That day, I sat silently and watched as Mr. Jenoc’s hands worked
the leather. They moved so fast I only saw them as a blur of motion.
Once a week, my father sent me shuffling down the sidewalk
toward the shoemaker’s shop a couple of blocks over. The ritual
always began with sweet ice on a stick—cherry or strawberry, not
banana (that flavor didn’t go well with the smell of tanning leather),
and I sat there, among the stacks of shoes lining the walls, perched
on the high-stool, and I watched his hands move.
“Son, if you can learn a trade,” my father said, “you will always be alright.”
To my father, learning a trade meant that you could offer something that was useful to people, something that was needed. In that way, he was certain, by knowing a skill or a trade, one would always be sure of finding a place in the world.
It was not my path to repair the soles of shoes, but to connect with my own soul and to help others to connect with theirs. This is my
story—which includes a few adventures from my life—on my way to becoming a Qigong Master.
To be released soon..more info here.
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