Free Writing: A Discovery pt. 2

For a time they walked in silence as was custom. He led her past many abandoned huts, down a long narrow valley and across many fields of green grass. Many times she stared at his back, thinking how little she knew about him. The bruises she felt, small pains that attested to the true mastery he had with the sword. No, mastery was the wrong word. She felt now that it was a synthesis, that the man worked within the blade. That when they stood with swords between them, steel grating against steel, the question of who he was faded behind the clear expression of his technique.

But the man behind the blade, she knew practically nothing more than what had been written about him before his disappearance. For five silent months he had said little except to instruct or correct. The silence imposed upon her had been hard at first, so used to expressing her opinion and talking out issues. These times had been tough and many nights she had cried herself to sleep in pity. But there had come a moment of resolve, and with that came the strength to endure to whatever end may come. Yet still on her mind lingered thoughts about this strange silent man who had lived amongst the most ferocious conditions humanity had ever known. How had he survived, what had he been through and how did it change him to the person she saw before her?

So with these distracting thoughts occupying her mind she failed to notice her surroundings nor that they had stopped. "Still are you occupied with thoughts of the world," said half in scorn. They had spent the last half-hour walking in a depression of land with high banks on either side. "The last few months have been hard and I have shown little lenience or patience, this I know. So tonight we will spend time talking and sharing, " saying this still with his back turned to her. At this short explanation he led her up the hill and over the ledge.

She had spent her time training in dark forests occasionally pierced with light, high mountain tops cold and windy, long hours sitting on hard wood inside the long hall and uncounted trips across the barren canyons of sand. Thus when she crested the top of the ridge and gazed down at the small beach of white sand and ocean aglow with the slanting, fiery setting sun she experienced a joy that brought tears to her eyes. A wild natural joy expressed in the complete appreciation of the landscape presented before her. The man squatted next to her and said "This is the only gift I will give to you, the only one I can give. I understand your feelings and know the spirit awakened inside. I found this beach just as you now find it. Tonight I will share what I know and answer whatever you may ask." With that he put his hand upon hers and turned his eyes towards hers.

And a golden hue descended sown upon all edges, setting aglow every object. Cast in rays of gold, two figures walked down upon the beach, hand in hand, watching the changing hues of the sky. So strong, like a sudden realization, yellows, oranges and purples. Colors straining the whole universe, awash in a timeless moment the two sat silent and shared together only what they received. And it wasn`t until the stars shone in their uncountable multitude that she uttered one word, spoken with the sincerity of those witnessing a miracle, "Beautiful" she whispered.

Free Writing: The search is over pt. 1

Their first meeting was disastrous. He had not been expecting anything to make it through the vastness of the land and had reacted a bit blindly. She on the other hand had been on the verge of despair, held up only by her will. She had held death in a grip close, as the fate waiting for her if she had failed. But she hadn`t! She had found him after years of searching and long wandering. How her spirit had soared, death put aside for another day. Such despair and doubt, a black cloud or emotion that had filled her past days, gone in a flash at the realization that her search was over. But the words he had uttered, "Go home, I am not the man you are looking for." She could not believe that! Rage grew inside, a hot consuming flame- fed by the memory of every wrong-headed thing done to her. That cloud called forth the death feeling that had resided in her and she drew her sword and with a mighty leap struck at him.

So quick! His blade drawn, parried and at her neck all in a flash of light in her eyes. Indeed now her eyes flashed brightly, the light of hope emerging from despair. She knew! Here was the man who had proceeded her, who had explored the depths and lived. He said through clenched teeth "I am the man who holds a blade to your neck and, woman, I have told you I am not the man you are looking for." But he was and they both knew it, she happily and he despairingly. For in his heart he knew it was the end of his life here, that this girl would bring ruin or salvation yet both meant the termination of his life here amongst the forest. Long years spent in the wild, cultivating an appreciation of the multitude of colors and sights that this mighty forest revealed, all over.

One night as the sun was moving towards the horizon he came to her. As she emerged from the hut she had built, he said to her. "Tonight we lay aside your training for something else. Get your pack, we have a hike ahead of us." With a brief look of surprise she gathered her pack and they set off. For five months they had trained solid, days with no breaks, no questions, no explanations other than that first day.

He had withdrawn his blade with a sigh. "You are the first to reach me, You found the message hidden within I presume." His posture held ever alert readiness yet his face showed only sadness, as if he had lost something dear yet which still lay sometime in the future. With a touch of hesitation at the look on his face she replied, "Yes, deep in the net, hidden behind the training avatar, accessed through defeating the final guardian." And only you broke it?", he said. Angry she said, "You know I came through hell, gave up a normal life and have nowhere left to go. The least you could do is offer me some food or water!"

Still on guard yet more focused on her he said "It`s true then, only you made it. Well I guess the trail has been erased by now. You know, I had little hope that anybody would find my message much less seek me out. I programmed the guardian to be unbeatable and lethal if pushed. But your here so you must possess some mettle." "Hey" she yelled, "I made it, tell me, show me the answer!" "Its not that simple," and he let out a sigh, "long have I been here, beneath the trees and under the sky. Only the seasons for company. I know what you seek, I know you want answers, training and power. Yes I know the promise in the message and will honour it. But you must follow my commands until I deem you fit to emerge a real human being. No questions, no complaints, never quit, never lie, give me all, hold back nothing. If you agree I accept you in all." So saying he turned his eyes to hers for the first time. Meeting his gaze she saw the pain and anguish he had faced, the long suffering faced in the past. Yet what had convinced her in the beginning and now held her rapt was the honesty and truth found in his whole being, two things she had missed most of her life. And with a passion and yearning she put all the strength and energy into these two words, "I accept"

Waking up

Tight blue spirals wordlessly pouring forth from below. Bright circles appearing in an instant, so vivid so strong. Colors, the range of imagination, hidden just beyond reasoning. faintly the mass pulses and grows. Rapidly it shrinks down to infinity. Lines waving, undulating wildly from the center. Tips touch and spread establishing new frontiers, new creations, new fragments of geometry. Chaotic elements war with each other for supremacy of energy. Epicenter born pulses radiate outward supplanting the jagged points with regular- straight formations. Bridges built yield exchanges of data. Rows and junctions transmit aligning orders. Locked firmly, networks become a single unit operating as one. Orderly flows of information. I awake from sleep.

