Черная карта

I love to watch my coach in competition
(well, love and dread
Sometimes it’s both in equal measure)
After I bomb out
I find his pod and settle in to watch the
Opera, drama, Grand Guignol
Braiding my damp hair while
Waiting for the curtain’s rise

The first DEs are prelude
Overture, a preface to the show
Simple touches,
Economy of effort
Humor, joy, exhilaration
Shining through his actions
Very little hint of what’s to come

Climbing up the ladder
Always, there’s a point where
Things get tight
Storm clouds rumble in the wings
Foreshadowing the tumult that’s to come
Disturbing echoes of the past

Cue the tactically timed delays
To wipe the face
Adjust the mask
Straighten the blade…repeatedly
The ref would never let me get away with this
Somehow, he pulls it off, if only just

At last, the crunch
The score is close, the calls perhaps a little warped
And (hold on tight) the tempest breaks
The air is ionized with his intensity
Every atom vibrates, close to nuclear implosion
--Stomping back and forth
--Jamming his weapon’s tip into the floor
--“Requests” for explanation (with thinly veiled contempt
And indignation)

He’s awesome in his lack of inhibition
Truly a force of nature
(A fecund nature that brings hail, earthquake, wildfire, flood
And similar disasters
Oblivious to human cost)

Spectators shift and murmur
Distressed by this uncouth deviation from the script
Of civilized convention
His opponent’s contingent (teammates, relatives)
Cluck and disapprove
Try to parse his Slavic exclamations
Comment loudly for the ref to overhear
A harpy chorus chanting from the sides

He takes it to the edge
And frequently beyond
The bout becomes a 3-way contest
Coach, opponent, referee
A triangle of politics, emotion and (oh, right) athletic skill

It’s then, when tension ratchets to the max
I fix my gaze on the ref’s hand
Watch its every twitch and drift
In the direction of her
Blazer pocket
I hold my breath
Alert anticipation
Will the cards stay safely tucked
Inside, if not, which color will emerge?

But ready to skedaddle, fast
If things go wrong--
Not losing, necessarily
A clean touch
A clever act
All good enough, and worthy of respect
But if the timing’s off, a call that deviates from his conviction of
The proper application of the rules then
Watch out
Rage formerly contained within the strip
Bursts its bounds
Becomes a solar flare
That singes anything within its orbit

Now is a golden time to be elsewhere
Preferably innocent of how the bout played out
Who me? I was changing in the locker. What did I miss?

Obsession

It’s an addiction
I admit
To what…well, that’s a harder question

As Skinner boxes go, it would seem
Immensely inefficient
Random reinforcement
Few and far between
Occasional touches, sporadic runs of competence
A transitory flush of pride

Clearly I need only minor treats to fuel
This stubborn dedication
This (more than) slight imbalance
   - adrenaline
   - ambition
   - a little bit of pain
Enough frustration to make me hunger for another chance

This sport, this hobby, pastime, entertainment (!)
Pushes all my buttons
Taps my fundamental traits
Conviction that perfection can be reached, the only cost
Relentless dedication
A minor loosening of sanity
Nothing too extreme

Deep down, I’m wired to believe
That me, this I
Is able to succeed at anything I try
Despite the massive evidence that contradicts
And so I come back time and time again
Impelled by evolutionary forces to return
And face my limitations

Deep down, I secretly suspect that if
A miracle occurred and
Grace and speed, precision, clever strategy
Descended on my blade, settled in my limbs, that if
I suddenly swept all before me
Small, fierce, clever, brave
Unstoppable
This laser focus on my goal would blur, diffuse
And I would be released
Cage sprung, trial ended
Experiment complete

Failing that, about all I can hope for is
A balance of more treats than shocks in this research
On training of the soul
Excuse me while I push this lever one more time…

Vidya and Avidya

I see and do not see
     Your actions
Name them, sure, place neatly in taxonomies but
     Incapable of parsing what they mean

