DeLorean Double Date

I wanted to help my boy Punkass out.

My girlfriend had spent the entire week hyping the date up.

Equally I updated him with pictures, interests, and no go zones.

She was the perfect woman for him, hitting all the check boxes.

Saturday night was the night.

In Italian restaurant down by the water, one she had not been to, but eager to dine at from the recon my girlfriend ran.

I ran through the itinerary with him so nothing was left to chance.

Pick up my girlfriend first, then her, and then him.

I’ll do the driving so the two of them can sit in the back seat together.

Everything was set.

My only warning was not to be late.

When we rolled up, give it thirty seconds after I honk and come out.

One spitz of the Drakkar, nothing more, on the suggestion of my girlfriend.

Don’t mention the DeLorean.

Save that for the second date.

The fact that I was even wearing a suit showed how serious I took my responsibilities for the night.

Driving over to Punkass’ house everything was according to the stated pickup time.

My girl in a red cocktail dress in the passenger seat, her friend in a matching black dress in the back.

I slowly rolled up to the house, a moment later honking the horn, one quick blast.

Ten minutes is a long time to sit in silence, my girlfriend kept the conversation lite as I calculated if I should stay in the car or get out and find out what is going on.

Finally.

My girl was the fist to see it, an entire sentence passed through a quick glance to me.

She hadn’t looked over yet, maybe I could do something?

A second glance.

I told him where we were going, even what she would be wearing.

He knew.

Really.

A quick look out the window and contact was made.

Respectable shoes and black pants, paired with a Cliff Huxtable sweater.

Forget damage control, they might not let us in the Restaurant.

Now a silent three way silent conversation was going on. Her flashing eyes to my girlfriend, my girlfriend flashing her eyes to me, and me looking at her in the backseat trying to figure out how to spin it.

The drive over to the restaurant was silent at first, but as things started to defrost I still believed in my boy and we could still make it up on sophistication and charm.

The seating was perfect, thanks to me going over a few nights before to check out the lighting and view.

The ambiance would mute the sweater a bit, and I was ready to steer the conversation to music they both shared.

My girl has well rehearsed me in the girl-code when it comes to order and I naturally too the lead.

I’d order first.

Something expensive, and then my girl.

Control the flow and have Punkass order next, leaving her last so she could adjust what she ordered as needed.

It took ten minutes to get to her.

Ten minutes.

He had a dozen questions, asked to hear the specials twice, and wound up ordering something messy.

Beer to drink, but not in a glass, leave it in the bottle.

Even the waiter could read why we were here and he was trying to coach my boy with some helpful suggestions.

After ordering the ladies excused themselves to freshen up for a moment, and when they left Punkass asked how he was doing, and that she was even hotter then her pictures. 

Pointing out that he fucked up on punctuality, and sophistication, leaving only charm left wasn’t going to help.

I told him to just be relaxed and maybe before dinner arrived to order the table a bottle of wine.

The calm before dinner and the first half if it recovered.

Things were still a bit muted, but picking up.

Maybe I would survive this after all, my own life on the balance since this entire thing was my idea.

Then t took a turn.

Not a complement, but a disagreement.

Not framed as an opinion, but just that she was flat out wrong.

For a moment I imagined myself sitting at the bar alone, enjoying my drink.

Now it was just get through the evening as the new plan was to keep my eyes on Punkass’s eyes and not deviate.

Drinks after at the bar were out and the car ride home was ice.

We dropped my boy of first and I walked him to the door to get a brief reprieve for the tag team that was to come as soon as I got back in the car.

His response was that he nailed the night and was going to caller her tomorrow and take her out in the DeLorean.

There was nothing left to say.

You do that was all I could say.

Forever Thursday

Thursday night had been our routine for a long time.

Chrissy would pick me up around 8 and he would smoke on the entire drive over.

Punkass always said he would be ready when we arrived but kept us hanging for half an hour, finally coming out reeking of Drakkar Noir.

It was either Pearl Jam or U2 on the ride over.

The parking lot was the kind of place where you didn’t want to leave your car at any time of day, not that Chrissy’s car was worth the effort.

Chrissy still left the windows down and glove box open.

Through the entrance and down a series of stairs into the basement, the hall open up and unfolded before us.

Masters of the Universe, Thursdays was play all night for one price.

Punkass would rack the balls, setting them and resetting them a dozen or so time until some specific number in his mind was reached. Chrissy would break first since he drove.