Practice Above the Graveyard

Last night went up past a graveyard to a generally empty park. It stretches half a mile above the tombstones, is well lit and has a temple at mid-point. The atmosphere is very conductive to practicing. I get the feeling of solemnity, of being all alone amidst the maple trees and row upon row of Buddhist headpieces. When taking a break, standing on the fallen leaves, I looked up through the bare branches to see the moon shining brightly. Was a great practice not because I had a major breakthrough but because I felt the beginning of a deeper realization. That's how it always starts.

I had exercised for quite a bit earlier in the day so muscles and mind were in a fatigued relaxed state. But what I noticed was when executing lunges or explosive movements with the lower body usually i would be committed to it until it finished and could recover. But instead I pushed off in one way and immediately contracted the muscles in mid-air so that the moment I touched soil I could segue into another direction. And not just jumping but even when one leg is pushing forward, the other is keying up muscles to execute another action. So that one jump forward becomes a whip to any other direction!

And though its hard to explain, another thing is total body involvement. Now I remember way back when I took martial art classes the stress on stepping, blocking, punching: each movement utilizing a separate muscle group. I know that one aim is to combine all into a fluid action but what I didn`t realize until last night was that the entire body is used for every single action. What this means is that while you could block with just your upper body, stomach muscles, shoulders, arms, back etc. you are taking the full brunt of the force in the upper body only. But just add the turning of the legs and pivoting of the feet and deflect-counter becomes effortless. The placement of the feet being the most important as they aid not only the direction of force but also quickness and power as well.

All that is from just thinking about last nights practice. I think it is essential to not just train physical but ponder what you noticed- your body`s reactions. Now, next time I have things to focus on. Also how much of this discovery was related to the excellence of the practice area? I think choosing a good place, one that matches your personality or disposition is vital to making progress. I mean we choose our workplace around such principles so why not?

Travels in the coutryside: thoughts

She had always dreamed about it. Waking she always thought about it. Every waking moment, every person, object and thought that she encountered was all subjected through the filter of it. The sword. Holding it, caressing it, moving it through the air, all motions driving toward the fluency of use. Ever since high school she had made a pact with herself: to use the means of the sword to unlock a deeper understanding. During those first years she upheld and tried to emulate any who possessed a hint of skill. She had to begin by learning her body and how to move, as if she was a toddler learning how to balance on two legs. Slowly a five years progressed and she felt confident in the control of her muscles. She had also begun to notice a incredible lack of fluidity and grace in fellow practitioners of the sword and dance. Her inner eye was well trained by her own long honed movements. Others were simply stringing together separate moves that lacked connectivity or flow. She could not explain why, but she felt this "gracefulness" was a strong component to mastering swordsmanship. It was at this point she abandoned lessons from traditional teachers, stopped participating in sword style debates and even could not stand the philosophies and technique treaties written by masters of old. They all seemed to reach the final page with the unwritten message that ultimate answers could not be found within.

After college, during a period of travel and thinking she felt she had developed a source of truth inside her that she consulted often, a source that seemed to grow more knowledgeable every time she used it. It was this source that often directed her sword training. She would feel wrong if a particular move or exercise was executed poorly or let her know if she had inadvertently stumbled upon a cleaner cut or smoother way to move. This was less cerebral than the description here but no less effective. She often thought about the defining moment that she had become self-aware of such a source.

It had happened during her few years of wondering around Japan. During an especially long trip spent in the countryside, climbing many mountains and traveling through towns that belonged in a different era she stopped at a small inn to wash and do laundry. Her body was beat, drained of energy and muscle sore from her heavy backpack rubbing her shoulders. The inns matron offered her the use of the spa facilities, which she happily rushed into. Naked, sitting in the hot water, she felt the day`s worries soak from her mind. When at the point of fainting from the heat she jumped into the cold water tub. As the cold gradually spread throughout her body all thoughts slipped away. She felt herself exhaustively stare at the surface of the water. The calm surface broken occasionally by the drops of water from her hair. Each ripple spreading out, then subsiding back into the surface. Her gaze shifted to the other naked women moving around her. They left ripples in their wake, but again subsided into the stillness of the moment. And she saw that for that briefest time there had been no separation between her mind and the outside, that the ripples had spread through all space and the stillness that followed had reached deep into her. At that moment, before the feeling began to fade, she felt that source of stillness, of unchanging essence. And it was if she had a brief glimpse of the true potential that could be achieved and that she could forever lay all doubts aside.

But she knew now that it was only a glimpse. Even at this moment she would question herself if she ever touched the source. But she would stop and listen and a voice would say "yes its true." And she knew, no matter the bleak future, no matter the doubts and fears she herself could conjure, the knowledge of having seen the impossible was her greatest weapon, to be wielded in those times of her darkest need.

The search for truth - written while hiking

He was a man for who truth had taken such a strong hold with that the mere act of equalizing himself with the purity of it destroyed all of the values and traditions that he had held so closely to his heart. This road led him into madness, into a hell of his own crafting. Searching for the definition of truth drove him towards those non-truths, the essence of those things that opposed the sharp ringing of light. It was in this hell that when confronted by the very unstable fabric of his beliefs that he fought and won his freedom.

