? If I live that long.

Death sweeps through Mother Courage and Her Children. Brecht's writing vigorously illustrates the futility of war, of how it effects all those who serve it - or get tangled with it peripherally, such as the peasants who appear in several scenes, simple people trying to survive hand-to-mouth in their small homes. Mother Courage has no home, she follows the war in her cart. She is at the mercy of those in power. Brecht, even back then when he wrote this masterpiece in 1939, referred to the power and lack of humanity and compassion in the multi-nationals. How business does not take sides. As does Mother Courage, she will sell to anyone whatever their faith, she is only interested in their money. During rehearsals there was an item on BBC World News about a tailor, a Kurd, who has made Saddam Hussein's suits over the past twenty years. After acquiring that customer, his business grew, as all Saddam's cronies also wanted to use his tailor. And since his trial, transmitted worldwide from the court in Iraq, the tailor has been inundated with orders from Iraq, even though the suits no longer fit the much thinner Saddam. The reporter asked the Turkish Kurd tailor if he had any qualms making money from the Kurdish oppressor. No, it is business. There are no boundaries, no morals, in business.

Mother Courage lives on the fringes of the battle field, dependent on decisions taken far away that affect where she chooses to scratch a living for herself and her children. She has no qualms, like the Kurdish tailor, about changing sides, flying a different flag to demonstrate her allegiance to whoever currently holds the power. During the play we witness her losing all three of her children, though at the end Brecht leaves the impression of her believing her eldest child, Eilif, to still be alive. We the audience know he is dead. Brecht stays on the perimeter of the battle-field, the margins where lives are ruined and lost, but where money can be made. No heroes, just people struggling to bring up their children and stay alive. Like now, this week, in Sri Lanka, as the LTTE pulls out of the recently initiated Geneva peace process. Suicide bombers have infiltrated the places of power in Colombo. In the North, as the South retaliates, thousands now are fleeing from their homes in order to stay alive. Brecht set this play in the Thirty Years War of 1618 to 1684 , this is now 2006. Nothing changes. Sadly.

As well as being affected by twenty years of civil war my cast had suffered very traumatic experiences during the tsunami. One actor told me of losing his baby nephew to the wave. Another cast member told me of seeing friends being shot dead during the on-going conflict in the North. He said it was like a movie. His friends dropped to ground as they were running away from the attackers. He didn't realise until later that they had died. Our cast knew death and destruction. They had had no ambition to act prior to the arrival of Anoja and her Abhina Foundation crew in their remote villages to lead workshops using drama as a path of healing, especially the spirit. That was last year. The most talented were plucked out of their temporary huts or tents and brought to Colombo. The Abhina Foundation provided everything: food, clothing, accommodation, pocket money. When they had days off some did not wish to go back to their villages, they said there was nothing there for them now. Their lives changed radically during these four months we spent together. Most had never been to a theatre performance, let alone acted in a play. The whole process was educational in a deep and alive way. The rehearsals pulled out of each person a sense of responsibility. They visibly matured as they found the courage to make creative choices based on Brecht's writing. Skills were taught and absorbed. After our three shows the feedback always included the comment that every word could be heard and understood. Later I learnt that there was an expectation of not being able to hear everything being spoken in the theatre. So hopefully we are setting a new trend in Sri Lanka. And I think of my cast of actors they now have found their own voices and can be heard - how many people get through life without either?

I had watched the inexperienced actors maturing daily. One actor arrived as a boy, by the end of our process he had become a man. His posture changed, his attitude to everyone became mature and adult. His family commented on how he had changed. Another man had been very depressed when I first met him. He would sit separately from the group, his face creased in a permanent frown, his mood dark. During the rehearsals his spirits lifted. He became a responsible member of the company. His ability to joke and laugh bubbled out of him And could he act! He was an absolute natural. All the cast had talent but a couple had star quality. They were so comfortable on stage, making creative choices from their own reading of their roles. From my point of view as the director this was such a relief. Slowly everyone started to bring something to each rehearsal instead of me having haul something out of them. Only one man didn't get there, his woodenness never softened, and he just did not develop an ability to work fluently with others on stage. He finally left the play when he didn't return to rehearsals for several days after visiting his family in Matara, a five hour journey from Colombo. He was very happy to leave us as his son was contesting in a the municipal elections, and he wanted to be there supporting his son, not with us putting on Brecht in Colombo. And yes, his son did get elected. A good result all round.