Stale beer, oil soaked fries, and a plate of onion rings were the banquet.

When the hall closed it was a ride down to the waterfront to this one particular park that was always closed.

Entry through a gap in the chain link fence.

The three of us would sit on a wall, a terrifying height to the ocean below.

Taking something for granted assumed one even knew it might end one day.

Some friends were never really friends, but a convenience.

Some friends moved on in life and deliberately left you behind.

Some friends continued to wonder for years why Thursday evenings had to ever change.

Dojo Kinfe Toss

Different schools did it different ways.

A set of skills that needed to be mastered, but it was left to the teacher to determine the process.

How one learned it in the dojo, became the benchmark for when one encountered the same skill at another dojo or martial arts seminar.

One was invited to sit in the circle after a year or two of training.

Not an absolute specific time, but when one had a command of the movement and a base level of awareness and distance and timing.

Once every few week, after class the circle would practice.

Sitting in seiza, relaxed, equal space between everybody, the circle expanding or shrinking depending on what was present.

The senior student would begin.

Knife in hand, balanced in the palm and they would toss it to a student in the circle who in turn catch it on the palm, rotate it, and when ready toss it to another student in the circle.

The first lesson of the transmission was straightforward.

Could you catch a weapon and bring it into play as if you life depended on it?

Could you pass a weapon to another as if their life depended on it?

Yet as with all lessons, there are layers in the lesson.

When catching the knife, being able to rotate it in the hand as if one was bringing it into a ready position.

When tossing the knife was the person receiving it ready?

The importance of eye contact and silent communication.

Distance, timing, and the rhythm of the circle.

It was at one seminar that I found out the circle of another dojo used a jo to practice the transmission.

For me a stick seemed as strange as a knife did for them.

His Name Was Murphy

I was to follow them.

No confrontation.

Keep my distance.

Observe and report back.

He knew I was following him and was in no hurry to lead me to his home.

I kept my distance as instructed, he took quite a ways to get there, but eventually I had an address and house number.

The assignment fell to me, in part because nobody else wanted to make the call, and in part because my boss needed it delegated to somebody and I happened to be walking by when it became his problem.

Here is what I knew.

He would stop by every morning at the same time and hand around the customers.

At first it was no big deal, but then he started hanging around more and more as the customers would buy him breakfast.

After breakfast he would leave and return later for lunch.

It became a problem when he stole a customers lunch and kept on returning.

We tried the police, but they refused to do anything.

So it fell to me and that is why I followed him home.

A man answered the door and I gave him my managers card, and told him what had been happening.

He was surprised and told me he’d keep him in the house for a bit.

I thanked him and apologized and told him that unfortunately my manger has banned him from the store for harassing customers and stealing food.

The conversation ended in silence, and we never saw him in the store again.

When Your Ex Becomes Your Cousin's Fiancée

The moment she entered the room my body locked as my brain tried to process what I was seeing.

That short circuit where one is in a familiar place and something so completely unexpected happens you forget where you are for a moment, and have to ask yourself just what you are seeing.

My mind could understand what she was doing here. 

And then my cousin Lisa walked in behind her and the two kissed.

What the fuck?

When her eyes met mine from across the room a moment later, she had the same experience I just had. 

What are you doing here?

Along with something else.

Lisa made the rounds with her and made the introductions to the family.

Meet her fiancé.

I tried to act normal around her when we were introduced, trying to act like I was just meeting her for the first time, when really we had dated for two years. 

When Lisa excused them to say hello to our uncle, I relaxed, suddenly aware of just how much tension I had been holding.

Were there signs?

Did I miss something?

Not in two years of dating.

It didn’t even end bad, we just kind of outgrew each other and moved on, nothing dramatic. 

Stayed friends for a bit and then life happened.

Halfway through the evening was the first chance we had to be alone for a moment as I was bringing in some more drinks and ice from the porch.

I could see she wanted to say something, but didn’t even know where to begin.

I mentioned to her my cousin Lisa is a great gal.

Funny, sweet, and smart, and that I was very happy she found her.

She didn’t know Lisa had a cousin, and I didn’t know Lisa had a new girlfriend and got engaged.

In a way its kind of like we are meeting for the first time then, and perhaps we should leave it at that, at least for tonight.

She agreed.