This was no universal freedom to be applied to the masses. He had struggled through the layers of his own delusion to reach the stark reality of the falseness of his beliefs. Such a shock was a blow to shatter his will-power. To shatter all his definitions and constructions of the truth. Faced with no way to build a wall against the world he confronted the truth and found it no further away than his own heart. And it nearly destroyed him to see the futility with which he had struggled all these years. But standing up on that first day of clarity he had grasped the truth deep within and refused to compromise on any facet of its projection.

That had been more than 5 years ago. This was a different man who stood up tall this morning. His struggle had never diminished in the slightest but he know possessed a strength that showed in every expression of movement. Looking out from his sanctuary deep in the forest he noted with pride the full beauty of the rising sun. And, as he thought every morning at the greeting of a new day, there is no greater expression of the truth than to breathe in the beauty of one`s own choosing.

artistry or 芸術性

I saw the word 芸術性　or artistry today and somehow my mind flashed upon swordsmanship and the relationship between the two. Martial arts today has become seen as systematized. That every move has a place, a time to be used. The mind and muscles are trained to react in a specific manner. This method is very useful for beginner and intermediate learners, it enables them to see connections between attack and defense. But by limiting a particular move to a certain response or time you place it unmoving in a long line of predictable routines. I think this is where most hobbyist and part-time practitioners are to be found. They see the ultimate goal being the accumulation of as many techniques as possible. That in itself is not bad but the strict focus on the systematic is not the highest level.

Then what is artistry? Artistry is simple yet achieving the feel of it the hardest. At any given time numerous movements, techniques and positions are possible. An artist is a practitioner who sees the totality of every move to its outcome and chooses one. It is not the best move nor the worst, it is simply the only move for that situation. An artist then is a decision making master, unburdened by indecision nor regret. Do not assume that because this is no time of war and life or death is not an outcome that one who called himself a warrior that is now an artist are different. If you somehow convince yourself you have mastered all techniques, have a thorough systematic understanding of the art and above all are sure that your style is superior, you will be defeated by one who is not. Defeated by one who considers the right move, one who knows that a master of art puts effort into every notion every minute, that excellence is achieved through personal decision.

Free Writing: The fourth step beside a wild flower

Even before she had taken the first step that would lead to a thousand battles, she had mentally crossed the barrier to the forest long ago, in sight of it many leagues before. One doesn`t enter lightly the last forest in the world, even if it stretched across the full western half of the United States. Mentally she was already striding along the Southern-Bale trail, time as we measure it with mechanical precision slowly fading with the opinions of others in that other life. But that first step, brushing the stands of prairie grass and coming to rest on a dry pine twig amidst a bed of long faded needles. It was early summer but the heat lay on the earth like a blanket, smothering ambitions and hopes alike. But her ambitions and hopes had been born and built up up over many long and hard seasons. They would not lie down nor float away under anything nature could produce. That first step led to a second and then a third and before she realized, she had crossed the line and was committed at the fourth step, which fell besides a yellow wild flower.

Truly committed and it was joyous- such a sense of freedom that she let out a yell of exaltation that raised birds into the air. And she admitted to herself that now she could no longer question herself, no longer have doubts about each decision she had made to reach this threshold. All the efforts spent to train herself, the time spent in examination of everything she had held dear, now were finished. Now she could only affect two outcomes. She would succeed and gain a life worth living for, or she would do what she could, would spend every amount of will power in the effort to succeed but would not. And then simply life was not for her and she would go to death completely empty of the movement of life.

Wondering while aboard a train

How does one describe the difference of life out here? These great green rolling hills, the green of the land contrasting perfectly with the blue of the sky. The flat land of rice fields and forests abuts the slopes of steeply rising mountains. Open vistas of every type. The air is inexpressibly fresh, like taking a drink of glacial water. It clears your head after awhile. The clouds so puffy it reminds you what you thought as a child, that all clouds all the time were this way. Of course I write this on the train, rolling through these communities but I have walked places like this and know how to adjust. Could I use just such mental adjustments to write about other environments and characters? After all I`m simply interpreting what I see in the world, why can`t I write what I dream? It amounts to nothing more than creating the right sentence. But Oh! that is creation, something from nothing!

Insanity in Coherent form?

Its strange when I think about the expectations I had as a child. There was no worry about the future. I assumed I would go to college, discover what I wanted to do, graduate and get a job. As smoothly as the words I just wrote. Well my life or should I say the life of a human`s life has gone very differently than I expected. Depending on myself is very hard. Although I feel I am doing what I must, at the same time I feel this heavy weight of responsibility that says its selfish to devote your life to your own pursuits, that even if the end result might benefit mankind its just an excuse to avoid duty now.

My thoughts always turn to the future, that in the current state of the world I should work to forge a place somewhere. Have a status that reflects upon my relationship with others. That people expect me to find a job that suits my intellect as well as be suitable to living. Of course a suitable living is deemed enough money to provide for future expenditures, things that may or may not happen. Why can`t they give people a chance? I understand that we humans push this standard of living as an ideal model as it promotes progress through stability, though I admit they are opposites.

What if a sole individual takes as his assumption that humans, given the knowledge of self-awareness, will strive to exceed the bounds of what it means to be human? What if the reason we repeat our failing in history is simply because the individual does not recognize the pattern and mistakes it for change, for randomness? For we as a species are closest to a group consciousness than we have ever been before. Data reflecting many facets of our lives is readily available to most of those that influence change in this system. We have grown accustomed to adapting our methods of thought to the times. I think it will become harder to separate individual thoughts based on reality and thoughts based around culture. Is it not so strange that perhaps in the future the beauty of software will compete with that of reality, that one`s knack with technology will be his golden ratio, that the absence of interest in software-no- the absence of any means of entertainment will be thought of as psychotic.

