i was reading the bhagavad-gita yesterday in the sunlight in front of my home. sitting on an asphalt shelf at the edge of the parking lot that sits in place of a yard in front of my apartment building. there was moss all about my feet, and a shaft of light about three feet wide came down through a clearing in the two trees that stood overhead. i sat in that light, and it warmed me and rejuvenated me. i looked up and it were as if the giant beam of golden sun was a slide or ladder that connected the airy halls of the sun gods with the very small piece of stone upon which i sat.

in the sky, above the leaves, dancing in the bright aura of the sun were small white motes of matter that drifted slowly, some falling gradually earthward. the wind played with the leaf-thick branches above me that opened to create the space where the sky shone through and my breath caught in my throat and tears came to my eyes as i beheld the entire happening. i was alone in this perfect moment of beauty, and happy simply to witness it. the smells of scented oil and beeswax drifted about in the warm wind, scents i had put on earlier that the sun was now calling forth, and they mixed with the smells of warming moss and earth and sky.

after a moment, i raised my camera to capture the amazing nature of this miles-high beam of light that the sun was sharing with me. but the foto was like a dull impression of the scene, bringing nothing of the experience through. i put down my camera and continued reading.

–

today i found two things. the charger for my slimmest camera and my glasses, broken though they are. this is good! finding lost items to me is an auspicious event. when i lose them i do my best to let them go, as everything comes and goes, but i’ll admit i really don’t like losing things. i have systems that help me keep my things and remember where they are. but the house is still messy in parts. the slow “spring cleaning” that will remake my home is yet to reach all corners of the abode. often i choose time to relax and unwind and give my mind and body some peace. this is time i could be cleaning the house, but without any time to slow down and ponder or wander or muse or simply set and reflect, life becomes a grim, anxious and unhappy place.

at the same time, too much clutter around you will cramp your mind and your thoughts and intrude more than might be immediately apparent. it is very important to not get too comfortable in the rubble.

these things must be balanced with working enough to feed yourself and retain access to your parking-lot embedded box of rubble!

–

was reminded through my readings and reflections yesterday that the emotion-strong warrior needs discipline. discipline is the answer to the chaotic and warring inner nature that bemoans the painful tasks ahead; to the untapped energy, to the desires that yank and pull and tug at all seams.

my writing to those who renounce violence as if virtuous was born from reading through Krishna’s words to Arjuna, who hesitated to allow this war that enjoined all his friends and family and pitted them against each other. Krishna did not tell Arjuna why it was okay to do so. he instead reminded Arjuna not to be attached to the outcomes of his actions, instead acting out of a centered place within himself that desired not individuality, recognition, or a certain outcome. hopping books or paradigms, one might say he reminded him of the Tao, of being, and acting from that place. Krishna also chastised Arjuna for imagining that his reluctance to violence was virtuous, instead framing it as weakness in disguise.

if i wanted to produce something dazzling, i suppose i could have beefed that little poem out. i could have named all the violences that play and prey upon the good people and the small people and the young people, i could have framed it as a call to meet that battle. i could have tied this in to so much of the “left”s persistent prattle about how useless protest and civil disobedience etc is and so on. but i have nothing to convince the onlineleft of today, and had nothing yesterday either.

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battle? warrior? are you wondering how much i am putting you on? how much is game here that i am playing? how much i believe? how much is drama?

war was brought to me as a child. was it brought to you? if so you better admit it. and look at what imperative it laid upon you. to not recognize that is to become a haywire atom, carrying fight and reaction throughout your life without having purpose or discipline through which to train yourself to meet or carry out the particular battle that was laid upon you in your youth. and perhaps i have done a lot of that. but life has chapters, a person’s life has chapters, and we age as we climb that mountain of story. our hair whitens, our teeth fall out, our bones become less flexible and if are truly american™, we hardly get wiser, but only slower and crazier and soon don the robes of uselessness that our nation demands of us before we are warehoused and comatose with disuse and drugs. but if we are wiser than our TV, we use these years, we grow along with the number of pages that tells our tale. we train and we learn, and we train and learn. there is something age brings that nobody can emulate, produce, or shortcut. that something is time. time with which to practice repetition; time with which to delve deeper; time with which to train further. to waste that time is to throw away life.

by war, do i mean a dour countenance? a grim, bloody, violent arc? not at all. i mean fight was given me, and i would not see it as useless. energy imbued and transferred and i would not have it ricochet and tear down the very walls of this temporary temple but instead use that force to etch purpose, righteous purpose. to leverage that energy and to carry it further, fueled by that purpose.

in reading yesterday, what seemed important to me was the reminder to Arjuna how important discipline is. and how, without it, the warrior becomes lost in indecision, becomes delusional about one’s strengths vs. one’s fears, burrows into a small view that too easily becomes about the individual and their stew of warring inner forces. with disciplined action, one moves in service of something larger; one can overcome their tiny personal limitations. i suppose this meant something because i understand it already.