The Layers of the Dojo: Why We Punch

The transmission of the dojo is layered.

Some things will make sense rather quickly.

Others take some insights.

A few can only be understood through the weight of years.

The trust is that every movement, every exercise, every correction is understood that it has the gravity of eight hundred years behind it.

Every class at the dojo begins with a series of fundamental movement, most of the time lead by a senior student, other times be the teacher himself.

Tsuki gata- punching was one of them.

The class would line up and strike through a series of punching focus mitts being held by a seniors student. Walk up, hit the mitt and move past, circle back around.

I always enjoyed punching, the movement, the feedback, the directness of it.

But at some point I began to become a little critical of it.

Class was a special place, a way to step out of space and time for a few hours. A chance to put aside the responsibilities of the day, the obligations, the things to do, and practice movement in a sacred space.

The time was precious and with so much to learn and receive, was the time best spent spending so much time punching?

I mean, couldn’t ‘t we just work on that at home, or outside of class with the senior student meetups?

The first point explained to me early on was that to unlock the art one had to be able to deliver a good punch.

Not the best, or most proficient, but something straight, on target, and with the motivation that the person on the receiving end didn’t want to get hit with it.

With that movement-motivation they would be forced to do the technique, whatever technique was being worked on. Likewise, by giving a good attack a good counter was responded and one would learn correctly what the technique felt like by having it correctly done to them.

All this predicated on a good punch.  

That made sense, but was so much punching still needed in class?

Some time later I understood tsuki gata from a new layer, the layer of shoshin, the beginner’s mind.

That there was something about being forced to approach the same basics, in this case punching, over and over again as if it was the first time one was seeing it and practicing it each week. That attention to detail, refinement, and spiritual understanding underpinned all the lessons, and tsuki gata was the most-straightforward way to taste it.  

The final layer was explained to me when I started leading the punching practice at the start of class, as the teacher gave me a new layer of understanding.

He explained that while he loved all the students in the dojo, not everybody was here for the same reason, and that was ok.

For some training was more casual, an interest for sure, but something to do during the week, which on hearing this was an alien concept.

Casual?

Yes.

And for those students, especially, it was important that they were able to aim a punch and hit solid, as that might be the only lesson they are able to effectively receive from the dojo, and in that if they leave the dojo after a few months, or a year, they will at least have that lesson of hitting hard.

That lesson might be very important for them one day, long after they have left and forgotten about the dojo. 

The Gravity of a Single Second: A Near-Death Reflection on Ambition and Presence

It was a hard and thankless job.

An impossible job.

And she was the one holding it together.

If one was watching this thing from outside the floor, it would appear that Lucen was the one directing things.

He determined when it started, one people moved around the floor, and determined the pace of the script by how he asked the questions.

There was a visible, rising power behind him, one that was always an amazing part to be a part of.

Yet, I think he would agree that there were others in the group that could and we able to do what he did, with an individual flare of course.

This took nothing away from him in the least.

Yet, it was her that held the gravity in the room and could change the course of that gravity based on just where she was sitting.

Sometimes she would ask you a question, rarely would she offer advice.

I found her advice quite good, and wish she gave more of it.

I felt myself more self-conscious around what Lucen was able to do, because I was not able to do it at the adept level her was.

Maybe if something catastrophic happened and I was the last man standing I’d make a good fill in, but fortunately there were always better choices and more capable people in the group.

That is what I enjoyed the most about this group, for the first time I was not in or expected to be in a leadership role.

It was nice to be a junior again and be responsible for nothing.

How fast we want to climb that ladder, and leave that simple joy behind of being new.

Lucen would often lead the philosophical lectures after the dinner gathering each month, and I enjoyed his lectures very much, laced with insight that one would require a dozen books to gleam from, but I was always a bit more interested to see where she sat, and how the composition of the person she was sitting next to changed.

All without saying a word.

Some said there was some sort of energy thing going on.

Perhaps.

Tonight talk was very philosophical, that aspect of the personality that does not survive death once the identity of the body ceases.

It was an interesting split.

Almost 50/50.

Half the room was working on completely letting go of any karma so the last threads of it would dissolve on death, and the other half was working on completely building a form of karma so the personality would survive death.

Lucen had once asked where I stood due to my experiences in the dojo, that transmission from the East, I had thus circled around most of my life.

I was aware of it, but at heart I was a man of the West.