Perhaps, but perhaps there are others like me, just awakening to the evolving condition in our world. And see that the answer lies not in the political world, in military means, in grassroots movements, in grand unified theories and demonstrations, in citizens takeover or guerrilla warfare, even on online systems or cutting edge technology. Simply because it is harder to move backward than forward. It lies in finding the truth, because whatever I can imagine as the truth is never quite correct. Looking upon the millions upon millions if interlaced points on one human`s mind, they all hide the fact that they are based upon a core. Its not a truth because nothing else is false. A core each and every person cannot deny.

Weapon or nothing?

A quote: How sure it is that a weapon can lock a person into a predictable pattern of behavior.

How does this apply to me? I believe that as long as you think of a sword or a staff or any type of fighting implement as just a weapon then there is a tendency to to separate and compartmentalize each weapon and its movements. Such thinking can lead one to discard techniques, ideas and even advice as not pertinent or applicable. This is dangerous as the above quote suggests. If my thinking is flowing solely along the lines of a sword then I am limited by my perception of what only a sword is capable of doing. An opponent has just to understand that and know what sword I am using to see the patterns I could engage in. So what is a sword if it is not a weapon? The moment it touches your hand it becomes nothing and it is only that you have gained a few pounds of weight and must adjust your balance. Once it ceases to be a weapon you have freed yourself from movement only a sword can perform. Now you are able to use your brain-create, anticipate, flow, reject, all done using yourself- something we are all more familiar with using. An opponent with this kind of understanding would be dangerous indeed. I think one can recognize such by how one moves while holding a weapon. He moves as if he has forgotten what he holds and merely adjusts. When fighting he doesn`t seek to cut or block but it is as if the sword appeared at such a position. Again I must ask myself how much of this concept applies to other pursuits. Applied as wide as I can imagine I could say that every individual thing in the world that I separate with its own characteristics is just a weapon, something I am attempting to exert control over.

Free writing: Dragons

Struggling up the slope, jagged edges of rock sticking into her hands. Sweat slowly dried from her forehead as the fierce rush of wind swirled around and up towards the top. Oh, how welcoming the cold and sharp wind is, she thought. The bugs and trapped heat of the forest below had almost broken her vaunted calm. And though she had spent most of her life amongst such conditions, this place carried more of an ominous presence than usual. Suddenly she looked up and found no rock but blue, cloudless sky. Stepping over the ridge onto the summit she dropped down to her knees and exhaled long and hard. The sun beat hard onto her back, unrelenting and no place to seek shade. There she sat and waited, watching the sun approach the horizon. Light grew golden, fat and illuminating. It threw its radiance down onto the sea of clouds below the mountain. Barely able to breathe she knew the moment was near, and yet she wanted it never to happen, to savor this moment where the world she knew was sane and safe.

And then it slid up through the clouds, a luminous shaft of steel throwing off glints of light as it turned. Dragons, the word slipped from her lips like a piece of joy escaping. Dragons, as hundreds of sleek, muscled forms burst upward into the air. Later, telling people that they flew, tumbling about each other and twisting in sinuous arcs, she would know that no descriptions could give such majesty and grace justice. This was a animal governed not by instinct nor seeking solely a joyous expression of play. These creatures were creating a canvas so vast that it took as a backdrop the entirety of nature illuminated by the dying sun.

With every flowing movement, every soar and fall, every mighty roar and every curving turn they created a monument of expression. Majestic, she would say, awe-inspiring and even unfathomable. But only in her own mind did she know the truth because she had seen it. These creatures had a severity and ruthlessness, would bear no efforts at taming them and could not be communicated with. For they had a trait that in all her travels she had never witnessed before. They acted with a will and created with a spirit answerable only to their own need to express their nature. And she knew without a doubt that here was a creature more willing to die than to ever compromise on an inch of that willful ferocity.

-Pure creation. Born from an image in my head. When I read it I feel awe and wonder that such words spring from my pen. I remember reading a passage that described dragons in flight and ended with something like "Arren did not speak but he thought: I do not care what comes after; I have seen the dragons on the wind of morning." I have often stood on a high ridge and wondered what that would look like.

Sword practice

I breathe deep. The universe expands, shrinks, returns to normal. Balance begins in the mind and ends in the fingers. I can feel the land beneath my toes, gripping the slight depressions. A leaf floats by and I briefly think about air currents, leaf texture and flexibility. It lands and my thoughts draw back within. The moment begins all at once. Driving and turning, generating power in the muscles. It passes along, a slow awareness of expanding and contracting tendons, balance shifting over points along the feet. For brief moments my will becomes focused at the far ends of my hands, manifested in every cell aligned to this moment to achieve maximum results. Withdrawing from the moment I stretch muscles, pushing the awareness deep, trying to find areas tight and unresponsive. I settle finally down on my heels, consciousness back behind the eyes and I see the sun clearing the horizon and come back to myself. Memories and thoughts flood back, I breathe deep and smell my breakfast cooking.

A good quote:
"I am Galileo. I stand here and tell you: "Yet it moves." " Just that.

Those strong yearnings

There are those that harbor in their hearts to flow with grace. To have no interference from mind and body, to move united and with no equal. From the first pulse of energy to the release of muscle and exhalation of breath, complete mastery of the universe because it presents no concession to your movements. There are individuals that long to move fast, strike hard and clean and most of all leave no doubt to the beauty and grace of the fight. It is possible I tell them, yearn for it with all your heart, want to reach the potential you were born with and you will achieve everything. Doubt lies only within yourself. If only they would see the power each person possesses, it would truly awaken a world of real humans. To soar, to fly higher than any generation of man before. That is a unit of measurement, a definition of accomplishment worthy of looking into.