–

do we learn things or do we just wake to them when it is time? is all our deep wisdom but seeds already germinating in our heart? if so it is our job to find the light and water that nourishes them; in the twilight to be as still as dawn so that they can sprout when the dawn moves in us; to take action daily to maintain their health. to harvest these visions and realities as we become them.

The flowers whirl away
In the wind like snow.
The thing that falls away
Is myself.

Hana sasou
Arashi no niwa no
Yuki narade
Furi yuki mono wa
Waga mi narikeri

—THE PRIME MINISTER KINTSUNE

i am doing the spring cleaning thing, finally. i wondered when it would manifest. we are into july. but it had to be a moment that chose itself. one thing led to another.

it’s really amazing when you can sit back and stop trying to tie ends together and bring certain realities to bear…trying to arrange things against their own movement into the shape you think best, and instead become watchful and flexible so that you can move yourself to best enjoy or appreciate what things life is doing and bringing your way. what treasures reveal themselves, then. ones you’d not have thought to look for. and many seemingly magical coincidences.

i finally got behind all my furniture in the living room. cleared the junk away behind everything. threw some things out, rerouted some wires. i’ll need to do this to the kitchen soon. i did a halfway job–which looked pretty good–but then dishes crowded in on everything. i really need to get rid of/give away most of my dishes. there is no reason for them anymore. i need only one small set. an extra two for visitors, which i can keep put away. for myself a glass, a cup, a plate, a bowl, a fork, a spoon, a knife and chopsticks. that should do it. there is no reason my sink and counter should get piled up with enough dishes to feed a blogging convention.

master lee is a great sabum, a great teacher i can tell right away. not only does word of mouth move around him like a wide ring of fresh energy, extolling his kindness and ability, but it is plain to see.

luna's first day at the dojang

luna has not yet really been able to enjoy her class. the first time she came with me to all belts practice, but it was above her ability and she felt a bit shy and didn’t really know what to do but  she’ll engage and have a great time when she attends the children-specific class, which would’ve happened already but she caught the nasty cough her sister has and they are both quarantined for now.

but it sure is great to see her in her dobok. not only is she the most adorable white belt ever, but it’s always been important to me to have my girls (my girls especially, tho i’d like to see all my kids in tkd) train since rainsong was little (tho my attempst there failed). her mother wasn’t interested in that idea, but instead put rain into bible camp and horse riding courses. i tried my best, when i could, to introduce rainsong to the idea and to practicing. but you know how those busted relationships can go…some people will specifically strike anything from your kids’ life that you want or that reminds them of you, so deep is their loathing for the other parent of their child. this is still one of those cases.

rainsong and me, 1996ish

when you think about it, it’s impressive that some people can maintain active hate for decades. it’s like a worship of you, in a way. you remain that important to them…even if negatively. hmm. yeah. not for me. that life is not for me. i honor nobody with that kind of self-immolation.

soon luna will make friends in the dojang and she will (i hope?) love it. master lee already asked a few people (girls) on that first day to help luna get her dobok on when she first was fitted, and they whisked her away to later come back with dear luna in her outfit. she looked like a doll!

then, since lunita didn’t really know what you do in a dojang, she told the girls she was going to cover her eyes and they should run and hide. that sort of broke my heart. not that luna was sad, or confused, or anything bad happened. it didn’t. they agreed, and luna covered her eyes, but i actually brought luna to me before she had a chance to start a game, so i could keep her  close.

even the sweet moments watching your child can break your heart into a billion pieces for reasons you don’t even know. your children can seem so sweet, and so naive; so helpless and to survive, dependent on the good graces of the cruel, cruel world. watching them meet the world can surprise you, can rend you with pain you normally never feel for yourself, so inured you are to the way things are. even watching someone else tell her to not lean on the mirrors is not easy, in a tiny, private way. but only for a moment. it will all be good for her, which is of course why she is there. i can be very sensitive to my hypersensitive luna’s feelings, i know. which is why it will be best to give her to the children’s class and master lee, and back off of that part.