I had once shared a private experience with Lucen as I wanted his take on it as he had studied both the Eastern and Western ideas in that moment and I was curious about what she might have to say about it.

Working more hours than I should have been for too long.

Pushing myself with stimulants to time both of the markets.

It would be one thing if I was creating art, but instead I was chasing money.

Money.

Warning signs were dismissed as I counted on, I was still young enough as not to worry, I still have a good ten years to go, at least.

The alarm on my watch was the first to flash an audio warning, and then the sensation in my chest followed.

A bodily instinct to lay on the ground, so instead I stood up, knowing if I laid on the ground that was it.

My only thought in that moment is what my family was how my family was going to find me when they came home.

Then it played out just like you might have read or watched in some of those experiences.

The next second stopped and stretched out.

I had all the time in the world to do whatever I wanted with that last second.

How would you spend that last second was the question I asked her.

It was an honest response, she didn’t know.

Her advice was that I had been given a test run and I had to figure out how to best use that for next time.

This Is How Long It Takes To Get A Black Belt

How long does it take to get a black belt?

This is a question I often hear when potential new students are visiting the dojo, inquiring about training.

Many traditional martial artists get upset by this question.

They take it personally.

But they forget that the person asking is not in the tradition yet.

In the dojo it is considered bad taste ask about rank and how long it takes to get, or why one has not gotten it yet. It points to the idea that a student is more interested in the status of the rank and not the training, and understanding that rank is a trap for more reasonability and obligation. 

But somebody asking outside of the dojo, what are they really asking?

I interpret the question to be more along the lines as a genuine question looking for guidance.

Something in life has sparked or brought them to the dojo, and not they are trying to make sense of figuring it all out.

Observing an entire new life of movement and experience, trying to figure out if they can do it.

The only frame of reference most people have for the martial arts is the “black belt”, meaning it represents a level of skill and competency. 

They want to know if they can do that, if they can get to that level, so they ask how long it takes as a signal or guidepost.

It is a question worth answering and explaining, on average it tends to take this amount of time and requires the following. 

Explain it so they can have a map, and then work on the idea of focusing and enjoying the journey, and as a teacher getting them to that point.

The rest all kind of falls into place.

The Ones Beyond Jedi and Sith

There they were, all different shapes, sizes, lengths and colors.

A couple of dozen light sabers laid across the folding table at the end of the hall.

When the hall opened and Jedi started to move to the table, I hung back with my friend so we could watch, as it really didn’t matter which saber we selected.

They weren’t all Jedi, there were also some Sith, noted a correction from my friend.

Jedi.

Sith.

That wasn’t what we were looking for.

We were observing for something beyond Jedi and Sith.

The ones who rushed to the table right away we could dismiss right away.

How was I sure?

Maybe one of them was hiding it that way?

Anything was possible and nothing was completely known until the quality of the person was discovered in that moment when they stood across from you.

Movement does not lie, and someone with the movement could hide it as part of a deception, but that was very difficult.

Seasons, decades or training to move without using the mind, without thinking becomes natural.

Once you hit half-a-million sword cuts, there was nowhere to hide.

But, there could be one among that first group even with such slim odds.

Next there were those who picked up a light saber based on looks, rather then what fit to the body.

Again, somebody beyond Jedi and Sith could adapt to the wrong length for the hand, but that would not be a first choice.

When the Jedi and Sith had sabers in hand what was the next observation?

Who just started swinging them around randomly?

Who want into some sort of force form or stance broadcasting to anybody watching?

Who just held their saber at their side.

This last group was going to be the biggest challenge.

A further observation.

Who in the group held the light saber as if it was a real weapon?

Who among that group held it with a training memory forgetting it was not just a toy pop.

With these observations, that is when we moved across the floor to make our selection.

Yes, the possibility that somebody could be watching us, but given the crowd and the timing the best we could do was keep that to a minimum.

We would have no way of knowing one hundred percent until that moment when we stood cross from a Jedi of Sith.

When Loyalty Costs You the Chance You Didn’t Know You Had

Time.

Enough of it had passed in that the questions asked no longer mattered.

Whatever could have potentially happened had long cooled, and the trials of life had piled on.

Now there was only a shared history that could never be changed.

Did I remember that moment at the party, when everybody left the room and it was just the two of us sitting there?

The silence in the room broken by her first as we talked about nothing at all.

I remember that the conversation, our proximity, and what she was really wondering about.