Black Vans proclaiming things

He shouts words to a public embarrassed to hear him. His voice proclaims his less than enthusiastic belief for the material he shouts. How could he continue to spread the word of his core principles when they don`t lie at his core? The reality was his broadcasting had the opposite effect. People came to associate loud voices, black vans and demonstrations as outdated ideas, youths hanging on to the dying words of a previous generation. The people blanked out the very words that stood a chance to improve the world. By this mental association the black vans became the neighborhood crier, always to be ignored, labeled bad from the start. Their mistake lay in the method of delivery. They sought to reach people directly, but didn`t change the way of speech. People raised since childhood on public speeches would not be swayed by another official speech. They needed a firebrand, someone with the words written in his heart. A person speaking as if to an individual, as if whispering through your ear directly to the heart.

And I dare not even breathe

Liberty, freedom, justice, practicality, righteousness, rights. To want liberty, to want freedom assumes we are oppressed, seeking some kind of escape. To rally for our continued liberty, to seek to protect our freedom implies forces allied to destroy those principles. But in our society one man cannot stand up and demand his freedom and　liberty from those that profess to hold his best wishes forefront in their minds. How can I trust a body of people to hold my own dreams, my hopes, my joys sacred? When they hold as their directive of action laws laid down by each successive generation, each a holder of different beliefs, shaped by sets of circumstances. Laws that uses ideas defined by people far from organic in their use of language.

How can you know freedom when structured law defines our emotional, mental and physical barriers? With the definment of institutions, the birth of countries, one born in a group is part of that group forever. I cannot stand up and proclaim myself sovereign from a force solely because I will always lack the power, eloquence and historical backing that any previously established government or group possess.

That is the attraction to the story of one man realizing he has his own life, his own freedom, his own definition of the rights owed to him. To stand up and proclaim I will not stand by and accept your definition of the world. I will not accept the fact that I cannot act as my own creator or destroyer. i will not accept the definition that man is a species that will always owe allegiance to his fellow man and must acknowledge that the logical progress of history is the proof of your right to shape his future. I will stand up and step outside the system, see the flow of reality from a perspective pf personal freedom rather than social freedom. i will hold my own unalienable rights and refuse to define them. I name my revolution selfish, for I cannot share any facet of it, parcel out any portion of the reality I see to you.

If there are those that exist in the vein of these thoughts, rise on your own feet, see your own existence. We may share many of the same characteristics, but you are an individual. Be not afraid to proclaim yourself alone, be not afraid to reject those who demand kinship on the basis of blood or land. Be brave to proclaim you see with eyes unclouded of influence, think with thoughts shot through with individual consciousness and shout with a voice clear of doubts or contradictions. For only when I can stand on the mountain top and see the way free of allegiances, free of gods and superstitions, free of barriers to the true existence of one`s individual will, will I say this is freedom and this is worth protecting at any cost.

Free Writing- Why, she asked, why would you love me?

"Why, she asked, why would you love me? Is it for my brilliance, my dazzling looks, my attractive body, my feminine charm? Why? I cannot accept those words without the weight of an explanation."

-And he thought at length about it. But the honest truth was he couldn`t explain or even say what he loved about her. Instead he said "I don`t love you- I guess I never have." Then he was silent. She was dumbstruck, the days they had spent together, the time they had shared everything, she had been so sure. "No" he said, "I don`t love you. There is no love, no such intellectual thing. There is only this." And he pointed to his chest and hers. "We have the same spirit, you share myself inside you. That is what you feel. There is nothing between us, we are already joined, don`t you see?"

But she could not see the relationship without love, had no experience except with that emotion. So she cried "If you are that close to me why do you stare off into space even when I talk to you?" He looked away. And then back, "Would you know the truth of my thoughts?" he asked. "Yes!" she yelled, "haven`t I asked that all this time?" "Then do you love me?" One simple statement from him. After all this talk, she thought.........

"No," she finally replied, "I thought it was love but I feel now it was not." "Then I will tell you what I think about when you are talking, when you are sleeping, when I look into your eyes," he said in a quiet voice. "Here, face me and hold my hands. Listen to my voice and let your imagination go." And he began his tale....

Free Writing- She was a young woman

She was a young woman. Strong and fit, sharp in mind. She wore a large backpack half her size but wore it easily as if she long knew the road. She had a determined look on her face, full of spirit and willingness to attempt the impossible. Tucked into the bands on the side of the pack was a sword of simple design but bore the look of solid craftsmanship. Her hand would touch the hilt, one quick grasp to assure her it was positioned right. She bore the muscles of a dancer but when she moved the steel underneath became apparent. Even as she stood there before the forest she looked ready to move in any direction. The forest line stretched away to both sides, the tips of the trees fading into the horizon. Behind lay the blowing grass and her trail of crushed stalks. Still she stood in the thin line of scraggly grass and the outlying trees. Watching and waiting for a sign. The wind blew low to the ground, bending the grass but hardly disturbing the tree`s leaves. Finally there were no birds singing, no plants blowing, even the creak of the trees had stopped. Silence so quiet it creates a low rush in the ear. She touched her sword once more and started into the forest.

The End

(in a dream)
And with a knife stroke my world was split asunder. Every rule, every principle, every belief that supported my view of the world torn apart as if the past 10 years did not exist. With blood pumping fast and red i knew I had failed. What was I left with after I had lost the summation of my self? Yet as the world grew dark I felt almost free, that for all my technique and skill and sweat I had poured into the sword, it brought me to a just end. For don`t all swordsmen yearn for that, to find the right place at the right time?

-And I woke to write the following:
I met the man who was going to kill me and I had to kill him. This brought a clarity of sight into play. False pretenses were no longer needed. In the time we had it was possible to be completely honest with ourselves. We exchanged knives to do the job. I watched a beautiful sunset and told a friend thanks. He confessed to his dad his infidelity. I saw the true relationship of two friends, girls. The important fact was we had decided to kill each other and this made everything clear.

