Death Grip

Grasp life gently
Held between
Forefinger and the thumb
Barely constrained

Clutch too tight and
Paradoxically you
Forfeit all control

Try to dominate, to
Muscle through—
You’ll only
Overthrow yourself
Exhausted by the
Energetic cost

Sure, there’s a chance
You may
Lose hold
Won’t
Feel the point you
Try so hard to
Keep in line
So what

Trust
That when your eye
Hits home
Your heart, and blade
Will follow

Blessed Ignorance

Hunting truth,
I should stop here
Balanced at the limit of my tolerance for
Revelation

Any further and I risk
Losing myself in clarity
Flawless visions of what
I don’t need to know
About myself

I fear that
Absolute and utter verity would
Rob me of my dreams
Freeze my capacity to act

At the fuzzy edge
Demarcating
Vision from delusion
Miracles can happen

Like bumblebees, I cling to the illusion I can fly
Hey, it works for them

Clarity

Each of us seeks truth
In her own way
Upon the mat, the piste
The page
Chasing metaphoric ice
Dumped down the neck
—rude awakenings are preferable
to sleep—
Losing balance
Stretching for the touch
Groping for the perfect metered word
Stumbling on
Pellucid acts
Slicing through the ambient confusion

Sometimes caught in
Preparation
Unbraced for the damage
Truth, unbound, inflicts

Reprise

If this life is better
Polished by a couple hundred repetitions
Think
How appalling my first self
Surely was, to start

I wonder
Of that first iteration
What shards and tattered scabs
What stubbornly resistant bits
Remain?

And which are new
Or if not truly new
Uncovered, excavated
Polished
Brought to light

And by what tics and
Fundamental flaws would one dear to me
Spot me in a heartbeat
This time ‘round

The sages say with time
And work
With meditation
I become more like myself
And
Closer to perfection

I suspect my deepest parts
Those most truly me
Are petty
Adamantine spikes resistant to reform
Fears and insecurities
Excessive self-regard

If I’m destined
Through these lives
To bump against you time and time again until
I get it right
I think we’re in for
Many more encounters

That being so, go hard on me

In each new bout, push me a little further down the path

Stats

I suspect that
I’d be better off if
I stopped keeping score

Obsessively comparing
Year-to-year
My numbered place
My relative results

I wonder if like
GDP
Such indicators warp the measurement of
What counts most

I need to formulate instead an
IFH
(Index of Fencing Happiness)
A running tally of my
Pleasure in my game

Metering a steady rise
Marking each advance in
Tactics, strategy
Self-control

But truth to tell, while
I’ll aim to excel holistically, track quality of life
I’d like the bling as well

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

Anitya (Impermanence)

I can intend to
Try
I can intend to
Persevere
Intend to
Heal
To keep my limbs
As polished, supple as my
Blade

I can’t stop time

Time will heal
And in time
Time will unwind what it has
Knit together

I am
Refurbished
Not
Renewed

For now, that is enough

Letting Go

For all our plotting, planning
Practice
Earnest application
We don’t write the script
We play upon the piste

Fate dishes out surprises
Setbacks, consolations
Occasionally jewels of perfect action
Shining from a muddy bout
All the more delightful, being
Undeserved

We none of us command our victories
We tumble to them
Opening to grace
Pleasantly surprised by
What leaps out

It’s harder to appreciate
The value of defeat
Coinage in the bank of wisdom
Invested in improvement
Bearing interest only slowly, over time

And so I listen to the whiskey-rough & Jaggered voice of truth:
Bling is great, but even when I don’t get what I want
It may just be exactly what I need

S Curve

I loved the
Intoxicating rush
Tumbling up the slope of progress
Burning through the letters
E, D, C
Powered by the dregs of
Youthful competence

And now…
Molasses

Each next step--
Asymptotic effort
Each teeny victory--
10x the preparation

Plot my progress:
Time at the gym, number of practice bouts…
Results at competition
Does this flattened arc
Forecast the future?
Have I banged up hard against my
Innate limitations?

My improvements come in
Geologic time
While I am faced
With biologic deadlines

I fear
No matter how I hone the knife edge
Of my skills
I’m doomed to never be the
Sharpest in the drawer
Seeking enlightenment, I’m
Simply a dim bulb when it comes to
Strategy

Can I bifurcate my mind—
Be content
Accepting life as
Perfect as it is
Even as I push myself to
Higher altitudes
However short of breath?