What she was really asking was why didn’t I ask her out.

At that moment?

Out of loyalty.

She had just broken up with my best friend.

The fact that she dated him right there made her off limits.

But what she didn’t realize at the time, and what took me a few years later looking back was that such loyalty was misplaced.

My friend never had my best interest at heart, or for that matter any of my interests.

I was convenient to him and helpful to have around as I never backed down from anything, both a character strength and flaw.

He knew I would always back him no matter what, and that was useful.

At the time I missed the entire point of our conversation and that our friends in the room didn’t leave because they had somewhere else to be.

They left knowingly so I could ask you.

I missed all of that, otherwise perhaps I would have followed you to Florida.

The Anatomy of a Second

What is it like in that moment?

First you notice it.

The approach, the lead in, something is happening as your brain takes in our surroundings.

A moment later you realize this is real and it is happening.

The body kicks in.

You are suddenly aware of your heart and the blood pumping through your body.

Your blood has a sound and time stops.

This is at the point most people freeze.

For some, this is where the movement kicks in.

One’s awareness expands almost 360 degrees.

Space becomes more expansive and the thinking mind shuts off.

One is not long thinking, but is observing movement.

The movement of the other people, as movement does not lie.

Hours, seasons, years, or decades of movement kicks in, a combination of muscle memory and transmission from your teacher and past teachers.

Isshi-soden.

One is suddenly moving.

Not fast, not slow.

A feeling of watching oneself, wondering just who is going that.

All this happens in the span of a few seconds at most.

The Quietest Player at the Table

After a few session we all seemed to have our own places at the table.

The barbarian sat at my left, and the cleric to my left.

The Dungeon Master was in front of me.

The others filling in the table around him.

At the start of the campaign for the Forgotten Realms Romeo would sit next to me which eventually turned into his favorite spot.

There would be those critical moments in the game, where the Barbarian and I would have to make a decision, the combination of his might and my magic to save the party, as the other were newer to the game.

Romeo would just sit there and look, sometimes nodding his head in agreement, most of the time leaving it up to us to decide.

Why is it when it came down to those critical roles, when you needed to roll high, or roll a “20” the dice always bounces off the table?

Romeo was the one to always go under the table and fish out the dice.

It was halfway through the campaign when I discovered Romeo liked pretzels like I did, and in sharing that I always brought a big bag for us to share.

He was there for all the great adventures and when the campaign ended, he was the one who I missed the most.

Romeo was a dog.

When the Hill Asked for Silence

I was running a bit behind, but still with enough time that I wouldn’t be late.

I parked the car, put my training bag on my back and grabbed my practice naginata.

Approaching the park was a curious sight, a dozen or so students waiting around near the main gate rather than heading into the park to start warming up.

During the summer we had been meeting on Thursday evenings just before sundown to get some additional practice in and the informal group from the dojo had grown enough that it was almost considered a regular class at this point.

Normally they would be in the park at our usual spot, ready to begin when the senior student arrived, and that explained why everybody was still standing around.

Something had happened and the senior student would not be able to make it tonight, which means in the hierarchy of the dojo the responsibility falls to the next senior student in the group which apparently for this night was me.

Training gear in hand we entered through the main gate, following our path up the hill to our spot.

About halfway there I stopped and that sudden motion was enough to cascade through the line of other students as they also stopped one by one.

I announced we were going to the second spot tonight, which wasn’t a bad spot, but it wasn’t our spot.

The first question from a junior student was why?

Our sport was already occupied by a person.

A colorful mat rolled out on the ground, standing on all fours, rapidly breathing in and out deeply.

Occupied.

They were well into their own world, their own practice.

Why not just start class near them and they will leave?

That question was understandable and tolerated because they were one of the newest members of the group.

Because of respect, and well they were her first.

The alternate spot was on the opposite side of the hill, still in view of our spot, and everybody quickly got into their gear.

We were about to start the practice when I announced we are moving to the third spot.

What third spot?

We don’t have a third spot.

Tonight we do.

The clearing on the other side of the hill, next to the parking lot.

We had now walked the park full circle.

After our practice one of the junior students asked why we moved again, they genuinely wanted to understand.

It was a matter of respect.

That person practicing their asana’s had a quality about them, and while I don’t know the transmissions of those postures, I do know enough from experience to tell the presence of a person. From the opposite side of the park, they might not have seen us, but they would have felt the quality of our movement, and that would have disturbed their own practice.

