Lessons From the Master Who Stopped Coming

The Teacher was on the phone

There has been a change in plans, he wants you to pick up the master.

The Master?

Up until a week ago I didn’t know we even had a master.

Naturally my teacher had learned it from somebody, but that was always in an abstract kind of way. The Master was always a name spoke in reverence, or when sharing something specific I was that this is the way the Master did it.

Now he was arriving.

Today.

Pick him up at the airport, and get him to the dojo by 8 PM.

Whatever else he would like in the meantime is fine, as long as you keep him out of trouble.

Keep him out of trouble.

No problem.

Master, it is good to see you.

He didn’t look like any kind of Master, just another person getting of the plane and busy trying to get somewhere else.

The Teacher asked me to meet you, and we have a few hours before your first class.

The Master wanted a toy watch.

Not just any toy, the watch that was only available in a Burger King kid’s meal at the time. Apparently, it was impossible to find on the other side of the world, and it would make him happy to find it.

He would have something to show the other Masters.

It took three Burger Kings, but I got the Master that watch and got him to the dojo early.

I did such a good job last time picking up the Master and getting him to the dojo that I was asked to do it again.

Greeting him at the airport it was the same as last time—anything you want to do.

Master?

Drive my sport car?

Did the Master even drive a car?

I don’t think we can do that, Master, Teacher gave me very strict instructions.

Did I just tell the Master no?

Something else?

A roller coaster?

Not the request I expected, but actually there was a park not far away, he could ride a roller coaster, eat cotton candy, and kill the time till class on the Ferris wheel.

I rode the roller coaster with the Master six times in a row, until we ran out of a voice to scream any more.

Sitting at the amusement park before leaving for the dojo, the Master told me what movement was like when he started, what it was like when he was my age, what was important and what seemed important.

The next time the Master visited he greeted me by name, and this time he wanted to feed some pigeons. He heard the city had the best pigeons in the world.

We fed those pigeons for hours as I just listened to his stories about what was important now with the movement.

How he would soon be the same age as his Master once was.

This went on for a few years, until one day the Master just stopped coming.

How could the Master not come?

I was at an age at the dojo where time didn’t seem to advance.

We would always be young, the dojo would always be there, the Master would always visit.

Once time advanced, the words of the Master became more and more of a gift, a map of where one should be going over the years.

A gift of trying to avoid mistakes made by the Master.

Thank you Master, I keep feeling like we will meet again one day.

I hope that you won't be surprised that I am still practicing.