master lee brought good reminders to help her feel the dojang was ‘her place’ and to simply support her and tell her she did a good job. which i did. soon, she will meet all the younger kids there, and enjoy the special attention that master lee gives them.

i am still mightily sore, but in different ways than after the first day. and without so much pain. most excitingly, i did better on pacing myself. which is important if i want to make it through the entire class. if i don’t watch out for my pacing, i’ll launch every punch, strike, and kick with full kihap and full intensity, full speed and full extension. this will end up with me heaving for air.  master lee tells me that for the first month, i should keep my energy at about 6, instead of 10 because while my body remembers how to practice, i need to recondition and bring it back to training shape. he has to remind me a few times, but its sticking. i finished last class without stopping, tho many times i was close and really had to push through. he had us doing these wall to wall running, kicking, bowling, shotputting, basketball motion type drills which were exhausting. he told me he developed those specifically for when he was training the olympic tkd team.

on friday, master lee made sure to come around at the start of new exercises and show me the form, which i appreciated. i want to learn the movement from him. most people practicing that i’ve seen up close (lower ranks especially) often implement varying degrees of sloppiness, and i need to see a crisp original so i can copy it exactly. even if not sloppy, not everyone has the ability to render a martial arts movement beautiful. some bodies and brains just don’t seem to get there; they don’t feel that groove to lock into, or won’t snap tightly at the right moment, or maybe they just get there later, i don’t know. but i pay special attention to those who perform these moves a certain way. obviously, master lee is one of those. my body wants to do these moves without any loss of signal, without any degradation of art. of those who practice forms/poomsae sort of loosely or halfheartedly, i don’t think they are bad practitioners. but i guess i don’t understand why they are not getting everything out of it you could. gliding and then jamming and locking it out…extending, floating and BAM…. it’s a conscience-laden, gorgeous dance that has a center, a core that ties it all together. it’s not just a collection of moves that are arranged in a linear sequence like a checkbox list. if i sound judgmental, it’s not in a mean way. just in a way where i evaluate a context around me and decide where i need to be within that.

it made me feel very good that this focus of mine was noticed by a few people already (black belt instructors among them), people who made it a point to tell me. this lets me know i’m not living in a dream of my own imagining, but am demonstrating with my body what is taking place within, and that this performance mirrors my own perceptions. to me, taekwondo really is an art and it really must be perfected for the whole essence to work, i feel. not that you have to get stuff perfect right away, or soon. but my art will require me to get there at some point, to aim for that. martial arts (tkd) to me is like an invaluable personal close special friend that speaks to me on a very true level. because of that i feel i understand what its creators were/are getting at, i’ve grokked that since i first began training. that’s why my love for it is so deep. it does what religion tries to. it guides you along a path that allows you to access a higher self, a pure self that demonstrates focus, strength, balance, energy, and love into your life, into your body, helps you become a vessel of as much. but you have to work it like it is an art, not just a hobby and not just something you do for aerobics.

right now i’m trying my best to catch up on the forms, and the commands and responses. master lee’s dojang has a whole new set of protocol. what you say when you enter, what you say when you leave. what you shout in response to his drills. i feel all bumbly and unschooled! keeping my responses quiet as i listen to how others do it. hey, i’d love to come in all knowledgeable, but we all learn, and we all progress if we want to. its good for the humility bone. and again, i just can’t stand people who don’t know how to be humble on the mat about what they have yet to master. there’s something beautiful about a person’s humility as they learn something important to them. they only shine brighter once they learn and learn well.