That would be rude of us, and not in the spirit of budo. 

Boots In The Dojo

To tell you the truth I hadn’t noticed.

Everybody was either wearing sneakers, light shoes, or a very peculiar type of soft shoe.

Everybody but me.

The teacher was there pointing out that the combat boots I were wearing were binding on my ankles and added necessary weight to my feet.

That my movement would be compromised.

I told him that I could move around with the just fine, and I liked them.

They were a part of me.

While it was delivered in a playful way, the feeling behind it left no room for interpretation, the teacher asked me to throw a few kicks in the air, which I did.

They were pretty good.

His follow up was another question asking if I really didn’t notice.

Notice what?

Apparently missing the lesson, the group of us all left the dojo and headed over to the pizza shop where we all would usually grab a slice or two after class.

Martial Arts, Misunderstandings, and Quiet Intimacy — A Night That Changed Everything

It was that hour of the night where one tended to ask the questions they were carrying with them from the evening.

We sat on the bench across from the planetarium watching the rainbow colors of the great sphere slowly shift through the spectrum of colors.

Beth had been unusually cold with me since we left the gathering at the museum, and only now was I replaying the sequence of the night in my mind.

Normally if she was upset with me she was very direct about it.

This time it was for me to figure it out.

Ten minutes of silence and the only thing I could point to was meeting a separate friend at the museum.

I introduced her correctly, using her mundane name, and the three of us had a nice conversation about the exhibit.

She finally broke the ice and asked why I didn't invite her to the demonstration.

What demonstration?

Apparently the one my friend referenced when he reminded me before saying goodnight.

That must have been the moment.

He reminded me about the upcoming demonstration this weekend for the cherry blossom festival, to make sure I was there extra early to assist with setting up.

As one of the bigger guys in the dojo, most of the heavy-lifting tasks fell to me.

Was she serious?

I told her I didn't invite her because I know she doesn't like the idea of people hitting each other, let alone watching it.

She was surprised.

Yes, I did remember that part from our late night conversation at D.'s homecoming party.

I should have invited her anyway.

But that would have created an obligation on her part, and I never wanted her to feel obligated with anything for me, especially given her responsibility in the group and that dynamic.

Was D. invited?

Yes, but he likes swords.

Beth was there.

D. was not.

When we walked out on stage and my eyes met hers, I could register the surprise.

This was the first time she saw me in hakama; I imagine it was similar to the surprise I had when I saw her in her regalia for the first time.

Once my name was called out and the enbu began, it was a different world.

My world.

After the demonstration, once I had cleaned up and was back in street clothes, I found Beth and D. waiting for me by the stage.

D. was the first to greet me, complimenting me on the demo and how great it all was.

I could tell he saw none of it.

Dinner at the pub was uneventful — just three friends talking and hanging out — D. eventually excusing himself as he had to get back to a group project he was working on.

I didn't ask.

That time of evening again, on the bench, when Beth asked me about the demonstration.

Once she got past the hitting part, she was genuinely curious about the patterns she saw, and how one memorized them, drawing a parallel from her own world.

There were no patterns; each interaction with a partner is different every time, even with the same partner.

Movement that happens once and never again.

How does one learn that?

I told her that after all these years I'm still not quite sure — it just comes from being around your teacher and doing what he does.

Along the way, something just happens.

I wanted to tell her that it was nice she came to the demonstration.

Return to the Hall: Reflection on Ritual and Belonging

It was the times like this when we were all lined up and ready to go that I was reminded of the absurdity of all this.

I’d catch my reflection off something and realized how ridiculous I looked.

But then I would remind myself to them, my world looked equally ridiculous wearing hakama, and we also had our own cast of characters.

As we were getting ready Lucen has asked if I wanted to read from a script, that it would be OK for a first time.

I told him the script he sent me was fine, I had looked it over and committed it to memory, most of it being the same from what I remember, the few different embellishments had Lucen’s personality all over it.

I appreciated his extension of helping me to fit in.

Stepping out onto the floor, a feeling of familiarity and nostalgia.

I could have easily fooled myself into believing this was another equally familiar place.

Yet, there were subtle differences in dimensions and finish.

The biggest difference was that this was built as a permanent structure compared to something that required the change of location and venue from time to time.

That was the biggest difference in the feeling.