-and after coffee and thinking:
The kind of dream to change my life. I met a man who if not my better, my equal. We both recognized it would be nothing less than death. But because one only finds an equal in life so rarely it was as if all human rules and customs and truths that are built up around life dropped away. We gave each other that short time of clarity free from judgement, knowing that one of us would be cut down. While I felt good and he felt evil, in the light of that time we were neither. Just two connected by that principle and purpose we had strived our whole lives for, training every day towards perfection. Hoping beyond hope to find that perfection in an opponent, where win or lose it is the expression of the culmination of life.

Journal notes jotted down after hiking

(July) Written after 6 days in mountains

And even now it starts to fade. The memory losing its sharp edges. The lines appear less and less as I gaze at them in the dark of my brain. The poignancy of the moment has become a recurring sense, to be dwelled upon when the moment strikes. And even now I realize the full directness that is experience in full awareness of itself. Except for the tendency to drag up these stunning relics of past age wonderment, I rely too little on the invention of memory.

(Thoughts) He spent his collective years gathering thoughts like others gathered wealth. Those amassed in his head could easily overwhelm a lesser man. And also he continually fought against the force, always teetering on the edge of the precipice. For such ideas carry strong suggestions, ones that demand action for their very existence in his head. Yet why did he persist in his efforts?
Each individual thought was unique. Each cell possessing the data forming a image was fully discovered in its own right. But viewed together as points connected by relationships they form a unified picture of the world outside man. And thus was at a step outside the normal world than what he could achieve with normal effort. In a sense the pattern that was created was a second sight to a blind man. He saw beyond limitations, exceeded his own bigotries, saw further that was possible with his own eyes.

Connections

(June) Connections, its all about connections. No matter what you learn, who teaches you, where you learn, it all comes down to what you do with it. The ideal: I learn one thing, from that I think, that thinking leads to 10 others, those 10 others support the original idea and illuminate it in a new way. The next time I learn something the process will seem easier, the connections more apparent, until what I`ve learned and what I`ve divined fill the world and all the connections lead back to the teacher`s first instruction. These connections can fill our life and and lead to a deeper understanding of people`s actions and motives. Like looking at something and seeing the entirety of all actions and connections that lead to that particular state.

What I wrote seemed to be leading to trying to get a thorough understanding of motion and all matter that effects the complete range an object can encompass. Like to execute a lunge and know at every moment all other maneuver's possible from the moment one commits to that movement.

Free Writing- Grassy Fields

(July) The grassy fields, green stalks waving in the cool winds. Short gusts catch my eye as they move across the tops in undulating waves. I`m briefly taken back to my childhood, watching sand dunes as I watch the grass before me. But that was a different world, a different life. The future stands around me, as ever changing as the complex geometry of the pulsing grass. It is easy to see the trail through - the wind finds the break in the trodden grass and creates a funnel - as clear a mark as I`l ever need. I`m dressed for speed and silence. No metal surfaces, no rough cloth, tight and light fabric that moves with me.

But still I pause in this grassland, knowing I lose distance with every second. But if I cannot enjoy these wild areas so full of everything man is not then I cannot justify the desire to finish my quest. It is moments like these that I have to continuously renew my evaluation of the world. To choose at every step the reason for acting, that is why I continue. So I take another breath of this air and I smell fragrance of earth and the distinct aroma of grass that cries green in my brain. Still and breathing. Then off across the plains, the enjoyment of the senses forgotten as I once again slip from life and choose death, pursuing it and the salvation promised long ago.

The scale of things

Pursue something, anything long enough and with enough attention and it will start to affect your thinking. What I mean is your interactions with the world often go through many layers; experience, influence, emotions, health, traditions etc. But talking physically, where you actually manipulate objects and learn from those reactions, that is possibly the strongest factor. I`ve worked construction and learned about structures, supports, joining materials, of reading a building`s exterior to understand the interior. I remember I began seeing in every structure a method of adapting materials to suit the need . I think this is something architects excel at, uniting need with limited space with available materials. Stay in construction long enough and you can feel the major supports of any building, glance at a piece of furniture and read the conclusions the wood-maker came to when finishing it. I also spent time as a specialty gardener. Creating various types of designs, each an adaption of the environment it was in. It was not natural work, One had to work to shape the plants to specific forms. All elements had a specific place, a place that if wrong would immediately draw the eye`s attention. One had to consider the seasons, temperature and health of plants before making the smallest cut. Doing this work day in day out started to make me notice the greenery of our cities. Again one could notice at a glance the intentions of a garden design or skill of a pruner by the shape of a tree. Stare long enough and you start to see the city as a large scale urban garden. Some cities have tightly controlled plans while some are just controlled chaos.

After pursuing swordsmanship, I can read in a person`s movement the level of skill, dedication, thought or personal style. It difficult to pinpoint one thing but often I see how well the body flows from one posture to the next. Often it seems knees are stiff or shoulders too straight etc that draw my attention first. After, one can notice the repetitions of sword movements or footwork. Although hard to describe it is the ones that have a personal touch, movement that suits a personal style or body type that impresses me the most. Its a sign that one is seeking to use the whole body to express the sword.

It is this scale of things that so interest me. If we as humans always utilize this small-large scale adaption, in things like manufacture, horticulture, economy, politics etc what else can I infer from only seeing one side of the scale? I think these are thoughts trying to explore the idea of inter-relatedness, that if you disregard the size difference we can reach a base unit from which to solve the equation.