After these initial three performances Jeanne and I traveled to Matara where The Abhina Foundation was running a drama workshop led by Wolfgang Stange for differently abled children: deaf, blind and Downs syndrome. In Sri Lanka it is customary to touch the feet of the teacher or someone older or in authority. This something I had difficulty with, it isn't my culture, though I respect this custom for those who grow up with it. During our time together I had encouraged the actors to call me 'Sue' and not 'Madam', maybe to shake my hand or give me a hug at the end of sessions, but to not touch my feet. When we entered the hall in Matara where the group were working with the children the actors helping out at the workshop all came over and gave me a hug. None stooped to touch my feet. And watching them assisting Wolf was so heart-warming. Each actor was leading their little group with compassion and creativity - and oodles of fun. Seeing their confidence and commitment, their poise and maturity, confirmed to me that our time together had been worth all the rollercoaster emotions we had experienced together. Now here were some people with minds of their own, who have new skills and larger view of the world, who could now become artists and leaders in their own right. Joy.

A Real Postal Service

2006-03-03T14:40:00.000Z

My faithful laptop went belly up whilst in Sri Lanka. So I splashed out on a new one, managing to transfer precious files from the old to the new before it coughed and died. Then the games began. New laptop, easy peasy, I thought. My third. No problem. I know how they work now. So I have spent this past week phoning various help-lines, most of which link me to an echoing voice with a dubious grasp of colloquial English, in India. Not that I have anything against Indians, I love the country. But when I wish clear,jargon free technical advice I prefer to speak to someone nearer, on a line that does not crackle and break, with someone who does not have to ask how to spell 'Sue'.

I bought and paid a lot for a three year service warranty. When I tried to register it, the web site would not let me do this. I also bought an Netgear internet router after I discovered that the equipment I used on my previous laptop was now out of fashion with newer models. The shops assured me that this product was supported by a help line. Which it is. For Windows, not Apple Mac. So had to resort to the internet and e-mail for help. I received several very technical 'articles' about how I could get things working. After three days of getting nowhere, Netgear relented allowed me to speak to someone in India. The guys I spoke to were patient and helpful. Still no joy. Still no internet, except when I poached a neighbours Airport connection.

I phoned my internet server. The first call was not very helpful, the chap I spoke to used language that inferred that I was stupid. His manner patronising. I suggested some customerr service training. On later calls I spoke to delightful beings who were polite, clear and non-patronising. So just one bad egg in the box at the Phone Coop, otherwise very OK. But time consuming.

I spent two days trying to get help from the shop where I had bought the laptop, warranty and Netgear. Finally I managed to to speak to someone who was on a phone line in the UK, who used clear and non-technical language - and sorted out the difficulties I had been encountering trying to get set up. In twenty minutes. So simple when you know how. So impossible when you don't.

Modern technology breeds help-lines. I found myself longing for a time when we hardly used a phone and still wrote letters. No turning back the clock though. And my local postal service is still very unreliable, so not much use either.

Finally, managing to check bank statements (on-line of course) I discovered that Powergen, who I had left for Southern Electricity in December, had been merrily withdrawing payments for utilities they no longer provide. Deep sigh, another morning on the phone negotiating voice prompts and attempting to sort out this problem.

Is this a normal experience with help lines? A week to get something simple sorted? Poor and patronising customer service? My relief of finally getting a very expensive piece of equipment to do what it says on the box does help erase the week of frustration on the phone. But I would have much rather been gardening.

Boiled Boots

2006-02-27T09:34:00.000Z

Last Thursday I asked the cast "How do you feel?" We had just run Mother Courage and her Children. The run went well. We have the beginnings of a professional performance. A lot still to do, but the cast changes and the work we had done together since the middle of January were beginning to make actors of this group of absolute beginners. "How do you feel?" Their faces glowed; they had applauded for ages at the end, lifting Anoja, then me, high onto their shoulders in celebration. "I feel good". "I feel great".

I asked them to think back a year, to this time last February, how did you feel then? There was a silence. The atmosphere changed. Someone said: "Desperate". Others agreed with this.

I told them that my aspiration was to form a group of actors than can inspire, entertain and move our audience. I do not want people to come with the idea that they are watching a group of victims: tsunami and civil war affected. Yes, that happened, and is a very important part of who you are, but now you are also becoming actors. Good actors. Artists. We have a lot of work to do, the songs have to be woven into the play, the costumes, set, lighting, a lot requires tightening up and everyone can travel deeper into your roles. This you can do, with the skills you are starting to absorb into your bodies and minds.