Now might be the time to cultivate a willful ignorance
Of calculus, of probability, of trends

And be the sort of blessed, idiotic optimist beloved of the gods

Karma

I’m a bundle of
Habits and grooves

Programmed moves
Fettered by the
Sticky residue of
Ill-considered acts
Bad calls
Downfalls
Inconvenient facts

Starting clean I
Shed my shoes
Pad with pinky feet into
A fresh day
New start
Rebirth, renaissance and
Step into the
Gluey mess I fled

Petty words
Irascible verbs
Lies by omission
Losing with bad grace
Jealousy
Anxiety
Impropriety
Inflicted on my world

I need a dip in
Spiritual solvent
Soul stripper
Fate flipper
Acetone for destiny
Gotta
Break with my routine
Start clean
New regime

Epic transformation

Tabula rasa—good mission, great ambition.
Thus my petition—anybody got a rag?

Ars Morendi (The Art of Dying)

To have no future is to accept
Living in the now
The death of habit
Abolishment of filters that
Define the world
Pull its claws and make it
Safe, predictable and sane

Leaving me
No independent moves
No pattern language
Framing what comes next

Just this moment

Unmoored, without the anchor of
My self-directed mind
I am adrift
Seeking for a deconstructed heart

Vipassana (Clear Seeing)

Transitory flash
Of insight, precognition
I see your intent

***

Foot kicks forward hard
Arm hitches back, presenting
Opportunity

Into this small gap
I lunge with alacrity
Squirm, and close the line

***

Teasing you to strike
Too close for you, perfect for
Stubby badger paws

Baiting with my lunge
Drawing parry four, riposte
Hah!
My second intent…

***

Rare and precious bout—
Next time will be different
Good in its own way

But not the same…

Stories I Tell About Myself

[A poetic response to this post from Fencing Bear]

That I’m a hidden hero, waiting to spring
Fight injustice, save the underdog
If only opportunity presents

That next year I’ll be stronger, better, faster
Thinner
If I’m diligent and disciplined

That I can do quite well on five hours sleep

That when someone dislikes me
It’s because they’re jealous, or afraid
In short, a reflection of my true superiority

That, magically, I’m prettier
When the mirror doesn’t look

That “seeking work/life balance”—not just an excuse
For slacking off

That I can feed, if not the world
At least the denizens of my small domain
And in so doing heal their wounds

That my love makes up for all uncaring acts

That by pouring words onto the page
I can discover truth; and if not truth then
Comfort; if not comfort
A modicum of understanding

That maybe in another life I’ll have a chance
To get it right

Resolutions

Fear less
Abandon being brave
And with entire heart
Impale myself upon your blade

Wait
With steady breath
Resisting my uncivil urge to
Nip the sluggish heels of time

Regress
To time before reality
Placed hobbles on my fun
And second thoughts gave pause

Forgive
As many times as I fall short
Fall in, fall down, fall over. Accept that
All this is perfection

Be here
Right now, oblivious to future or the past
Attuned to my internal hum, your every telltale twitch
The throb and bustle of the competition

But most important (and if I can achieve but one, this one)
Joy…
In hurtling myself o’er each new cliff to test my wings
In breathing, this pedestrian, miraculous act
In playing, wanton without thought of gain
In living in this moment balanced on the chiseled edge of time

Я посылаю свою любовь всем моим друзьям
- наилучшие пожелания в течение хорошего нового года

Healing

How, through such a little gash
Can all my strength leak out?
Prideful muscles sidelined by
The weakest link

Suddenly, it’s not hard to find
A challenge
Just pulling on my socks’
Sufficiently ambitious

All of nature’s order overturned
Lolling in bed? A virtue
Jello—looks quite tasty
Pillows—feel like rocks

I crave heating pads and ice
Simultané
A purring cat in quest of lap
Provokes a cringe

Robbed of comfort normally maintained by
Combat and contention
My practice turns
To skills I rarely cultivate

Stillness, rest, inaction
Turning inward to assess my body’s needs
Listening to pain instead of shrugging
Unimpressed

Struggling for control
I set myself heroic tasks
Sleeping eight full hours
Passing up the weights

I could do quite well without this
Vivid demonstration of
The dharma’s truth
The frail impermanence of all illusive strength