Thoughts on self-training

This is training outside of classes, away from teachers, separate from those already cultivating a style. This training done on your own time, time dedicated solely to incorporating techniques, ideas or moves that you have learned from others or thought of yourself. It is important to do this self-training, you must make a technique yours before truly utilizing it. Only you can decide if it is worth committing to muscle memory or if it will remain a theoretical idea to recognize in others. This training should take place in a special spot, a place that is easy to fix in the mind. Why? Well there are times when recalling a technique or thinking about a series of movements it is good to first place yourself mentally in this place. It is like a rooted spot that links you to various angles of training. Training by yourself, away from your teacher is also away from the mentors influence. There is no one to correct you, but therein lies the attraction. You must learn your body, you must learn to judge the correctness of form. You do not need a mirror, the feel of your muscles will tell you the alignment of feet and shoulders. Let your self be the demanding seeker of perfection. For only when you reach the point of having no excuse are you truly training your self.

Using ten to describe one

Somethings you have to reduce to absolutes. "I am" or "I am because ....", which carries a greater determination? We like clear, conscious answers but we also like long, detailed elaborate explanations. We need relation, abstraction offers nothing for us to relate to. To deal in words is to deal in structures, pre-arranged rules, logical assemblages of units. It is inherent in language and words to attach meaning, to change ideas to fit the form of words, to depend on an agreement for a vague definition of the external. To express your idea as simple as possible is not a sign of a lack of concise vocabulary but an effort to unite reality with the idea. It is the intellectuals, the scholars who see a missing part, a required piece of the logical equation. To them "It is so" is infinitely less beautiful because it lacks in minutie the amount of words to give it proper place in the world.

Thoughts on "training"

I should try to reach a point where training is life, where I train regardless of where I am, what the circumstances are, what emotional state I am in or physical state for that matter. There is a misconception that training is sub-standard to the reality of the actual deed. That can be no further from the truth. I must act from my training, so I must train the reality of my actions. In other words, there must be no separation between my idea of practice, training and reality. This applies most to my mind set, how I focus myself. In all honesty motivation and dedication should be of no consequence. If I accept it as my desire they become irrelevant. How much mores so do I have to be dedicated than professional athletes. They often have the added incentive of being paid to perform well. What more incentive do I need than to strive to reach that goal, my ideal perfection in form.

Training is one good cut in a thousand, training that feeling and improving the odds. It is finding efficiency in movement, eliminating tenseness in muscles and finding shortcuts between two actions. It is building muscle and strengthening tendons with a single goal to aiding the cut. It is building connections between muscles, learning which aide and which hinder the generation of power and speed. It is feeling the center of balance, that point from which any move may be branched off. Training is not training, knowing how to relax the body and the mind, relieve the strain.

Extension of the mind

I am not often happy and outside of being in nature I don`t often experience pure joy. But it happened today, a breakthrough in my studies of the sword. It is truly a great experience to suddenly see something in a new perspective. I had been practicing cuts with a heavy sword, trying to perfect the angle of cut for different situations. I took a break and moved on to torso and leg muscle work, practicing generating power and torque. I was using hand strikes, knife edges similar to sword edge. And it hit me then that I had slipped into sword techniques, blocking at angles, using footwork to open and close distances, and naturally there is no difference in the movement of the body and mind whether I grasp a sword or not. There are only degrees of distance. Simply, I am utilizing all my muscles to be in the proper position to act, be it a punch, throw, cut or thrust. But I know this insight is only the surface. Im trying to think past this thought, trying to see connections that this could lead to. Some wild ideas:

-Is it possible to read in the rhythm of movement the opponents level, depth of skill, intelligence?

-Is it possible to build up torque in a wave fashion with just the slightest muscle movement?

-Can one develop enough sensitivity to read an opponents next move in the movement of the muscles in his feet?

-Is it crazy to assume one can outdo the speed of the arms and hands and dodge a blade using the muscles of the legs, feet, stomach and back?

-Just as there are basic stances, there are those stances that exist in every second I move. If I can comprehend the innumerable postures and balance one must take, how much more so will I be fluid and quick?

In the eye of the storm

I wrote this after returning from the country into one of the larger metropolises in the area. This journal entry is as close to expressing the actual emotion I felt as any I`ve written so far. I feel it is wordy but I was searching, searching for the right words.

-It seems even stranger this night. The world more confusing than ever, sights and sounds harry me beyond belief. What will it be like a month or more after living in the heart of it? Yet the city is an integral part of humanity. Here, in the belly of this culture must lie some source, a nugget of outflowing inspiration, outflowing influence. I would like to try and recognize it. Maybe there are others like me, searching in the shadow, in the garbage for that singular rarity, that bright awe-inspiring nugget of enlightenment. I imagine there are others, perhaps 1 or 2 people who are hiding in this biological, pulsing entity. Testing, pushing the limits of this nations web. Spreading knowledge of a world a hair-breadths from this one. I looked for those areas, these people that are sources, but I failed in that aspect. Maybe again the answer lies not in the vast natural landscape of the rural areas, where one`s mind is free to roam at will. Maybe it lies at the opposite end of the spectrum. In places where its hardest to express freedom, hardest to see the true ideal of thought. I must admit it makes logical sense. If I wanted to challenge myself, really push, its hard to do it through thought alone. If I could put myself in place to receive intense pressure, intense contradictions, then shouldn`t I do that? But in a way it sounds like Im trying to find some way to rationalize my acceptance of moving to the city.

What this means is when I`m standing in the dark, looking out over a strange landscape and a stranger future I will have to make a decision. Those solutions depend upon a reality only I can judge. Ultimately my judgement is the only safeguard to sanity. That makes my biggest enemy doubt. What if Im wrong, what if Im making the wrong choices, what if Im deluded about what I think reality is? Those are doubts that can destroy a person, destroy his trust-his confidence in his ability to exist and perceive. To go so far down one road and find that its a dead end, that its just a deer trail. That can make one give up on life, give up on the dreams he thought were precious, that were his guiding principles. That is why it takes a strong will to dip into the pool of doubt every once-in-a-while. If I don`t evaluate my beliefs, my convictions then how can I go any further. To test them is to make them stronger. To find the fallacy in my beliefs and correct it, is that not the definition of self-improvement? But the pool is deep, the current strong and the waters very inviting. One must be prepared and be willing to fight even as you strip yourself bare and fight your own identity. This is what it means by the expression "Before you can understand others you must understand yourself."

