Tennis is a sport that requires the full body. It mimics life in that you are alone on the court and you are constantly battling with yourself and your opponent. The opponent can change spontaneously without warning. Time is relative as in a game can theoretically go on for eternity. If the players are well matched it will go on for days until someone finally wins. Tennis requires extreme technical skill and extreme mental discipline. Even if you are athletic does not mean you will have the mental fortitude to win. Essentially it is a art. It requires so much of a human being that if you take it seriously you will evolve. Yet I would like to point out that many players who are very good at the game do not let the game of tennis filter into their deep consciousness. They are narrow minded and only consider winning to be the ultimate goal. They do not practice tennis as an art, but a means to an end, a way to remain in their small narrow usually rich world. Those of us that are moved deeply from this game have a different experience. It is very similar to a quest of a hero. It is an initiation of the mind, body and soul. A transformation is possible, as with all art forms. This is how I was effected by the game.
If tennis was my lover....I met him when I was 10. Well my mother introduced us, and she liked him right away. Me on the other hand, hated him...maybe until I was 13 or 14. I hated his stare, the one that would look into my weakness, my laziness, my self-importance. His expectations were too much and I failed him so many times. But as I tore myself to pieces he would support me and piece me back together. After long battles between us, he came in my most desperate moments and saved me a million times. He took me into the deep caverns where secret ceremonies of initiations were conducted. There stages of developement, tournaments to challenge my ability. I was schooled on the ethics and mindset of a champion. It was in these moments that my life was transformed.
Mostly my body was the betrayer, she had a deep passion for him. He taught her how to move, how to perform beyond her wildest dreams. She soaked up his attention like a desert soakes up water in a monsoon season.
It may sound too young, yet one nameless day he I became one. I was only 14 and I was playing a serious high school match against a ranked player. I understood him that day, I let him in to the deepest part of me. I won that day, but I also wasn't the same - there was no end to him and no beginning of me, nothing was distinguishable between us. This was my sacred hour where bliss was born.
I would refuse him, yet want him because he taught me how to be my best self. I needed him yet I wanted to kill him. My passion for him waned and I left him for a long time. He would always call. He would show up and make me fall to my knees, and I would grasp at him. No one on Earth ever treated me so compassionately, and required so much from me. I gave myself to him as much as I could. But I always held something back, maybe fearful of my own ability. He knew me, knew my talent, yet never judged me for not having the courage to be a champion.
I did not know when I was young what it was to be so close to something, to let another take me over, to teach me, to push me beyond, to know my talents and make me realize who I was. How did I walk away from this? Now older he returns again and I welcome him like a lost lover. He moves through me and my body knows him oh so well. Sometimes I think my body is endlessly waiting for him. She loves to fly and glide and show her grace. He allows her this luxury as he always has. He still is true, so relentless in his expectation of me. How can I resist the grace and the love in his eyes when we are together. When he loves me like this I see the best in myself.
