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I'm a list maker. I make lists of all kinds. And often these lists have helped sift the contents of my mind. They ease the chatter and give me direction. Especially when I'm on the brink of giant change. You'll find me for weeks with crumpled list in hand, or posted on a wall at home. Never before have I created such a list as the one that brought me out to Korea. It was on a giant wipeboard in my kitchen, and it had a life of its own. It would flex and shrink and flex as tasks were accomplished and more were added. It never seemed to diminish but for the last day, as I wiped it clean for the last time, nearly everything checked and everything accounted for. Phew. However, sometimes lists stop easing the chatter--in fact, they create chatter of their own. They disrupt my ability to just peacefully watch a patch of sky for hours, which is my nature. They blind me to just being in the moment, and instead offer me requirements and bark out commands. But as leaving Korea so soon has me a bit jumbled up inside, I wasn't suprised this go around when pen in hand I started to create another monster, even though I was supposed to be resting from a flu and cough. After hours of organizing and dictating to myself, I finally stumbled off to bed, not long before Scott bounded into the room and lay his scattered brown curls onto my pillow and put his face in my mine. "Whatcha been doin'?" he asked. I sheepishly dodged a reply. "Can I offer you a challenge, my love?" he said next. And I adored him then as much as I ever have, alter and all. For I knew he suspected that I hadn't been "resting" after all. "GO OUT GRACEFULLY," he said. What? Don't fret and stew and make lists and try to show everybody how much I love them by creating them cards and buying them flowers and re-experiencing my favorite places here one last time and taking pictures of so and so and such and such and....? Oh. I see. I must have learned some things here after all, for it didn't take any convincing, and for two days I've wandered around without list, just enjoying the days and doing what seemed natural. And in kouksundo yesterday morning I felt the beautiful, slow, powerful stillness in the dances--each of the movements soft but muscular, slow and steady, each pose moving gracefully into the next. Without jarring boundaries or forced execution. One moment opening wings wide like a crane, then releasing and pulling energy up from the earth, and then shooting an arrow into the universe like a righteous ancient warrior, and then holding up the sky with gentle fingers, and then bowing on one knee with a reverential offering. All of it reminded me of the phases of life--of the changes in a day, a week, or a year. There was no gripping or grabbing or jerking or racing or forcing. Just a gentle, graceful flow. And I did the dance as if it were my life. I closed my eyes and felt how peaceful, gentle movement communicated stillness to my spirit and mind. I could see easily in my mind's eye two paths for me at the end of this experience: one that I had already started--frantic and a bit traumatized, ill at ease to leave Scott and these people and these experiences and this life and find myself in a future unknown; the other peaceful and happy, full of gratitude, joy, and hope. To go gracefully. I choose the latter. To Go Gracefully, ck [2003-05-02]
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