Rikki West - Rootlines

ROOTLINES

Copyright 2020, Rikki West

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Published 2020

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-63152-753-1

ISBN: 978-1-63152-754-8

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020905479

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For Rosemary Biritz and Dick West

A person goes on a pilgrimage. Shes on foot and wearing good boots. She carries a well-supplied backpack and a flat-brimmed sun hat but no compass. No extra stuffno camera, walking staff, or binoculars. She could be walking anywhere, from Colorado to New Zealand, when she encounters a wizened old neighbor at the intersection of any two roads.

Neighbor: Greetings, friend. Where are you headed?

Wanderer: I am on pilgrimage.

Neighbor: How unusual. What are you seeking on your pilgrimage?

Wanderer: I dont know.

Neighbor: Good. Not knowing is most intimate.

This story is told as Case #20 in the collection of koans known as The Book of Equanimity. It raises questions. Who is that benevolent neighbor out there, checking on the welfare of wanderers? Thats helpful! Can you actually expect the world to support you if you embark on such a quest? And this wandererwhats up with her? What does she mean by pilgrimage? How could she set out without knowing where shes going or what shes seeking, while exposing herself to the elements and all the wild unknown?

But then, come to think of it, all of us got launched into life without knowing. Without getting the chance to ask any questions, we just showed up around the age of two or three, trying to get along. Not knowing.

Though we arent all on a pilgrimage, are we? Making a commitment like that is a serious choice, and a courageous one. You have to want it. The Seeker sets out on her wayfaring with intent. She pursues something unfamiliar, toward which she feels a vague pull, a left-wise attraction. Journeying on her own two feet, she embarks alone, looking for something she hasnt seen and trusting that more will be revealed. Yet when asked why she is on this pilgrimage, one that we imagine she intends to take with all her beating heart, she doesnt know.

She doesnt know? You can venture into the dark on just some gutsy inkling? Thats interesting. Shes no fool; she is not wandering aimlessly through life, waiting for someone to rescue her. Not knowing suggests she is open to genuine insights, that she has a mind thats willing to suspend comforting explanations. Shes interested in something she doesnt know everything about. Shes going to pry into whats really going on in any moment. Who is here? Whats arising right now? What possibilities are present?

Theres a hidden dark side here. How often does the heroine gambol into the dark woods to encounter something easy and delicious, like vanilla pudding? No one is saying it aloud, but our intrepid friend is going to walk into a few sandstormswe can count on it. Yet the supportive elder approves, giving no warning. Good approach. Most intimate.

I am fighting for myself. The other guy is trying to hit me in the face, and I am trying to avoid that. But I am not fighting against him as much as I am fighting for me. Every aspect of me.

His jab lands repeatedly, and I feel ridiculed. Im slipping correctly, arent I? Isnt this what we practiced in class? I pivot. I keep my jab out there. Im teepingthe front kick version of a jabbut he keeps landing. Bam-bam. Im glad I got the deluxe helmet with extra cheek pads. I flip a double jab and step out, right into the cross. Theres the bellrelief. Sweat is pouring down both of our faces. We have one minute before the next round of sparring. Our hearts are hammering because three minutes is a long time to face somebody whose life is focused on hitting and kicking you. Im frustrated; I want to move faster. Get my legs under me and, for gods sake, block the right body kick. And Im angry; his jab was dominating, and I hate being dominated. I reacted and started swinging wild and got a cross to the head for my foolishness. Now I need to regain my equanimity. Im breathing through my nose to tell my brain Im not panicking, everything is fine, keep executing. Bell!

I touch gloves with a woman about my size. Everything starts out fine: I catch a few jabs; she slips mine and lands a front kick. Why didnt I block? My mind drifts, and, pop! Something hits me in the face. Where was I? Pivot, teep, right kick. Relax. Bam-bam-bam at me, and Im batting it away when two kicks land, bap-bap, lightly, on my arm just below the shoulder. Im wiped out, my spirits sag, but no time for being a sad sack because we have 2:30 left to spar and Ive got to get it going here.

Muay Thai demands physical courage. Thats one reason Im fighting. Self-respect is another. And the ability to regain my serenity. And confidence.

The workouts have reshaped my body. Ive got shoulders and calves that my younger body never met. Ive learned to absorb the jarring when a strike connects, so I dont lose focus. This training has made my whole body less fearful of aggression. That means it doesnt dump a load of cortisol into my blood and freeze me with fear before its really necessary. It means my body trusts itself to handle a lot more before it starts to worry.

After you practice a move a thousand times, your body knows that move. The happy surprise is how quickly your body learns to choose good moves that deal with the entire situation. It can see a strike coming and raise a block before you even notice. Everyone who does a sport or plays an instrument or performs a thousand other physical arts relies on the penetrating intelligence of the body. Mine knows how to read a situation and orchestrate a complete response while my conscious mind is still trying to snap out of indignation that I just got tagged again.

The courage Im seeking entails trusting the intelligence of my body. I want courage to confront challenges in family life. I want serenity to deal with grief and memories of my mother. I would enjoy more robust confidence and the feeling of ease and power that comes from a strong core. It will turn out that I will need all that before the end of summer 2016: trust, courage, serenity, confidence, and power.

The next morning, I receive an email from my older sister, Linda, saying her indolent follicular lymphoma, quiet for five or six years, has transformed to diffuse large B-cell lymphoma (DLBCL). The deformed B cells have clogged into tumors. There is no known chemo that can eliminate them. The tumors are tangled in her intestines and pressing a ureter. She has been given a prognosis of a painful though fairly rapid death. There is one iffy option for people with deadly blood cancers like this: vigorous chemotherapy to destroy the bone marrow and its stem cells, followed by a stem cell transplant.