I am now back at The End of The Garden in the welcome cold of a British winter. Since the last time I visited this space things have changed, grown, matured. The last time I wrote about Mother Courage and Her Children we had hit the bottom of the rehearsal process. Since then, and a few more cast changes later, the play has started to come together. At one point Anoja did say that she had been very ambitious to do this play with absolute beginners. I agreed, yet I also agreed to direct it. We have a cast of people who had never been to a theatre before, who have only seen Bollywood films or local soaps on TV, neither of which demonstrate any depth or truth in the acting or writing. The Russian Cultural Centre in Colombo was showing Doctor Zivago, we took them to see this amazing film, so at least they can understand cold and spring, neither of which most of them have encountered in their life in tropical Sri Lanka. The British Council is offering to show them whatever films we wish, already they have seen Shakespeare in Love - and loved it. Education in art - we educate ourselves by witnessing good art.

During my short visit home the cast are having a few days break, then return to Belangwila to work on their songs and releasing the trauma which is still tied up in a lot of their bodies. It is held there like a tight spring. I taught some deep shiatsu massages to Anoja, Visaka (who has been beside me the whole time translating everything) and Murugan, the yoga teacher. These massages will enable the cast to let go the trauma safely, and eventually to breath easily. Slowly, slowly. Healing is a continuous process.

And boiled boots? The designer, Sweeny, took the cast out the previous Friday to buy them footwear. Most of the boots and shoes, due to budget constraints, were second hand. Good, very good, second hand. Sweeny told everyone to wipe down the outside of his or her boots or shoes, and to spray the inside. They boiled them. So before they had even worn them for one rehearsal the soles were flapping, the boots useless. They had to be taken to the cobbler to be re-glued. Fortunately Sweeny laughed when she heard this. But we learnt that we can never assume anything, especially with a cast of actors who might never have worn shoes before, only sandals. You wash them. Daily.

More Mother Courage Rehearsal Notes

2006-02-09T04:56:00.000Z

Mother Courage and Her Children. A great, literate, theatrical and long play. It takes courage to stage this play in any language. Trying to stage it in Sri Lanka in a language that I don't understand is, I knew from the start, madness. Rehearsals have their ups and downs. Some days things go well, other days, depression sets in. These past couple of days we have all plunged into a deepening depression.

On Tuesday I risked a stagger through of the play. Immensely useful. I could see that the play was far too long. I know the theatre-going audiences here are not accustomed to sitting through literate and wordy dramas, so that has to be allowed for. I also saw during our very rough run that some cast changes were required. Cuts are being made, and cast changes in process. Both shocking for our budding actors, unused to the process of getting those words off the page and onto a stage.

I forget how inexperienced this cast is. Last year most of them had never had any drama experience. They live in simple fishing villages, come from very poor families. They have talent. They have been traumatised by the tsunami and civil war. Staging this great play of Brecht's is maybe one step too huge for them at this time. A few years hence, when they have more training, are more experienced: understand how to read a script, how to make choices as an actor and another milllion things that go towards making a performance. Then they might be able to confidently tackle such a writer. Yesterday my whole being wished to get on a plane, go home, and let this foolhardy project go.

Today is a day off. A day away from it all so needed. I am hoping this time will allow me to settle my heart, to find the courage to continue. I hope today will give the cast a rest. That tomorrow we will be pleased to meet again. Cuts are in process, recasting has been done. There is a glimmer of hope that we may not make fools of ourselves on March 31st. Whatever is the outcome of this project, ALL of us have grown and learnt. There is pain, but also a lot of joy. It is just that the joy has been behind heavy clouds these past few days.

Rehearsing Mother Courage in Sri Lanka

2006-02-02T05:45:00.000Z

Working on this play here in Sri Lanka is a living experience. The actors know what Brecht is writing about. They are living it, they have experienced most of what he has put into this great play about the futility of war. Already we have lost several of the cast to the events unfolding here: the peace process between the government and the LTTE grinds on slowly, and families worried about the safety of their children remove them from our rehearsals and send them to Canada or India. To safety. In attempting to get the words off the pages, to understand and bring to life the view that Brecht has of war and human behaviour under pressure, I ask the cast: What was is like after the tsunami? What is is like to live in a danger zone? They know. They can show me.

