Hard and Fast

Writing 101 challenge day 1 – Just write. 20 minutes…go! Sadly, when I write a stream of consciousness, it always ends as a rant. But maybe it will help expel my brick breaking demons. Because even as I reread the post – I still want to try again.

 grey brick

He asks me what I want to practice and I never say. “The brick.” It is a block worse than any pause in my writing. It’s a nightmarish, try/fail, try/fail, try/fail with hundreds of witnesses. All of whom afterwards want to give you friendly helpful advice. Can you imagine – while icing your now swelling hand, listening to the successful saying you should just twist more, or come down straight or you need to jump. At least when something I write doesn’t go over – not so many people will see. I can delete it or wad it up and throw it in the trash. Make a paper air plane and fly it out the window. I’ve witnessed others break. Looks easy enough. I listen to the instructions. I try to practice the motions. But now, when I think about it – it’s something I no longer believe. And worse yet, I don’t think my instructors believe any more either. The “You’ll break it someday.” has morphed into “It’s not required.You don’t need to worry about it.”  But deep down I still want it. So I breathe and visualize. Approach the grey offending slab. Camera flashes blinding. Tablet screens up, recording the event so I can suffer the humiliation over again “but if you watch it you can see where you made the mistake.” Echos of “You can do it” I go through the mandatory practice reaches and drops. Even in my mind, I can’t get enough air. Kiap is weak.Too slow, my arm shoots down off center. And my hand stops as always, on top of the unbroken brick. They say if you do it correctly, it doesn’t hurt. When you do it wrong, the pain reverberates on so many different levels.

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Stats and Sentiment

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I’ve been reflecting on my first day at our Martial Arts academy, mostly because I celebrated the anniversary this past week. To everyone else, it is merely an interesting statistic. My instructors have been practicing their whole lives and my children were young enough when we started to feel like this is something we’ve always done. For me, it was a renaissance. I didn’t start classes for another five months, but that was the first day I heard the message, “I can do it!” The simple mantra (combined with abundant encouragement from teachers and fellow students) helped me make some much needed changes and discover a positive new direction for my life.
A church camp I attended as a child, introduced me to the colorful glory of parachutes. From a small nondescript bag, there emerged something wonderful.  I have played with them countless times since then as a student, counselor and teacher but still experience that same shot of happiness every time it is stretched across the floor. There will hopefully be many more milestones to celebrate on my journey, but I like to imagine and remember that first day as the parachute opening for the first time.

Lackluster

Lackluster defined 1

Thus was my performance in a recent class described. And although affronted, I couldn’t argue as it was accurate for the portion witnessed. When working on my own stuff, my attitude is poor. It’s not limited to class. My writing time is put off (my first entry in a month). My morning meditation skipped. Poetry abandoned. Practice minimal.

The second half of that same class, I taught someone the next 12 movements of their new form.  When assisting others, I focus on the present task.  I am happy to help, necessary and validated. I am positive and encouraging even when they make a mistake.

So the trick will be to become a teacher to myself.  Stop letting perceived inadequacies limit growth.  Reclaim time for what’s important to my own success.

This weekend, I renewed my commitment to meditation. Poetry is a still surprising and welcome by-product.

It’s hard to be sad in the morning,
when all around nature wakes to
uncompromising joy,
knowing only today.

The Silent Storm

photo (38)

It’s beautiful this winter, but also isolating. Sometimes our silence is the same. Be sure to find your Poetry or Martial Art (your outlet). Written in response to the DP Challenge.    

The Silent Storm
A season’s shunning
Colder than I’ve ever been
Bereft of presence

In Defense of Fairy Tales (on censorship)

I sometimes have concerns about sharing my blog due to content. How much do you let friends or acquaintances or co-workers or your mother see?  I self censor myself rather harshly but even the hint of someone else telling me what I can or cannot share through my writing has me up in arms.  It made me remember this original poem – written as a response to a censorship discussion. (It might appear in this blog previously but a search didn’t pull it up.  It can be found in my book!)

In Defense of Fairy Tales
Distressing damsels vainly wait
in unreachable dark towers,
while poker playing princes
yawn at the late hour.
Wolves walk right past Grandma’s house;
the dwarves stay underground;
sirens see from fathoms deep,
but do not make a sound.
Giants hide in mountaintops,
where dragons breathing smoke,
watch the wizards magic fail,
and jesters tire of jokes.
Witches spells remain uncast,
no one wins or loses,
quests kept unaccomplished
by vanquishing the muses.
Children safely under wraps,
looking through the glass,
the forest is so harshly lit,
all can lamely pass.
Fairies fret and sadly wonder
why we must be burned,
and fail to see within their tales
lessons to be learned.

Breathing Out

“Too late now.” I told myself. “Way to start off the challenge – no post.” But I found I couldn’t sleep. “What difference does it make – tonight or tomorrow? You’re tired, get some rest, get up early.” But that’s precisely why I’m taking part in the Word Press Zero to Hero challenge – too much putting off til tomorrow… 

My Sabonim often begins and ends class with a similar mantra: Breathe in the positive. Breathe out the negative.

Don’t get in your own way.

Who
An un-shoveled walk
A pilgrimage through training
Poetry surrounds