—i stop here to muse suddenly on the fact that some people who know me only from online interactions might think i am not humble or that i cannot be, or am the opposite of humble (often my ego is a monster, it is true). i’ve heard as much. then again, as i try to remind them, you don’t know me from only reading me online. none of us know each other if that is the depth of our relationship and i stand by that. but despite the validity of that opinion, and however we are perceived, the truth is that we are many things and could become any of those things we choose. to whatever degree we want. we must find those things and pursuits and ways that help us become the self we feel is truest.

on protocol in the new dojang, i’ve got my sheet of paper and i’m finding pronunciation on youtube, and i’m listening hard in class, and asking when i’m stumped on something. i studied stuff about General Choi and some Korean history when i used to train, but i’m pretty sure in this school and our style of tkd, General Choi is de-emphasized, and i think it is because of the split in style and origins. i have to read more on it. but i also have to do my work for pay, for rent. so dividing time wisely is key. but soon i will get a couple books from the library out so i can expand my understanding of this art and its history. which reminds me, i’ve also taken up more reading lately.

it would be easy to dive fully into training and let many other things fall away. i have to find a balance there, too. for now i am going to three classes a week, and trying to see how that fits into my schedule. maybe later i will go more. when the body stops being sore at three times a week! mixing it up is good. so was the slushy margarita i got at the bar and grill down the street from the dojang on friday, after class. i have a feeling i’ll be back there, too.

this morning i read the intro to mein kampf, and most of a book of japanese poetry.

other things have happened that are worthy of discussing. but i’ve written here long enough.

there are many activities that leave the body sore. i know of a few. but that first week of training in taekwondo—when you’re more used to sitting and typing or sitting and watching movies—is one you won’t forget. it’s this pained prideful condition. where every move hurts, and if you have a cough that is trying to clear your lungs, well. that’s a rough combination to have with sore rib muscles. but so sore. so very sore. so sore your toes feel broken. so sore, each damn toe feels independently sore and you ask yourself how on earth did i strain each toe muscle???

at the same time, you feel so good. your body is rebuilding itself stronger so that you can do more tomorrow than you could yesterday. you feel your flesh reinvigorated, responsive, full of random bursts of energy. and sore. but strong. so oddly strong that your own body feels alien. as if you woke up with ten times the amount of muscles in your frame you ever had, each one communicating with your brain, saying HEY i’m HERE! hey! HEY! HEY! and while it hurts…you marvel at this new condition. walking around the house—hobbling around the house—you may stop and suddenly strip your shorts at random moments to run your fingers over the newly-stone-strong rivet of muscle in strong relief along your hip. you are almost scared of the strong feeling in your torso. this thick, wiry weave of muscles suddenly at attention and taut.

it’s addictive. because that pain fades. and so does the supernatural feeling of strength, settling eventually into simply being “in shape.” but all the while you feel that pain, you know you have called upon your body to rise higher. and it is. it hurts, but you will be stronger, faster, and imbued with just a bit more stamina and endurance, all conditions being equal. there are of course, other physical factors that can possibly interfere with that improved performance and wellness. limited oxygen supply, or poor health in one area or another. conditions that won’t go away in some cases…like lungs that don’t work right.

soon, the pain fades and while you feel bouncier and stronger, there is this surge of energy. rushing through your body. and an impatience….or, no. an angst. an ache…a potential. a store of potential that now awaits use. you have called upon your physical self for more resources. it has responded. now it demands validation for that response.

so you get out there and push more. gently, but firmly, forward. beyond. and there will be more pain. and more feeling of health. and pride. and then, more demand for more activity.

the human body is so beautiful in action. and by action, i mean even even sitting still, with these rivers and tides of blood that move through us, feeding our flesh; with the thoughts and electricity that navigate our gray matter and make sense of our material and everchanging world; with the life-giving air the feeds our brain through our lungs and keeps that ocean of life moving in and out and in and out of our body. just living, the body is amazing. and at times, alien to  itself. at times it does strange things. sends the wrong signals. does self-harming things.

i threw out a few paragraphs the other day from an article i found thought provoking. it spoke of (psychiatric) diagnoses as dangerous; as limiting our view and experience of a person, or of life. i let these ideas turn in my self for a while, sometimes. tasting all the layers of my reception of a thought. make some kind of sense of it. i think i agree with that idea. That is, when you begin thinking of yourself as a diagnosis, you begin shrinking. When your identity becomes In What Way I Cannot Do, a path is carved out and that’s where your feet will fall. At the same time, a diagnosis can be very important. for different reasons. to treat something that would get worse without attention. to have in idea why you cannot do what others around you can.