One scene, after Mother Courgae has attempted to bribe officials to save her son and lost, and then refuses to identify her dead son's body in order to save her own life, we see her sitting outside a tent waiting to complain about how the army has damaged her cart. I asked the actors in this scene: What happened days after the tsunami, when you were still sleeping in the open and had nothing? Already people were complaining, were stealing, were being greedy for the aid that was pouring into the country, they told me. One described his anger at how some of his fellow villagers behaved. The cast had no problems improvising this scene, or understanding how Mother Courage, a day after her son's execution, can complain, not mourne. Survival. This cast of tsunami and war affected have no sentimental ideas about how to survive. They know.

Sometimes when I am away from home and loved ones for long periods I question this choice. Then I look at what I am learning. There is an assumption that when we teach or direct we are passing on knowledge we already have, something we own in perfection. But it is not like that. For years now I have had the priviledge to learn through being with groups of students, participants or actors, and I learn through their learning and their willingness to share their lives and heart journeys with me. I can read about war. I have had my own experiences of being in danger zones. I have no idea whatever what it is like to be affetced by a wave rising without warning out of a benign ocean and destroying lives and homes utterly. My cast know both, intimately. Through them my experience of being a human being can grow. Please come and see these new actors, with the great actress Anoja Weerasinghe playing the lead role, perform 'Mother Courage and Her Children'. The first perfomances are scheduled for March 31st, April 1st and 2nd at The Lionel Wendt Theatre here in Colombo.

Most of the cast have nothing. They and their families still live in tents or temporary accommodation. Being here in Colombo with The Abhina Foundation is educating them and giving them hope. Their food, clothing, accommodation and other costs accumulating during the rehearsal period are met entirely by generous donors. If you can help in any way please send your donation to:

The Abhina Foundation UK
C/O 8 St Johns Court
Isleworth
Middlsex
TW7 6PA

You can also visit: www.abhina.org.

How to Describe Today

2006-01-23T13:33:00.000Z

I have just watched the sun set. One can do this here. One moment the sun is a huge red globe sitting on the horizon, next it has gone beneath the sea.

How to describe today? Today three soldiers were killed in the north. Today Erik Solheim arrived from Norway to attempt to restore the peace process. Today everyone feels unsettled: some are getting in supplies, others buying tickets for India - to get away from unsafety.

I arrived at Belangwila Temple and before I had managed to get out of the car Anoja was at the car door. I was with Padmini, a friend from Hounslow. Anoja told us that the Trinco members of the cast have to travel back tonight. It is uncertain what may happen. By 25th Sri Lanka may once more be at war.

The cast were in the middle of a voice class. I realised at that moment that the putting on of this play, Mother Courage, is as important to record as the finished performance. I hadn't brought my camcorder with me, so I went back to the hotel to get it. We may not see these Trinco lads again. I hope we do, but so much depends on the next few days.

Travelling back through the traffic allowed me time to reflect and re-jig my rehearsal plan. I was going to spend tomorrow telling the cast about Brecht, the play, its historical significance and the acting methods. When I returned to the temple, I moved Tuesday plan to today, Monday. I want these young men to know why Abhina is putting this play on - a story of the futility of war, that the human race never learns from history. Never has talking about a piece of work ever felt so significant or live. At one point when talking about the effect of World War 1 in Europe, of the way populations get tossed around by events beyond their control, Anoja just broke down and wept her heart out. There were a lot of tears today. And also a lot of laughter.

I carried on the work in the afternoon, reaching for ways to help our inexperienced cast to understand the skill, courage and abandonment required to be in that reality of doing, to be an actor. Later, after tea, I showed them a scene on DVD from Howard's End; the scene where Margaret (Emma Thompson) learns of her husband-to-be's ten year ago affair with Mrs Bast. This Belangwila cast have never seen really skilled emotionally connected acting in their lives before. They were riveted, even though most of them could not understand the language. The discussion afterwards enabled them to glimpse at the skills of those actors, they make it look so easy and we all think we can do it.

After this, Visaka led a circle: a circle of farewell to one lad whose parents are sending him to Canada, it is too unsafe for him here. He cried openly at leaving this creative and connected group. The others promised to keep themselves safe. They all want to get back here as soon as they can. Let us pray for their safety and their continued participation in our project.