Lesson learned—now give me a reprieve of ten or twenty years
Before the teaching is applied in force

Upekkha (Equanimity)

Losing with good humor
—a skill at which I’d rather not become adept
By dint of earnest repetition

Alas, it seems this is the
Awkward grace I’m granted
Opportunity to practice

OK, then—get it right

The outward forms are not so hard
The smile, the bow, the hand that grasps
Transferring strength to victor from the vanquished

Grab the body cord and tug
Gently extract the splintered pride
That’s lodged beneath my nails

Neatly mark my name
Scribble without jabbing through the slip
That documents my every defect, touch by touch

Thank the ref no matter what
(drunk, hung over, deafened by his ear buds, generous with cards)
Neatly pack and stow my sodden gear

And turn to cheer my teammates
Ruthlessly suppressing jealousy
That flares with every lovely touch that is not mine

So this is my assignment:

Acceptance of abiding
In a world I can’t manipulate
To suit my ends

At this rate, there’s chance I’ll reach perfection
Then can I move on to study victory?

Nama Sanghaya

One—a constant source of cheer
One—sets an example with her dogged persistence
One—despite his arrogance is very good to fence, an education
One—freely dispenses copious advice (often unsought)
One—a quiet source of wisdom, spreading calm
Several rough and tumble squirts whose gleeful scrapping
Lifts my heart

Some regular as rising and procession of the sun
Some lunar in their periodic practice
Some footloose comets swinging through when fancy strikes
Others flame, burn out and disappear

Somehow these fractious elements
With precious little commonality
Integrate and form
Coherent constellations
Mapping our relationships from one to one to one
And finally to all

In this refuge
Nobody gets forgotten
No one’s left behind

Here are my teachers, my training and
My strange and lumpy family
Slightly broken but still good
Yes, give thanks
Still good

Guru (Dispelling Shadows)

Floundering about
In search of, what?
Stability
     A feeling of the world beneath my feet
     Shifting in predictable procession, not
     Seismic leaps
Insight
     Some faint perception of
     Habitual patterns
     The consequences of my acts
Compassion
     For concentric circles of all living things
     Impinging on my world
     And (hardest of all) myself

Humph. Fifty years of going it alone and not much change

Books, and lectures, theories, books and books
At last, I’m driven to concede
Despite my dogged independence
I need a teacher

Not out in the world
But centered in my heart
Who knows my inner darkness, stratagems, evasions
Sees thru my feline pretense of “I meant it to come out that way”
Won’t let me glide past problems with my clever words
Gently merciless, relentless
Accepting no excuses
Believing that I give my best
And firmly asking more

And look,
Despite my lack of faith
The world sends me what I need

Be careful what you wish for….
Growing pains are hell

Shunyata (Vacancy)

Desire
Fills me up like
Water, or like wine
Fingertip to bone
Omphalos to earlobe
Leaving not a
Niche, cranny, fold, corner, diverticulum
Open to receive
     Grace
     Performance
     Serendipity
Blossoming of basic skills that hide within

I am
Too much cluttered with the
Hunger for perfection
Jealousy for bling
An attic of attachments

Puncture my pretentions, please
Just the smallest prick--
Let these longings seek their lowest level
Leaking from my toe-tips
Bleeding from my nails

Leaving me washed clean
Empty
Void of preconceptions
Filled with possibility

Room for improvement

Equanimity (Trade-offs)

In breaking free of suffering
Following defeat,
For rare and precious victories
Must joy mute too?

Achieving non-attachment
Would I misplace
The slightly batty dedication
Needed for success?

I’m just as happy not to be
Swept up in rage and self-reproach
Embarrassed by my petty fulminations
A mini-diva stomping on the strip

Accepting the results
My breath and body, instincts, mind and soul
Produce this day, this hour
Feels right, feels good
(Certainly more civilized)
And yet…

I fear acceptance morphed into complacency
     Lingering in bed on lazy mornings
     Skimping on the weights
     Staying home from practice, now and then
Worst of all, not fighting tooth and nail for every touch

So here’s the goal, ok?
     A happy discontent
     Passionate detachment
     Restless cessation
Dynamic tension, keeping me in play

It’s not so hard—just smile, bow, accept the baser metal
Hang it on the wall
A drishti—point of meditation—
Fueling the alchemical pursuit of gold