i had no diagnosis for whatever it is that is wrong with my lungs in high school. until i was out of school for three years. and what a relief it was to hear that i had something. exercise induced asthma they called it, after a pulmonary functions test, which involved a series of lung exercises…that are strangely painful in ways not expected. especially, i suppose, if you have cause to get this particular diagnosis. it’s not the kind of asthma that gives you sudden fits when you get into a dusty room. this is a type where during periods of exercise, the brain, called upon to open the bronchial tubes to supply the blood with more oxygen because the body is operating at an elevated level of physical stress, instead shrinks them, cutting off oxygen supply to your blood when you need it most. which, of course, means you must stop whatever it is you are doing, be it running, jumping, or kicking. there simply comes a point where your chest aches because your blood is starved for oxygen and your heart can’t pump fast enough to bring it.

other people around you can keep going. they seem superhuman. your chest is seizing up and you want to push through. you try. you are embarrassed at how fast you are fading. you call upon your willpower to plow through. and pain seizes your heart with increasingly iron fingers and you simply cannot do it. sweat runs in sheets down your face, your neck, your scalp, your back. soon, you curl down to the ground and rest, heaving. others may say something or not.

not having a diagnosis means you are Normal, but insufficient. not as good. i actually thought i had a heart problem when i was a teen because of this. so having a diagnosis means you can console yourself that there is a REASON you can’t do what they can. but it doesn’t remove the reality of it. and the danger of using that as an excuse in your own mind is always a possibility. i don’t do that. i push until i can’t go anymore. and then i stop. what else is there to do?

i remember falling into the locker room in high school after a day of particularly hot and harsh jv football practice, vomit rising in the back of my throat. my skin was wet and electric, pores nearly puckered with a thirst for oxygen. screaming shimmery feeling all along my scalp. i fell onto the metal bench and my lungs scraped the air for precious oxygen. i couldn’t do it anymore, football practice. not another day. it was too hard. i told my best friend that night. he was the second smallest in our class. i was, of course, the smallest. we teamed up when everyone coupled off for drills. which meant that i had to carry him up my back, both of us with football gear on, as we ran drills up the super steep hill that ringed our playing field. however, we were not equal in size, and there was a gap between “smallest” and “second smallest” that was a bit steep.

he responded strongly when i told him i had decided to quit the team. his was a sports family, and i was at his house when i told him. he had eight siblings. generations, practically, of sports achievers. talking of quitting  there was heresy. i wasn’t even thinking that he had to be partially concerned with pairing up with someone even bigger than himself if i was no longer on the team. not to be ungenerous, however. i think he didn’t want me to quit because of what it would “say” to everyone about me. or what it meant to him. both. also, he didn’t want to lose my presence on the team, sure.

i let him talk me out of quitting. i stayed on, finished the school year as the smallest running back tri-valley junior varsity had who lost three yards the only time he carried the ball in a game. but i finished.

i’m proud of that decision. always have been. i think it was the first time i really really wanted to quit something, and pushed through. this is no small thing when it comes to small town football, either, let’s be real. being on a team or not will have an effect on your social standing. even if not, quitting sure will.

i think hanging in there was probably a very good lesson for me. i think quitting high school a year later was a good decision, too. but while i left with the lesson that i could push through pain and against my own desire to take the softer road, i left with no understanding of what was wrong with my body. or that there was anything wrong. i had my own ideas of what was going on. and it would be another four years or so before a doctor told me why i could never finish a basketball game without resting.

comparative to most people i’ve had reason and means by which to measure, i am a fast moving person. i won’t pretend i am not proud of it. it is, of course, beyond my doing. like my good muscle tone, i attribute it to not much more than genes. but i don’t mind being proud of my physical skills or shape. i won’t put that away for anyone, that pride. i don’t care what their problem is. more than one or two people tried to physically control and degrade and humiliate me growing up. it is my pleasure to nonetheless be fast enough to run circles around many people. small and agile and strong and super quick. when i hit that court, or mat, people just don’t know where i’ll be in the next second. which is why i love challenge like taekwondo. that speed and balance doesn’t really matter out in the street-walking world. it is not engaged, utilized, or nurtured. unimportant. feels like a waste. of course you get soft in modern living. easy to be sedentary. but get into a dojang, and then these things matter, then you can make use of more of your entire Self.

but after only a little while of intense output, i use up all the energy. it’s like a video game, and i’d burn that energy bar down to the empty position, while demonstrating triple speed powers. i always thought the wall of pain and depletion i’d hit before long was due to my above average speed and twitch potential (which i’d later learn about as a particular chemical that resides in the cell and “snaps” off a part of itself to produce the quick pop of energy that lets you move fast as well as begin moving from a rest position at all) which i could call on. i assumed the chest thing was a gift/curse balance. i guess i still think of it that way. when it comes to these things, i’m inclined toward a final tallying of balance—not to be confused with Fairness.