I had spent all Sunday morning making a schedule for the rehearsals. Anoja and I spent all Sunday afternoon casting the play. As I got out of the car this morning at Belangwila and heard the news I mentally tore up all those plans. Take each day as it comes. This is the only way any of us can live now.

Think of those boys travelling back on the train tonight. May they be safe. May Erik Solheim's peace process be successful.

Mother Courage Auditions

2006-01-22T06:29:00.000Z

Last week we held auditons for Mother Courage. I requested that each actor improvise a short scene in which the situation required saying his or her name a number of times. This was a ploy for to me learn their names as well as a way to find out their imaginative capability. At great length Anoja and I explained that we wished a real - in their imaginations - situation, and that they do not to come out on stage and say their name twenty times in twenty different ways. We explained this several times in three different languages: Singhala, Tamil and English.

Tuesday morning. First audition, an experienced actor kicks the session off. He comes out, he starts saying his name over and over with no situation, he gives different emotions to each recitation. I stop him. I explain the task. I offer a situation. Then we see a lttle scene. Lovely. As each actor emerges onto the stage this happens over and over! One lad, from Trincolmalee, after saying his name a few times and once he had clicked into our request, started to demonstrate being searched at a check point. Stop. What emotion does your body feel in this situation? I asked him. We talked about this together, and then gave him time to prepare. This time his fear and helplessness were palpable. This was a man being beaten, tied up, imprisoned. Later he told us of this occasion, how he had been held and questioned for over 24 hours with no food and no access to outside help. He was beaten and his hands were tied. He was told his parents were outside and they had told the police their son was a member of the LTTE. At one point he thought it would be easier to say he was, but then thought to himself: Why lie? So he didn't, he endured. Finally he was let free, on the proviso that he report and sign every Sunday, which he did for the next two years. Then he smiled. Now, when the police do a 'round up' they know me, and tell me to go home!

Next day, Wednesday. The company have now understood the task. Another check point, and yet another check point scene. I begin to get a picture of life in Trinco for these young men.

I ask the next check point actor to not be himself but to be the soldier arresting him, become the man working at that check point, a man afraid, fed up with being away from his family, angry at the situation, seeing the local people as a threat. He thought about this, he found the feeling, he went for it. His anger was huge and real, he knew this situation well, he had observed the soldiers working on these road blocks all his life. Not all of them, but some of them.

Through these auditions Anoja and I are learning what life is like in a war zone. A learning curve for us as well as our actors.

Murugan, Abhina's Yoga Teacher

2006-01-14T13:00:00.000Z

Murugan is a young man from Trincomalee. I did wish to publish a picture of him, as he has a gentle nature with enormous inner strength. This can be seen from this unpublished photo. But this internet cafe computer is not too sophisticated....

Murugan is from Trincomalee. North East Sri Lanka, a place suffering from the effects of the tsunami and twenty years of civil war. All his life Murugan has known only war. He has follwed the path of yoga for several years studying with the best teachers he can find when the opportunities arise. Yoga is his heart's path. He has been in Colombo studying with Abhina now for a month, and during this time he leads an early morning yoga class each day for the other students. They find his way of teaching and what he offers benefical and inspiring.

An intelligent, educated man, he has taken the only job he can find in Trinco: a peon. Jobs are few there. He works for an NGO, his work consists of delivering documents and other simple tasks. This pays him RS9,000, about 50 pounds sterling. A month. Mururgan has a wife and two children to support. They are still in Trinco. Murugan reported that they sometimes have to stay with friends and relatives when it is too unsafe in their neighbourhood: when there are shootings, riots or bombs. The peace in Trinco is very delicate. Murugan was friends with the five students recently killed on a beach there.

Abhina now employs him as their yoga teacher. His pay at Abhina is a little more than that of the NGO, and he does get free board and lodging. He will be acting in the production, Mother Courage (showing at The Lionel Wendt Theatre, Colombo, March 30th, April 1st and 2nd, do hop on a plane and come)and be the company yoga teacher for all the rehearsals.

When the production is over, Abhina hopes to be able to find sponosrship to send Murugan to South India for three months so he can deepen his yoga practice, learn at one of the wonderful schools there. This will mean he can teach more widely and start to be able to support himself and his family above the poverty level they live with currently. Further training will give him a future.

Murugan is just one of many Abhina members, young people like him: intelligent, talented yet living in the direst circumstances.

Would you like to help him?

