Wait Test

Picking at the tape that’s

Fraying on the barrel of my blade

Tying and retying shoes

Resisting the compulsion to

Check Twitter, Facebook

Mail

Studying the divots of attack

Marbling the walls and floor

Netting flotsamed conversation

Washing through the hall

“…the worst thing you can do is

smile at the ref…”

“Stepping on the blade is cardable…I’m right?!?”

“…said Dude! You can’t put that in your mask…”

Trying very hard

Not to watch the newbies lurch and flail

Nor the long and lean and strong march stalking down the strip

Lest the images entangle in my hand, and blade

Trying simply to inhabit this

Lacuna in space and time

Between the flighted pools

Where I’m known only by the pseudonym on my lamé

When I have nothing I can do but

Wait

Appreciating boredom is a veteran’s grace

Lyric Wisdom

It’s not so much not

Having what I want

Which (I know with Stone cold certainty that)

I can’t always have

It’s finding I can’t want

What I am trying so hard to get

Grasping at a goal ensures it

Slips away

Chasing victory results in

Empty hand

And so the paradox:

To make the touch

Requires caring just enough

To schlep my bag to practice

In the rain

To bandage, brace, wrap, roll and ice

Rise early and retire late

Leave books unread

And beds unmade

And yet, once on the strip

Let all that go

Banish any thought that

Work deserves reward

Practice makes perfection

Pain results in gain

Trying will succeed at last

Requires faith

That trying is enough

Requires faith that

Caring just so much, no more

May mean I find

Exactly what I need

From Naruto Creation RPG

Dopplegang

A stranger parallels my line

Padding up and down the strip

Lunging when I lunge

Spooked by my retreat

She's

Thinner than me

More graceful

Almost suave

And strong

Muscled thighs propelling tiny steps

Maybe we're related

Despite her lefty stance

I do detect a faint

Resemblance

Familial surmise

Maybe she reflects

My future

Or my past

Maybe if my inner mirror was more

True

She'd look even more like me

Or I like her

Maybe with unclouded eyes

I'd know myself, and knowing, become wise 

Resolution

Ease back

Don't leap at every challenge

Just because it's there

Rest

A little bit

Make space to heal, recharge

Renew

Waste a little time

Pilfered from work or practice

Spent on penny-candy: chat & tease & laughter

Caloric fellowship

Building towards a healthy social weight

Attend

To every letter, sentence, phrase

Plucked from the flow,

With utter concentration, but

Now & then

Unplug

From streaming, breathless news

Inconsequential urgencies

Be generous

In mentoring, in praise and

Reconciliation

Accept that people give

What they can give

No more, no less

And dammit, yet again, this year I do resolve to

Remove the tissues from my pocket when I do the wash

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

Hooked

Be wary of
Fleeting waves of joy
Momentary triumph
Fugacious victory

Pleasure ebbs
Each perfect moment past
Caught in rip-time
Swept away

Pleasure holds us back
Snagged by memory
Fighting the flow
Exhausted by vain efforts to swim
Back through time

Trust the fleeting current
Confident it will carve channels
Cultivating new and different
Joy

Only by forgetting
Is there
Any chance the past may reoccur

Preemptive Regrets

I will miss

The sweet smell of puppy paw that
Permeates my glove

The diagnostic calluses that mar my palm
My toe
My heel

The wicked sing of blade on blade that never fails to
Speed my heart

The patient layering of wire into groove
(However I complain)

The late nights, soaked and spent and
Faced with early dawn

The verbal sparring
Pitting Ivy eloquence against a stubborn ESL
And losing, every time

The casual camaraderie of odd lots
Misfits
Kindred souls

I struggle to accept that
All things pass away

Closed Line

So many things I can’t control
Your speed, your
Laser-guided point
My paltry set of skills

I can at least
Set this one factor constant
Nail it to the wall:
My quarter four is closed
Shuttered, barred and inaccessible
Don’t even think
Of trying to assault that line

Except, of course
You do
Because that’s where you end
By force of habit
Preference and practice
You’re so very sure at the last moment
I will waiver, flinch and
Open up a little bit
A crack, enough that slender blade
Slips through

Except, of course
I don’t
And so your weapon meets a
Solid line of steel
In effect, you’re parrying yourself
And I need just riposte
Supreme efficiency

(Damn funny, too)

A lesson here to take into the world
Sometimes all you need is sovereign confidence in one sure thing

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

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

Transmogrification

Somewhere I lost myself along the way

I thought I knew my hand...
And now I don’t

My foot a strange
Random appendage
Moving on its own
Appointed path

Passing the mirror I
Catch a stranger’s glance
And look away

Have I shed memory
Habits, inhibitions
Trimmed the edges of
Identity
Whittled down to my essential self

Or am I morphing,
Unhurried transformation to
An unfamiliar form?

And, (v. important please), if the latter
Is it an improvement on my former state?

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

Fovea

Smack
In the center of the human eye
A blind spot

Optic disc
Where nerves combine, twine,
Launch themselves en route to
Wetware,
CPU

Seems like a major
Defect of design
Dun’nit?

Except

Focusing your gaze,
While seeing nothing at the core
Expands awareness of
Peripheries
Tangential happenings

Your best perception’s sited slightly to the side
Offset
Off base
Off-center
Alert to every movement of a foot or foil
Every twitch and feint

Thus the rule:
Don’t look at your opponent’s blade
Target on his chest, his shoulder
Belly button
Where ‘er it is that you intend to hit

A universal lesson:
We’re blind to our obsessions so
Concentrate on nonessentials
Things you cannot see
And can’t control
The vital residue will take care of itself

Trust

Is an act of will
Not faith
Based not on conviction
That you will care for me, keep me from harm
But certainty you won’t

Trust is walking on live coals
Juggling fire
Swallowing words
Like honed swords

These are not domesticated threats
They burn, or slice
It is their nature
Just as it’s the nature of the world to wound

And so I trust
Knowing that if not this time then the next
The flame will bite, the blade pierce…
You will lash out
That’s why we callous, to withstand
The heat and lanciation of
People
Being who they are
Consistent in their imperfection

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

Small Good Things

Tightening a grip
Carefully re-taping every blade
Working at the target, touch by patient touch
Footwork, up and down the strip

Cleaning out the pantry
Checking every bag for sign of moth or mouse
Scouring the pans
Washing down the counters

Cultivating contacts
Earnest curiosity that may or may not “pay off”
Giving shape to thoughts and posting to the blog
Checking off my tasks

Daunted by the prospect of attaining, what?
     A rating earned
     The perfect cake
     Stability in my career
I fall back on
Minor, necessary acts
Nothing monumental

Concentrate on each small step upon the path
Not the final destination
Trusting that the end will find itself

Comforting myself with small, good things

Kaizen (改 善—Small Improvements)

Little steps, balanced forth
And back, keeping options open
Ready to explode

Feint and run away
Teasing you to push and charge
Hah! Counterattack

You can push, and push
Good! I pull distance, beat, deceive
Parry and riposte

You make touch against
Now I know what you will do
Here—try it again…

Incremental change
Subtle transformation, not
Metamorphosis

I can live with that--
Each instar a bit improved
It will be enough

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

Wabi Sabi

My favorite weapon kinks, a little bit, mid-blade
     Nicked guard
     Ragged glove
     Dinged mask
Lopsided muscles swell, shaped by asymmetric use
     Calloused feet
     Torn nails
     Scarred wrist
A nervous tick mars my attack—disengage from 4 to 6 and back
     Loose wrist
     Hitched arm
     Crouching stance

Taken altogether
These flaws
Integrate and form
A balanced whole

The beauty of imperfection