i have a prescription of albuterol to huff. which helps a little, tho it doesn’t make my lungs work normally. i still max out and have to stop before most people do. and that’s just life.

i don’t talk about this in the dojang. i don’t want special attention, though it’s humiliating to run out of stamina, as this is one of the things we develop in tkd. but i can still condition myself and my lungs, and i can get better and better. and i will. i figure everyone has drawbacks and challenges, and gifts, too. i’m pretty sure there have been world renowned athletes with asthma. overall, i’m very lucky, and that’s one of the reasons i don’t dwell on the lung thing. no, i don’t love this condition and no i am not at peace with it. this synaptic misroute is not my friend. sometimes i get mad about it. damn you, idiot lungs. why do you have to be weird? can’t you see what i’m trying to do here? stop sabotaging me!! my will is so very strong, my heart inexorable. i push myself on my bike or in my dojang with all intensity available to me. i leave no molecule of effort, no cell, no wavelength of joy behind. but my body remains clay.

and/but i love my body, too. and i will do what i can to help it overcome. more conditioning, healthier air. at least i quit smoking cigarettes…6 years ago? something like that. which means, they are still recovering from that abuse that began at 14 years old. it takes a long time to negate the effects of that poison.

finally, we can’t all be turned up to 11 with every trait. you have to know yourself and use your skills where they excel, and compensate for your weakenesses. like when you create a character in AD&D. high strength, low intelligence? you make that one a warrior. high dexterity, high intelligence, low strength? thief. high intelligence, low strength, high constitution? perhaps a magic-user. that’s life. if i will never have record-breaking endurance, i will use other strengths. regarding self defense, i give special loving focus to strikes that debilitate at once, and that rely on speed. regarding olympic style sparring, i give special loving focus on moves that give advantage to fast reaction time, ability to close in fast, and score through surprise. unpredictability. train and prepare for those who would try to wear you down. what would be their weakness? prepare for that. don’t let yourself be exhausted and left with nothing. and so on.

meanwhile, i do have breath. that, above all, is what matters. as was said the day before yesterday while in conversation about self-defense with an instructor at the dojang, if you don’t have your health, what is there to defend?

it’s been a while i’ve been away from training. when last i was involved with taekwondo, i had won gold at my first tournament for forms, and qualified to compete in the nationals. our dojang was getting jackets made up and planning our competition…and i just opted out. at least i left on a high note. i don’t remember all the reasons i left at the exact moment i did, but one of the major ones was obvious: i was shifting my energies into school. i had returned to school, and the massive stores of energy and focus that TKD required i gave to college, instead. i did very well at my community college, and transferred to NYU. while at NYU, i thought various times about joining the school’s team. but instead, i decided to put my extra energies (what were left after film school took its huge cut!) into a relationship. and a wild city styled life.

i don’t regret those choices. but i did miss everything about training. i missed the serious shape i was in, the lithe feeling, the light feeling, the fluid and strong feelings that the body can give. i missed knowing i was striving for those places that physical excellence can bring you. i missed the constant philosophy in my mind and body; the tenets, the approach toward life, toward harm, toward self, toward others. i missed competing with myself. i missed thinking of myself as an athlete. i missed the mat. the bag. the porkchop pad. the faces i knew at the dojang.

i could go on. really. as i’ve said before…i’ve loved very little as much as i love martial arts.

recently i found myself in a state wherein i was cruising forward on old habits, and too reliant on computers and the buzzing hive of virtual society, the white-cold glare of a simulated circle of friends, and feeling too isolated in my home. i feel i’ve lived a winter that has lasted me nearly two years. i don’t want to tell that story any more than i have. spring has broken. and just like the snake on the stone that sj gave me (which remains, tho her friendship has clearly dissipated), i move and transform with the seasons of my life. i am the seasons of my life. i am old man winter, and the lithe, green, spring. the cobra and the mongoose, los dos. the contraction and the expansion, the sinewave and the strike.

