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| The Chi of Ski | ||||||||||||||||
| A Mantra for Christmas Peace | ||||||||||||||||
| By | ||||||||||||||||
| Ray Purcell | ||||||||||||||||
| Glide. The moment of quickening. A moment the inception of which is argued among politicians, theologians, and ethicists. Kick. Whether a moment marked by the pairing of haploid chromosomes, or the instant that a relative distribution of ions at a membrane evokes the first neural firing, it is the moment of the raising of the baton before an expectant orchestra. Glide. Delicately held between the thumb and forefinger the baton falls with a dramatic and expressive sweep of fluid motion as though it were a leaf swept out of an eddy over a stone and freed into a riffle. Kick. | ||||||||||||||||
| Glide. The rains slow to a patter, the air becomes still, and a mist swirls over the lake and that caresses the shore. The cold deepens and then the first flake of snow kisses the lake. Snow drifts across a landscape weary from the tempest and cloaks the shore- diminuendo. | ||||||||||||||||
| Kick. Life is an inexorable cascade of ever entwining complexity. Glide. A mountain lake set in a cirque; the surface of the water is featureless. Above the lake great masses of air saturated with moisture press against the mountains. Kick. The sky becomes opaque as the suspended vapor condenses. Glide. Heavy, the clouds settle under their burden, the pleats and folds of the marbled sky reflect in the still lake. Kick. The conception of the body and soul are like the first two rain drops that coalesce in the clouds. Each falls to simultaneously strike the surface of the lake and each must puncture the surface film . | ||||||||||||||||
| Glide. In the prenatal adagio two spreading concentric ripples spread across the calm water. The ripples encounter each other and propagate inseparably, body and soul in a synchronized pas de deux. Kick. Birth, a searing bright light, a violent shudder, and then the lake is whipped to frenzy by a crescendo downpour of drops that collide with each other and then the lake in a frenzied pash. Glide. We encounter the world as a storm, vulnerable and defenseless against the torrent of enculturation, socialization, and expectation. Blessedly, there is succor in the rhythm of a mother's heartbeat and in repetition, like being enfolded in arms and rocked to sleep. Kick. | ||||||||||||||||
| Kick, as the snow sifts through the boughs of evergreen and under my skis I'm aware... at least on a subliminal level, that within my spinal cord the notes of kick and glide are being orchestrated. The music pours out of the orchestra pit and the dancers on stage perform the choreographed kick and glide that allows my cross-country skis to take flight. My soul is weary of the world's clash and has sought refuge in the snow, and in this simple ballet of elegant physical coordination. The action of kick and glide, like the mandalla, has become the center of all creation. Through the rhythm and repetition I am soothed and have received a respite from the stour of the world and faith. | ||||||||||||||||
| In this season of Christmas that celebrates the birth of my savior I am anticipating the first snows, and while they are yet falling and not yet to be skied I have secreted away the memory of others. There in that place I can escape the cacophony and find solace in God's rhythm... God's music. So too I wish you peace where ever you are, and where ever you go this Christmas season. | ||||||||||||||||
| December 2002 | ||||||||||||||||
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