Theory and Practice

Given you are fast, where I am slow
And hard, where I am soft
And steely in resolve, where I am insecure
Given what you have, and what I lack

It may be, sometimes,
That there are moves, habitual for you,
That simply do not fit
My hand, my mind, my knack

Conversely
If the universe sees fit to grant
An act or two that spring, unbidden to my hand
And work
Who am I to peer inside the horse’s mouth?

Perhaps not all instruction can be
Strictly by the book
There need be room for variation
Idiosyncratic quirks
Standard deviation

I promise: I will earnestly audition all that you suggest
But in the end, can we agree, whatever scores consistently is best?

Checklist

If I leave my foot
To putter
Pad and stutter,
Settle to its innate pace

If I sit,
Balanced on my backside
Tail knit, bum tucked
Muscles neatly coiled underneath

If I breathe
Scour the conduits
That focus power
Flush the tension from my bones

If I relax
Open chest, lifted heart
Shoulders butterflied across my back
Embodying fearless intent

If I firm my wrist
Fix my gaze,
Follow through
Let my touches
Land themselves (as they know how)

If I can master mustering these “ifs”
Then maybe, maybe, this won’t be so bad

Recombination

Untroubled by the facts, blessed with
Blithe disregard of circumstance
You launch attacks with perfect confidence that
You will land
Cycling through your modest repertoire
Totaling three—a long offense, counter attack, remise—
(Note, nary a riposte)
Which works improbably well until
You meet an opponent who sees and understands, and then
You’re toast

I, on the other hand, am burdened with
Pretty good apprehension of the next move in the dance
I recognize the weakness to exploit
The opening to seize, proper response
My handicap—
I see too many endings. Beset by “but…what if…then you….”
Paralyzed by doubt, I lose my chance

Modern biotechnology may offer resolution
If we splice your fencing DNA with mine,
I guarantee an elegant solution
A stunning piece of alphabetic math
In which the sum of confidence and guile ensures
That “D” combined with “C” will yield a “B!”

Ingrained

Your butt sticks out

His knee collapses inward on the lunge

She squeals when attacked, frozen into immobility

His hand—magnetically attracted to his chest

Her automated defense—stick the arm out straight
And run away

I haven’t seen this crew for a full year
And nothing’s changed
Habitual reactions
Technical tics
Deep rooted and, I fear
Entirely resistant to reform

My consciousness uncomfortably aroused
I catch myself in surreptitious glances
At my feet
Peeking o’er my shoulder at my tush
Self-consciously suspecting a dispassionate observer
Back from leave
Would think the same of me…

Oh Stuart, can we get a mirror for the salle?
A little self-reflection could be good for all

Acuity

I don’t wear glasses when I fence
After all, how clearly must I see to hit these massy foes?
(Even the little ones are plenty macroscopic)

Besides, their blurry edges are better proxy for the world
It’s rare to find the outlines of our target crystal clear
Do you know exactly what you want or is your goal
Approximate
Oblique?

Forget the ambiguity of borders
Focus on the center with
Relentless gaze

Let peripheral attention do
What it does best
Tracking random movements and distractions
Warn of inbound threats

As long as I have depth of field
Perspective
I’ll do just fine
Half blind

Hierarch

You ask me for a bout
I graciously oblige
So blithe and unconcerned
Dancing at the edge of your exertions
Gliding out of reach or
Interrupting your attack
Tossing off a little fencing humor—counter attack with squirm
Feint and run away
Embarrassingly simple lunge and touch
5-1
Salute, and bout

We find each other on the strip
An even match
We dally, butterfly and vamp
Exerting all our wiles
I draw on everything I know of you to
Put one over
Game your quirks and foibles
Sometimes we end 5-4, sometimes 4-5
If I prevail, I know without a doubt that
You’ll adapt—next time I’ll need to
Up my game

Humbly, I ask to referee
And cycle in
Even watching it’s a struggle
To parse your strategy, call your blinding moves
When I plug in I become a stumblebum, a clod
A rank initiate
But you—so blithe and unconcerned
Dancing just beyond my lunge
Gliding out of reach
Interrupting my attack
A little fencing humor—now the joke’s on me
I barely score a touch

And so I backtrack to my first opponent
Reassure myself that
I can move
Can make the colored light go off
(More to my credit, to rehearse the moves that
I suspect might work some day, scaled up in
Speed and execution)

We cycle through the salle
A fencing reel of couples swapping partners
And frustrations
Egos waxed, and waning
Eclipsing and eclipsed
Tutoring and schooled
(And smarting from the lesson)

Pardon, may I add you to my dance card for the night?

Scheherazade

“What, again?”
(You roll your eyes)
“I tell you this repeatedly
I am not speaking English?
You do not understand?”