it all sounds very serious, but really i just feel at peace with it. and i don’t really mean to set up a dichotomy—at least not an unwavering one—between how much Tumblr (or internet in general) I use vs. how much I train…but there is truth there. i’ve put down twitter and tumblr a bit, as well as other internet moseying…because while i love it…it’s also substitution in many cases. and part of my finally walking into the local dojang (after researching schools here) was born from me putting down the internet activity a bit and sitting with myself. what happens? a boredom rises. a loneliness. a dissatisfaction. and i wanted to meet those things with activity. not with internet, as is usually the case. i wanted not to bury those things under web pages, but let them rise. and then say…’what now? how to deal with those things now?’

when i decided to begin training again, i accepted the idea that i would lose my rank. i was even ready to begin as a white belt! that’s a bit of a decision when you’ve already trained for years and worked your way up the ranks a tiny bit. but long absence, new school, new master, new style of pumsae—who knows. i decided i was still willing to begin again. so i was pleased when after an evaluation at the school, i was told i would be keeping my belt. but i do have to train for a little while with the lower ranks while i come up to speed on the specific forms used at this school (i used to train in ITF [International Taekwondo Federation] forms, these are WTF [World Taekwondo Federation] forms). but the blocks are the same, the one-steps, the hapkidos, the strikes, the kicks, the philosophies, the tenets, the TKD.

and now, it’s soon time for noon class, and so i’ll need to eat, shower and get ready. i’m taking luna to begin training, and we need to get there a little early so they can size her for her dobok.

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other day i’m gettin an eye exam from the doctor. we get into a talk about borders and immigrants. dont remember how it happened. trust, i dont go looking to tell random people about my passions in this area. folks can get weird. when they will soon be in your food, your home or your eyes, you dont introduce elements that prove unpredictable. like human rights activism. but this is info i’ve been building over the last four or five years. if you drop it in a few minutes, you can get in depth but keep it bullet pointed. treaties, agricultural industries, campesinos, economic desperation, prison industrial complex, families. bring more to a person’s awareness than “mexicans who are breaking rules.” even when they do care about progressive politics and human rights, if this image is all they have in mind, they don’t have enough mentally to battle the constant hostile vibe propagated by the corporate media, or help bring awareness to others, even if they want to. anyway, i guess he wasn’t expecting it. i mean…i know i wasn’t.

i live in a very liberal area. a pretty progressive town, in fact. despite the overwhelming whiteness. at one point while i’m talkin this stuff, he just stops looking at his screen and typing into his computer. he turns toward me, puts his hands in his lap and just listens. and just listens. i felt stunned tho i didnt show it. it was clearly a show of respect from this white-coated doctor dude, white haired white doctor guy…to me, in my LA hoodie and baggy pants. we are talking for five or more minutes. the entire exam ground to a halt. i never quite had an experience like it. we begin talking about our own family. his son, about chicanismo. he is a white man with an adopted child of color. like tons of families here. (the number of these feels just a bit creepy, honestly. i didn’t know i was coming into a town that had a mixed-adoption theme when i arrived. i don’t mean any insult to him or families that adopt children of color. but when a town has a massive concentration of this, but is very white…it sort of stands out is all.) anyway, he finally says well i should set you up with contacts before you go and we laugh and get back to the exam.

he says at the end your appearance doesn’t match…who you are. i’m not sure what he means by this. my ink? my clothes? my ethnicity? all of it? and…who am i? what does this mean. he says it forces people to re-examine their ideas of things…you challenge perceptions just by being who you are. this odd complimentish statement sticks with me for days and days. i’m not sure what to make of it. how should a person like me present? what appearance would not strike a conflicted note when i began speaking? what would that person look like?

yet i know what he means. i’ve always been like that. my getup is madeup. its never been otherwise. i can take on genres of person like costume. maybe that’s because types and roles are costumes to begin with. perhaps its because i dont feel any of them are me. perhaps it is because all of them are me. equally false and true and interchangeable. maybe it’s because i was born into a nexus of situations and identifiers that never took hold. maybe thats why i can wear names like hats. dont know. guessing is a fun game for a while.

all my life, people stop and look at me when i begin talking and only then, and only then–pay attention. i guess i thought that was over. i still don’t know why this happens, honestly. but i don’t much care for finding an answer in the end, and the guessing game is unsatisfying. the Why just doesn’t matter. it turns into self-obsession and that bores me as of late.

as long as i can talk to people from my heart and find that Look, i feel that an important connection is made. that’s what matters. not this world thrown over my shoulder like a cloak, over my face like a pair of mardi gras glasses. not my manipulated reflection. in truth, i don’t think that moment has to do much with how i present. i guess if anything, i think people are used to speaking in certain ways, tones, clumps of predigested thought, entrenched reflex of conversation, prepackaged idea. maybe. that sounds pretty self-important too, as if i’m not one of the fools out here. and i am. there is no doubt about that.

i do know one thing. you know what that look is in their eyes? it is them. it is them showing up. it is them being awake. the clarity, that sharpness, that electric flicker look? it has nothing to do with me, doesnt have to come about in that way. but i don’t want to talk to sleeping people.