I had mixed emotions, in that what would they have thought?

Would the approve, or would they have been even more disappointed at me arriving right back here.

Why then leave in the first place?

I didn’t have a internal answer for this, and things were getting started, so I let it just float away.

It was fun to watch Lucen, he was a king holding court at the far end of the Hall.

He wasn’t just playing the part, he was the part, and I wondered who else in the Hall beyond his partner could see that.

Lucen was what he had always hoped to be.

Somehow, I had stepped into a new home, and the others didn’t quite know what to make of me yet.

Like a cousin from a distant family that sort of looks like your family, with a bit of skepticism in meeting for the first time.

What caught my attention was Lucen’s partner, standing in the middle of the Hall, myself in front of her and Lucen behind her.

It wasn’t when she spoke, the gravity around her was when she didn’t speak, when she was just standing there.

Instinct told me she was the real focal point behind the Hall.

Her eyes never left me.

At one point I found myself looking at my feet, and I wasn’t sure why.

Maybe part of a cultivated habit of always checking and maintain correct posture and form?

Was I being evaluated?

Another moment when it all looked ridiculous.

Between Silence and Symbols

D. was working on something.

Everybody knew but me.

The other members of the group knew.

Beth knew.

The Tailor knew.

Even the IT guy knew.

I first suspected when I saw him in the upper stacks of the library.

The place where one went to not only study alone, but also the place one went where nobody could approach you of sneak up on you without knowing.

I wanted to know, but I respected D. and gave him his space, however I did notice the books he was carrying.

Not the titles or names, that was to far to see, but the binding of the books, the size, texture and colors.

The weight of the books.

I filed that away and forgot about it.

The tailor handled the theatrical props and regalia for the group and this is where the question first resurfaced.

I was picking up some new clothes and he also handed me something for D.

It was on a hanger, wrapped in white protective plastic, clothing, but concealed.

The Tailor knew D. and I were friends, that I saw him almost every other day, and D. wanted it as soon as it was ready.

Sure why not.

Later in the evening when I was dropping it off at D.’s apartment that is when I remembered the books.

I only remembered them because of how D. received the clothing I dropped off. He didn’t take it casually, but respectfully hung it in the closet, a specific closet without saying a word.

I didn’t ask, and he didn’t elaborate further.

He was getting ready to go out, did I want to grab something to eat with him?

I didn’t overset, I just looked from where I could in the hallway to see if I could recognize any of those books.

D. loved books.

It was one of those Friday night gatherings, a fusion of meet and greet and what passed for one of the weekly meetings, this time in an art gallery not far from the planetarium, I found myself having a conversation with the IT guy.

I called him the IT guy.

Everybody called him the IT guy.

In the group you had your mundane name, your group identity, and the nickname everybody called you.

Usually you didn’t know the nickname everybody else called you, at some point around the group something stuck and that was that.

I didn’t know my nickname, I gave up trying to find out, still secretly hoping it was something inspiring.

IT guy was talking about some books and was curious about my thoughts on them, as I tended to see things differently in the group. IT guy always found it strange that I spent the last decade of my life learning how not to think, only to join a group that not only prized but demanded thinking.

I told him I hadn’t read those books yet and he was surprised.

D. had them now, and once he was done with them I should read them next.

Now I had a set of names, which made guessing what was wrapped up under that hanger I picked up for D. more specific.

Why wouldn’t he tell me?

After the meeting I offered to walk Beth home since we were leaving at the same time and heading in the same direction which seemed to happen more and more after these meetings when I wasn’t leaving with D.

She was enthusiastic about the gallery, chatty about the pictures, most of it I didn’t understand but was happy to listen.

I could ask her.

Not in her capacity as an office in the group, but as a friend of D.

Did I like the idea of asking her as a way to spy on my friend?

We playfully argued over who would walk who to their door, and I won out, which gave me a few more minutes to consider.

She knew.

She was waiting me to ask about something.

She would have told me if I asked.

Why Studying the Japanese Sword Still Matters in Modern Martial Arts

Without question martial arts change and adapt over time as both internal and external forces from society and technology guide them.

Staying up-to-date and aware is the goal of every martial artist.

Those that navigate the martial arts from a real-world perspective will often focus on only the most practical of applications, the here and now of what works for today.

Which makes sense as it is a total number game.

Even optimized, and with distractions eliminated there are only so many hours in the day to train.

