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I am become a living trope: the Tai Chi novice, gradually beginning to understand, endlessly repeating the same simple pattern. I learned one movement this week and practiced it for twenty three hours. Of course, this “one” movement can be imagined as three, six, or any other number up to, and including, infinity: which anyone with math and a slight derangement recognizes as just another form of “one,” since the parts grow infinitely smaller in proportion to their number. The going is slow. Thankfully, my effort has not been entirely fruitless. I can honestly see the progress, although from a distance I’m sure I still resemble a dude waving his arms in idle circles. I refrained from being impatient with the master, and next week promises a new move.

It was a week made better by the arrival of a long awaited book, “The Wise Man’s Fear.” I blazed through it in a day and a half, but I have no qualms. If you know me well, perhaps to a degree only I posses, that news speaks worlds. But the explanation is intricate and, frankly, unnecessary. It’s a good thing. I feel my old self again after drinking in those pages, or rather my young self. As a result, I spent this morning outdoors with Tom, pen and paper near at hand, waiting for inspiration and listing to trance in the sun.

To impress the incremental nature of my recent training on you:



I think it probably has to be seen to be understood, not that this clip is a great demo.