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the virtual life is a beautiful boat, a liquid silvered vision of freedom. a stage for the imagination. a platform hosting dreams that exist (only) with con-edison’s cooperation.

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nagualismo, chapter 3, section 2. know how to navigate a storm of the Mind. it is from there that the hurricane hurtles forth into the world. watch not only the gray sky, but the graying of the inner eye. yes, know how to build shelter from nothing. know how to eat in the forest. know basic first aid. store a backpack of spare tools (knife? mess kit? hand saw? pen? paper? think it all over) and basic first aid kit. imagine living in a time when law collapses, even temporarily, or the social or cultural order as you know it were upset entirely. where would you get water? food? could you keep your mind? if your cell fone were dead, what would you do? internet down, could you access cash? if your life has thrown you curves in a few ways, you may be more ready than others for these types of situations.

don’t rest there. next level.

practice waking up in another mind. stare at every belief with courage gleaned from your long line of ancestors; find the modern lunacy or well-polished falsity wrapped around the core of truth. do you feel prepared for a life other than the one you cling to today? in what ways do you not feel prepared for great change?  in what ways is the container of your mind predetermining every thought?  in what ways do you insist on your own barriers? let yourself count the ways in which you court a cocoon.

this is not an exercise in Survivalism. it is a treadmill shaped for the slippery, shining footsteps of the soul.

keep the body and mind as nimble as possible. exercise intuition and imagination. at all costs. can your perception of life and people withstand an assault of reality born from a shifting of most the structures that form the skeleton of your daily expectation? if not, too much energy will be invested in supporting those structures, even when they are harmful.

how often do you tear apart your own tendency to become fixed? exercising this part of preparedness, if you want to type it this way: keeps a part of the neurological and spiritual response system(s) intact and limber and will aid you in many drastic (and daily) events, like having to swim a sea of illusion to reach the beaches of peace.

when i came to the booth this morning i saw dude
didn’t like the way he was walking so i kept him in my view
he was headed to the booth
i cut wide, so that i could come up behind him without him knowing it
just in case he had any bad intentions in mind
i figured i could fall on him like batman
well, not like batman, more like felix cuz i’m one lithe cat so light on my feet you’ll never hear me coming
a fluid five foot six, suited in a black and gilded silver mix and i step on shadows softly like i’m melding music with my midnight mind, a single harmony woven nine notes at a time
so i walked up and stopped about ten feet behind him
just letting him do his thing at the booth
looked kosher
finally he turned around
feeling my energy coiling up and down
and saw me standing there
i smiled but i don’t know if that did anything to smooth the moment over
he felt he had to mutter and grumble at me
but the mutter don’t matter, i wasn’t there to please him

i was there for my Shot in the Dark and just to keep an eye on the coffeegirl
even if she never knows it
you can count on me to be felix the espresso chugging guardian angel of la noche

it’s a tuff spot in her speech use. she knows enough that she tries to speak in some pretty ambitious sentences now, but half of it is mushmouth to me. i can’t help but start laughing from deep affection, watching her hand gesture and her forehead wrinkle as she launches into her talk. frustrating to not understand it so well sometimes. i don’t want her to take it as her fault. we work it out.

she hears “agua” a lot, as well as “water” (water said with an oregon accent and a slightly new york-tinted accent, both) and it has all worked out so far to waga. she’s quite a character. when i get to playing on the congas, when i fall into a groove, you should see her start dancing. moving her shoulders forward and back one by one. she’s beautiful and funny.

now?

the sadness is not because we can’t be together anymore. i could change that if i wanted. the choice was mine.

no…what fills the house with screaming silence most nights and threatens to drown me with sorrow is that i’m afraid i made the right choice. and if so, then there is no way but forward.