Don’t waste any time on useless stuff.

So, what about the Japanese sword?

If your path takes you down the Japanese arts, do you need to study the sword (katana)?

Why do so many Japanese arts continue the use of the sword in modern teachings.

I’m not talking about trying to update old stuff to modem interpretations, nor HEMA inspired guesses, but rather the Japanese sword transmitted as it is.

I would put forth the possibility that yes, in the Japanese arts one needs to study the sword.

Why?

The sword is inseparable from the culture of the Japanese warrior arts, the mindset, internal tech, and higher-level lessons are all predicated on knowing the sword.

To understand the higher levels, one needs to be able to receive that transmission through the sword.

From there, once the movement is down, do with it what you will.  

The Invisible World Around the Dojo

The dojo was its own perfect ecosystem.

That ecosystem was my own little world and I was happy.

The axis was the dojo itself, the Japanese restaurant, coffee house, movie theater, pizza shop, and park were all spokes emanating from that axis.

Extensions of the teaching and feelings from the dojo.

My teacher lived somewhere in the immediate area, the exact place unknown to us.

Many tried to figure out where he lived and failed, but it had to be close by as he was always around.

If you were in town at a store, he would just show up.

Stop in and grab a coffee he would be there.

Dive through the village and he would be walking around.

Didn’t matter the time of day.

These informal run-ins would always turn into a chat and hangout session about budo and different ways of movement.

Over time they became more and more priceless.

Many of us would go running in the park off-class hours to build up our endurance and he would somehow know we were there.

My theory on where he lived was in the tallest apartment building in town, once specific one where you could see the main street, the dojo, and the other key places from the top floors.

There was this one time when I was limbering up for a run and looking over he is already running up the trail waving me down.

Running was a transmission of movement as he would share stories about the old days of training, about the master, or something about the sword, and the only way you could her it was to keep up.

You could ask questions, but if you were smart you used the time to listen.

It was on this run that I wondered about the absurdity of what all of us were doing.

All the time, effort, and energy spent both inside and outside the dojo, that price paid, the time sunk in any other endeavor would have had us at elite status years ago.

I asked him why we do this thing of ours.

Budo.

I had to catch myself from not crashing into him as he stopped.

We do it just because.

The Weight of the Dojo: When a Teacher Walks Away and Leaves You Holding the Line

Externally my response was that I had not heard anything about that, which was true as this was the first I was hearing about it.

When I was asked my opinion on it my response was considered evasive, as it was.

Publicly I would never say anything in such an open situation, not because they were correct, but because one does not talk about such things if it can damage the integrity of the tradition.

It was not my place, especially as a senior student to offer my opinion in public, so I didn’t.

But privately?

It pissed me off, and put me in a difficult situation.

When one decides to become a teacher and open a dojo, a hierarchy of binding relationships are established when a student walks through the door.

You lead, they follow.

As long as they are your student, under the tradition, you as a teacher have a responsibility to train them, guide them, and make sure they don’t get killed.

This duty continues until they leave the dojo, or until the teacher dies, and some would argue a good case that the obligation of the teacher carries on beyond death.

This is why entering a traditional dojo is so strict.

So what position was I put in that pissed me off?

A certain teacher had just shut down his dojo and abandoned his students.

We weren’t talking about a medical or family crisis, or a change in spiritual pursuits.

Those could have been navigated.

They shut down the dojo and left their students hanging so they could move an train with another teacher in order to get higher rank.

Whatever desires they may have had, whatever points they tried to navigate, was irreverent as they had students to look after.

They didn’t even arrange for the students to come with them.

Just dojo closed, and go train somewhere else.

Not even a concern as to how this would be perceived by the martial arts community regarding our tradition.

Selfish.

Normally I would just be a bystander in it, but I became involved when unsolicited some of the students approached me and asked me to be their teacher.

Can you see the place I was now put in?

Our first conversation was the same that I give all prospective students that come to the dojo. We need to make sure things are good fit. Come to class, train for a few weeks to feel the vibe, and then we can make a decision.

If after a few weeks things don’t work, no problem.

You learned a few cool things, had a good time training, and I’ll help them find another dojo that might be a better fit for where they want to go by making some calls and introductions.

I would never block anybody from joining, but of they did join, I would now forever be linked to the actions of that other teacher through his students, now my students.

That would just have to be something I would need to navigate.