I know and do not know
     How to respond
Theory springs quite readily to mind…
     Half a beat too late

I think and do not think
     Not thinking is the best—
Actions flow unburdened by the mind
     More commonly, my bossy thoughts intrude

I am swept up in flow then pulled up short
     Caught upon my ego, snagged by doubts
Thoughts of self, second-guessing
     Searching for a way to dive back

I flip between these alternative states
     Cycling through unstable combinations
Seeking balance, settled orbit
     Vision, wisdom, spontaneity
Immersion in the now

But that is an illusion, yes?
     Stability’s stagnation by another name
These oscillations generate the power driving me through life
     And if they cease, then what? Disintegration, I suspect

Not that I’m likely to find out…

Convex Lens

I face each lesson with
A certain trepidation
Take my stance en guard,
Gingerly probe and gauge the evening’s mood

Sometimes your temper is inclined
To mockery
In word
In gesture
Wicked imitation
That spot-on nails my faults
Its funny, true and
(just a little bit) unkind

And sometimes too intense.
Are you frustrated at
Me
The world
Me embodying the world
Or, perhaps, yourself
Your unforgiven flaws?

So thank you for the snapshot, feedback, accurate reflection
(however painful to observe)
But maybe, just a little bit, relax
Have patience with
My tardy comprehension
I’ll work at being playful, patient and persistent
I hope the mirror works both ways
And you absorb my lesson

Remedial Training

When I was 10 I got beat up

A lot

When you say “trust your body”
I’m not sure that it’s earned that trust
It was weak then
I fear it’s still weak now

It weeps at inconvenient moments
     Leaking from the seams
Lashes out in rage
     When calm would be the wiser course
Lusts at awkward times
     And in the wrong direction

You call these reactions
     Phenomena of mind
I feel quite clearly they arise from blood and bone
     Visceral machinations

Your body, whipcord thin
     Resilient yet unyielding
Has carried you through revolution
     Worlds turned upside down
Across the sea
     Bushwhacking a new life

Mine never faced such challenges and so remains
    Squishy, and unformed
Without the reflex of survival

But please, try, if you can, to teach me trust
And I will hope my instincts prove correct….

Form Follows Function

Lunge 1,000 times
     Thigh bulges, straining at my knicker seams
Recover just as many times
     Calf solidifies, a coiled spring
Extend and hit the target—thus, and pause, again, and pause, again
     Slowly sculpt the shoulder, bicep, wrist
Swell my lungs with deep and steady breath
     Deepening my chest
Concentrate on one square inch upon your breast, unwavering attention
     Reroute the neural patterns of my brain
In each encounter, apply what you have taught
     Cultivate my patience, humor, equanimity

I throw myself, with trust, into this art
Allowing it to change me from the inside out

Coaching

It must drive you nuts
How difficult it is to
Smooth my wrinkled acts
Stiffen my wrist
Straighten out my head

All your wisdom, skill
And cunning bottlenecked by
My impatient mind
Irrational fears
Pride and temperament

Fencing for yourself
Failure or success, your fate
Lies in your control
One step away
Well within your grasp

By choice or circumstance, instead you
Coax performance from my heart
Catechize my hand
Galvanize my mind
Or, at least, you try

Большое спасибо
And remember,
If at first you don’t succeed…

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

Viraga (Non-attachment)

I lost my father’s wedding ring somewhere
A massive chunk of gold
Perched upon my thumb
It slipped its bounds and fled

The loss left me surprisingly unmoved
And that in turn has given me
A subtle glimpse of hope
That maybe I progress

If I can shed in increments
Trappings of my past
Objects of emotion
Maybe I can die a little bit each day

And, dying into life
Emerge reborn

Categories of Action, 4 of 4: Offense

When the moment comes
     Pull the trigger
     Light the fuse
     Hit the gas
     Throw the switch
When you go, you go

No extra disengage
No last minute tweaks to distance, angle, phrase

Stop fardling around and
JUST HIT HIM