The Abhina Foundation UK supports the work of The Abhina Foundation in Sri Lanka. To contribute, send your donation to:
The Abhina Foundation UK
c/o 8 St Johns Court
Isleworth
TW7 6PA
UK

Please tell your friends, work colleagues and relatives about Murugan and his fellow students at Abhina. Their talent deserves to be nourished. And anything you can offer will be of tremendous help.

I am truly grateful to have met Murugan and his fellow students. They are truly grateful for the practical and spiritual help they are receiving from Abhina. They are using it well.

Visit: www.abhina.org for details of their work.

Facilitators' Course, Belangwila Temple

2006-01-11T13:33:00.000Z

The intensity of the work here is exhilirating. The openess of the students and their absorbtion of all offered is heartwarming. Last day tomorrow, I invited requests of what to work on and they requested: how to deal with participants who do not wish to participate! Yes.

Today we went deeper into the NCV (Non Violent Communication) work I introduced earlier this week. Anoja and I went round the small groups of three and offered suggestions to the students attempting to make observations, connect with feelings, needs and requests. The move from blame and the critical mind, the jackal, to an accepting heart, giraffe, was slow and painful. But immensley inspiring to witness as belief systems were turned on their head and new way of connecting, a connection with the heart, was being discovered.

One very moving experience was working with a young man who has grown up knowing only war. His issue was around someone who was not, in his view, studying properly, this made him angry and he hit her. The hitting, to begin with was not his issue. When the hitting of women is modelled as normal behaviour, how can this be a problem? Slowly together, and with himn listening to his heart, he moved froma place of blaming her behaviour for his anger and hurt, to attempting to find a new way of connecting to his heart, of understanding the sadness he feels when he does connect, at this sort of activity towards another. He managed to connect to his feelings and needs, but for today being able to make a rquest, to maybe ask for help, was a step too difficult.

At the end of this session, and hourt or so later, this young man came up to me and in halting English thanked me from his heart for the process we had gone through together.

Later, at the final circle, he said, with a huge grin, that he had discovered a big jackal in him. His smile showed his giant heart, his giraffe nature.

Investing in Loss

2005-11-14T12:19:00.000Z

Yielding is yielding.
Loss is loss.
Yielding is loss.
Loss is yielding.
In yield is attack.
In attack is yield.
In loss is gain.
In gain is loss.

All is ego, fear, anger, compassion and wisdom. When I don't yield, I am stuck in my own self-importance. When I don't accept loss, I am mired in my fear. When I don't accept that in my lack of yielding I am meeting my inability to attack and protect. In that place, if I remember to do so, I can see I am stuck in the delusion of believing that nothing ever changes. When I do not accept gain I am caught up in an inflated ego that descends into false humility. When I cannot yield, loose, attack or gain, I am in stagnation - depression. Yielding is softening. Loss is melting. Attack is weakening. Gain is illuminating. Yielding, loss, attack and gain contain softness, weakness, illumination and flexibility. All are contained in the breath and the thought. They exist somewhere in the lungs, the belly and the bones. Not in the clever mind, they inhabit the mysterious territory of the wisdom mind. They can be heard in the heart, our open, soft spot of vulnerability. The ability to stand up straight, poised, at ease, with a confidence in every pore and fibre yet with a soft and open heart that listens to the silent signals of the flow of blood in the veins, listens to the sound of nature and hears the heart wishes of our fellow beings, that is yielding, this is loss. It is a yearning and sadness that contains the light and the meaning of life: happiness.

I am still searching. I have yet to understand yielding. I have experienced loss and have yet to understand its beauty and gift. I continue to practice, to reflect, to live, to seek. I attempt to soften, be weak, generous and open. My stagnation and deep, deep sadness makes my body stiff, my spirit unyielding. My mind, not my body, pushes me into the future, back into the past and stubbornly refuses to allow me to witness the present, the place of each and every breath of my short, stagnant life.

Yielding and loss is found first in the muscles, bones and sinews. The explorer travels fearlessly deeper into the tissue's secrets, awakening to an awareness of the habits that are patiently structured into lives over years, a gradual on-going building site with its foundations cemented deeply into the daily struggle to get of bed and into the air, into life. Sometimes, and unexpectedly, the wider lighter picture of existence is glimpsed. Then the transparent luminosity of yield and loss becomes the breath in, the breath out of the universe. Of which we are a part. It is a blissful place, I have glimpsed this land when I have forgotten to remember and allowed the present to reveal its utter abundance.