Oh yes, Я понимаю
But spin the tale once more

Tell me for the umpteenth time how
Clever disengage wins out o’er savage parry
And fearless straight attack triumphs
Against the evil squirm

Fill my head with glorious tales of
Canny strategy, ingenious machinations
Perfect form

These stories I will carry
Through my sleep, the nucleus of
Epic dreams,
In which (of course)
I play the hero’s role

Так, да, I understand,
рассказывают мне
историю снова!

Automotive

I want to be a car

High performance
Complex piece of engineering
Chock-o-block with safety features
Tested to the nth degree

Subject, sure, to bumps and dings
Marked after not so many years
By dimpled fenders, scratches on the side
(Not so different from what I suffer now)

But, short of a total wreck
So easy to repair! A crumpled bumper—pfft, it’s no big deal
Let’s hear it for industry standard
Duplicative swap-out parts

A falter in the engine?
Pop the faulty spark plug out,
The new one in, and
Zoom! Back on the road

Broken strut? Power off the bolts
Give it a firm whack, detach
Snug a new, strong bar in place
Instant stability

No prolonged convalescence
No inching back up to speed
No reconditioning
Just damaged…and then whole

Skip the lavish packaging
The moon roof and the heated seats
Just nail the basics—a smoothly ticking engine
Four wheels on the road

After 200 thousand miles
I’ll be ready to be junked
But until then

I want to be a car…

Proper Practice

By not trying too hard to
Make the touch
You’ll make the touch

By being unconcerned with
How you look
You’ll garner admiration

So take it
Step by step
Don’t push too hard

Sure, you’ll lose at first
But with time, I promise
You’ll know why you lost

You’ll try a proper action
It will fail
So what? You’ll try again

Eventually you will
Gain ground
Point by patient point

By not attaching to
Results, you will

Go far

Sutra on the Full Awareness of Breathing: Badger’s adaptation

Breathing in, I know I’m breathing in
Breathing out, I’m conscious that it’s

No small thing (given that it doesn’t always work). Prize the simple miracle of air, mindful of each hitch, catch, snag or ragged edge. Watch for the still point poised between the in and out

Breathing in a long breath, I know that I am breathing in a long breath
Breathing out, I

Purge the flotsam of a messy day

Breathing in a short breath, I know I breath a short breath
Breathing out I

Get to work

Breathing in, I’m aware of my body
Breathing out, I am aware of

Every injury I’ve ever had, an ever growing litany of use, somatic resumé

Breathing in, I calm my body
Breathing out, I

Breath through each bruise, ding, tear, stitch, scar and point of inflammation. Working like a barnacle to scrub all hurt and ill from out the endless sea

*now to the good stuff*

Breathing in I feel joy on the strip
Breathing out I feel

A welling eagerness for battle, curious to see, when pressed, what will spring out, a little bit of trepidation

Breathing in, I feel equanimity
Breathing out, I really try, but

This one’s hard—to be ok with any outcome, touch or touched, flow or choke, prince or foolish mammal

Breathing in, I am aware of my attachments and aversions
Breathing out, I recognize

Addiction to the colored lights, to victory, to bling, to all the self-aggrandizing myths I wrap around myself, embellishments of life; Antipathy to loss of face, dissention to my version of the truth, irritating people who won’t play the parts that I've assigned

Breathing in, I release attachments and aversions
Breathing out,

I tug at their barbed hooks, try to see them vanishing like mist

Breathing in, I’m aware of my mind
Breathing out, I am aware that my mind

Lurks, watching, endlessly engaged, meddler in the center of all acts, so clever and so maladroit

Breathing in, I make my mind happy
Breathing out, I try to strike a deal

You have a valued role! To notice and to name, suggest solutions and then (very important) step back and let the body be

Breathing in, I concentrate my mind
Breathing out, I try to concentrate, but

…Cereal or toast? Red boots or black? The cookies that I baked last night could use a little…ack! Begin again, again, again

Breathing in, I liberate my mind
Breathing out, I caste a net

Seining for the ping of distant cars, cats’ purr, ticking of the heat, the warm vanilla scent of wax, the itching of my foot.

Breathing in, I contemplate the transience of things
Breathing out I recognize

This sac of flesh and bone—all it is, and does, is just on loan and subject to recall. Each step I made today will be retraced, all progress lost with time. Everything I love—people, places, simple pleasures—will fade or break or morph into an unfamiliar form

Breathing in, I practice non-attachment
Breathing out, I figure that I

Might as well let go before it’s torn away

Breathing in, I practice letting go
Breathing out

Accept that, in the end, I can’t control my life, I open up my hands and wait for what drops in

Breathing in, I practice cessation
Breathing out,

I sit, a still point on the turning world, wheeling through the stars, fulcrum to a universe blissfully unaware of my attempts at meditation