Autumn Sunshine

2005-11-09T15:23:00.000Z

Richmond Park on a day when the forecast was heavy rain. Not a cloud in the sky, the sun low and dazzling, the dog leaping with joy through the trees, chasing squirrels she will never catch. This is joy. Kashi paddling in the pond, teeth firmly clenched around a saggy yellow punctured tennis ball, her delicious delight. She shakes herself and rainbow sprays of water splash over my clothes. We laugh - or she barks, her laughter? Throw the ball, she demands loudly, when I put it away in my pocket. Another squirrel. Ball forgotten, she rushes off in hopeless chase, the stub of her tail franticly wagging in her glee of being outside in this beautiful November morning.

What is T'ai-Chi Ch'uan?

2005-11-08T17:44:00.000Z

What is T'ai-Chi Ch'aun? I have been practicing now for almost 20 years, and it is still revealing itself to me. What is it? What does it do? Some of the benefits of practicing T'ai-Chi are well-known: reduced blood pressure, stronger back and legs, better balance, good bone density etc. But I don't practice T'ai-Chi with these very sensible facts in the front of my mind. I practice T'ai-Chi because I enjoy it, and because it keeps me sane.

The world we live in is complicated. As human beings trying to lead our lives in a demanding and competitive world, the struggle to keep things together can be overwhelming. I know I need a means to give me support through the complications, worries and fears of this short life-span. T'ai-Chi offers me help with all that.

One translation of T'ai-Chi Ch'uan is 'Ultimate, Supreme of Boxing'. It is the most subtle of the martial arts. But I knew nothing about this when I started learning T'ai-Chi. All I knew was that it was slow and that there was something else about it that I had not encountered in other forms of physical exercise.

In 1986 I enrolled on a beginners' course at John Kells' studio. I rolled up full of energy and eagerness. The first few classes were puzzling, and very packed. I didn't know what was going on. I didn't get it. Although it was a physical training, the class structure and the manner of teaching was very different to what I was accustomed to in my dancing life. I was a bit disappointed. I am not sure what I expected, but these slow, puzzling sessions weren't it. I stuck it out as I had paid for a course of ten classes up front. Being a very broke professional dancer, I was going to get my money's worth. Yet this was too, too strange for me initially. But then during the fifth class I got hooked. I had an 'Ah-ha' moment. I saw how I had been presenting myself as a target to the world. No wonder I used to get so much flack from here, there and everywhere! Working with the posture and the energy flow of the form helped me to understand this. And become less of a target too. Then the class started to thin out - a lot of my fellow beginners gave up. They found it too slow, too difficult, too boring, too different - I don't know, but at that stage of the initial course, it seemed that only the inspired, determined and dedicated carried on.

At first I was not interested at all in the martial art aspect of T'ai-Chi, I was more interested in the meditation, healing and postural aspects of it. But this glimpse into understanding the energy and its self-defense use during that evening class in a bare and cold studio in Upper Wimpole Street changed my attitude towards learning this physical philosophy utterly. Now my fascination with T'ai-Chi kicked in.

Gradually I started to work with the being weak and soft. Of getting back to the posture of a child. That four ounces can overcome ten thousand pounds. Yielding. Sticking. T'ai-Chi was different to all other forms of movement I had studied. In my ignorance and through habit, I applied my dancer's way of learning to T'ai-Chi: through practice. I did not read a book about T'ai-Chi until about two years into my training. I didn't think to. All my dance skills had been handed to me from other practitioners, not from books. I now see that this was a gift. I was not cluttered with the weight of what great T'ai-Chi practitioners had written but relied on my teacher, John Kells, to pass on the practice on as and when we, the students, were ready. I learnt about T'ai-Chi through watching and listening to John and his advanced students. Indeed, it was these people who had practiced with John for years who kept me going during some periods of dullness in my training. They had a certain luminosity about them, and I wanted some of that. I was savvy enough to know that this would not arise overnight, but gradually through practice.

Over the years my understanding has deepened, an understanding that arose, and continues to arise, from a language of inner, emotional feelings and physically, in the body, not in spoken words. Apart from limited conversations with my fellow students I did not speak about T'ai-Chi until I began teaching it. I had not wanted to teach it, this was my practice, something for myself. But when I was asked to teach in 1990, I got on with it. And that is where my true education of T'ai-Chi began. The questions that students have asked, and continue to ask, demanded that I reflect more deeply on the practice. The simple question 'What is T'ai-Chi?' can have a simple answer. Or the search for an answer can lead to a life-long exploration of this complex and profound technique. As we practice we start to get a feel of what is T'ai-Chi. By practicing regularly it seeps into everyday life. Gradually it helps to bring about positive and life-enhancing changes. A luminosity of being.

T'ai-Chi is many things: balance, health, freedom, protection, strength, softness, loss, awareness. The form is itself a metaphor for our journey through life. It begins in simplicity, in 'Attention', then progresses, like life, into complications. Towards the end, after 'Bending the Bow to Shoot the Tiger', the form returns to simplicity - a metaphor for our preparation for death. Birth, life, death, this is T'ai-Chi.

Waterless swimming, this is T'ai-Chi. Balancing ying and yang, this is T'ai-Chi. Living in a state of ease and poise, this is T'ai-Chi. Listening to and living by the messages of the heart, this is T'ai-Chi. Developing a soft and open heart filled with compassion for ourselves and others, this is T'ai-Chi. T'ai-Chi is a warrior's path, a quiet path that cultivates fearlessness and compassion. The Ultimate and Supreme form of Boxing.

Stepping Out

2005-11-03T10:59:00.000Z

As we get older our steps get shorter. My sister, an occupational health nurse, told me this years ago. She had found it in some research she was doing. After that I took a deeper interest in how my students moved, especially the young men and women I was training in movement at drama schools. I noticed that their strides reflected what was going on for them, how their way of walking changed when they were worrying, were not focused. How they carried a lot of tensions in their upper bodies when distracted. I noticed how their strides became fluid and almost dance-like movements when they relaxed, lowered their centre of gravity from their shoulders and jaws into their bellies and softened their muscles. How this softening went further when noticing when they were holding their breath and allowed a more fluid easy way of breathing to arise. Most of all their strides became confident and fluid when they made a heart connection to their actions and intentions. Ease arose, their way of walking became freer, their strides longer. They could step out confidently.

It set me thinking about fear, worry and limiting our possibilities. Is that shortening of the stride physical or to do with how fear and worry increases as we age? Sometimes as we get older, our worlds can shrink. This is the ground of insurance companies profits. Something may happen. I have to take care. I had better insure against that, or this, or the other. So the shortening of our steps might not be physical. It could be due to habitual thinking and endless worrying and planning, the rehearsing constantly a fear of what might happen.

Last night at our beginners' T'ai-Chi class Chris talked about the difficulty the beginners were having when first meeting Single Whip and the large, deep step that this posture seeks. He reflected on the inability of most of the beginners to take a large step. We talked about this over our tea. Maybe taking a large step is a psychological process, not just physical act. As we soften and relax, then something else becomes possible. The attentive teacher understands that when a posture is not grasped when first introduced that this is not just to with physical ability or memory. The form gradually, subtly and invisibly opens up the practitioner to habits that have become ingrained over years. Unconsciously. We just don't notice these habits, they have become 'us'. The teacher softens, sinks, relaxes, supports - and twinkles. My teacher John Kells said that the most important aspect of T'ai-Chi is the twinkle in the eye. This twinkling can only be there if the heart is open, and the heart opens when we soften, sink and breathe. Gradually the form releases a heart opening confidence. Then we can stride fludily out into the rest of our life.

Breathe in peace, Breathe out a smile. Twinkle, twinkle little star.

Freehold

2005-11-02T14:33:00.000Z

Sitting in the hut at the end of a the garden on a dismal wet grey day getting my mind around another language - freehold. Terms such as concurrent and reversionary lease, occupation leaseholder and enfranchisement - all new, in a language that dates back into the depths of legal history. I try to stay present, not panic. Do the form with keen attention, stay sunken, weak, soft, breathe. Mind calms. I look at the garden. Yesterday in the warm autumn sunshine I yanked out the mildewed courgette plants - their bounty was generous this summer, and the runner beans, also beneficent in their produce. The next dry day I plan to bring loads of compost onto the soil, to prepare it for its winter rest before the spring planting. Freehold - a very T'ai-Chi term for ownership. In T'ai-Chi there is no ownership, letting go, lightly touching, no hold. Yielding always, yielding to the situation, to the land, to another. Be free. More attention to the freehold documents and information which is piling up on my desk. Stay light, long term. This will move on, this language learning and seeing where others grab greedily at others homes. Yielding to the freehold. Stay sunk.