Writing Free- escape to the forest

And he stood on the rocky ledge, awash in the first rays of a new day. The forest stretched endlessly below. The ground he was going to cover was on his mind and he shifted his pack, letting the weight center on his back. It was times like this, the dawn of a day of possibilities, that reminded him why he chose this path. For truly, in his eyes, the world was never so beautiful as when it was first touched by such striking light. It was just now reaching the far crest of the mountain that was his goal. "And on," he thought, for many rivers, valleys and hills must he cross. But it was not worrisome for he had grown into this land and could run for days over the wild terrain. With that thought he sprung up from a crouch, took a running leap and dived over the edge of the cliff.

He had taken leave of his people, of his culture to come to this place in search of something. But it was not something to be found here but what was simply not here that he had painfully tore himself away to reach. Waking up with thoughts of hopelessness and despair were not here. The revulsion he felt at being amongst the city was not here. The agony of missing the sounds of trees and views of sunsets was not here. And the feeling of compromising on every aspect of his life was not here. To see with eyes cleared of obstacles, to hear with ears the individual songs of life, to smell with a nose unaccustomed to chemicals, to taste with a tongue that had become virgin to all spices. And to touch, to touch as if a blind man, discovering through textures the depth of reality.

But it was more than that. It was a personal experiment, a experiment he thought of as the human experiment. He had given himself 20 years, time to think, time to explore, time to test the limit of his knowledge. In his own words it would be a "search for the truth behind ourselves." And so he had put up his own life, for his own judgement and in that span of 20 years he would find that sliver of light in the dark or he would end his life with at least a little more certainty than when he had started.

Patterns or reaction?

When I juggle something other than a spherical ball there are two ways to go about it. One-to learn the timing of each revolution, so as to catch an object in the same spot no matter the number of spins. Two-to learn to catch that object on all surfaces, that my hand is able to catch it at what ever angle it may fall.

I bring up juggling because it illustrates a point in swordsmanship that I am thinking about. I am at a certain point in training where I am starting to see patterns of cuts and blocks that, if done succesively, open up spots to strike. Strikes on opposite sides of the body which force an opponent to take wider blocks, sending the sword further away from the middle. Or using hard blocks to force an opponent to strike at a certain angle, which is a setup for a rebound parry.

But the problem is that for certain levels of swordsmen these patterns are useless. Beginners wouldn`t see or recognize openings and more advanced practioners should have more complicated patterns, perphaps even the strategy of utilizing one`s pattern against oneself! So what I am pondering is, like juggling, should I study up on different patterns, ways to draw an opponents strike, and even the rythm of a pattern itself? Or is it better for one to know every type of cut, block, parry and every possible response to each? Should I aim to be seemingly complex, never aiming to strike on my cut but planning four or five steps down the road? Or does the answer lie in the fast, decisive cut, the only one for that given situation?

What can I Believe

-A quote- "What can I believe?" It was proper for a person of his generation to believe that individuals needed a profound sense of their own limitations. Traditions were surely the most controlling element in a secure society. People had to know the boundaries of their time, of their society, of thinking, of territory. What was wrong with the hearth as a model for all thinking? A sense of enclosure should pervade every individual choice-should fence in family, the community and every step taken by a proper government. And he tried to fall back on the traditional catechisms of his people. "Each aspect of life required a single form, its inherent circularity based on a secret inner knowledge of what will work and what will not work. The model for life, for the community, for every element of the larger society right up to and beyond the peaks of government; sameness and stability."

And this has led me down the road, to the cliff, to the very edge of limits.

Applied to me, applied to my life, applied to all I can encompass within the range of my imagination and it leads me to this:
All I know, traditions, values, roles, modes of thinking, even definitions of emotions are all based on the evolution of my environment. These ideas did not simply fall out of my head. The shape of our cognitive abilities are the result of evolution and adaption to the situation at hand. Like the strongest survive, does it not make sense for the fittest mode of thought to perpetuate?

And I am on this cliff, this thin edge, poised to make the leap into the shadows, into the areas of humanity that exist in contrast to those ideas of sameness and stability.

A note: I remember reading or seeing something like humans are the only entities able to hold two complete opposite ideas in their heads and not explode with the effort of understanding.

Discussions with the Master

I had spent the day walking. I saw the fiery red sun rise up above the horizon, I saw it sink slowly behind the mountains leaving a radiating aura of color. I saw the entire spectrum of light that passes on a single day. I saw the stars spring out of the dark and marveled. And so I wrote this when I returned home.

Seated around him were eight of his closest disciples, closest because they understood the least and had that much to gain. They had all studied under this man for ten years, with only two signs to show for their devotion. Their sword style was simple and, the master thought, they asked better questions.

"Master" says one disciple, "we have much contact with the outside world, to what extent should we allow ourselves to be involved? Is it good to be thus isolated?" The master replied "It is true we are isolated here, but not by desire, it is that your nature, my unconsious ambtions shape the environment around. Do you wonder why it is clean and tidy here? Why we devote a part of each day to servicing our lodgings. Why there are no loud voices, why each of you choose to run or walk here from the city yet I made no such prohibitions against cars. Do you not see that after awhile garments become cleaner, that it is not troublesome to tend to daily affairs. Why then do you make a distinction between the outside world and here? It is simply your adjustment to one set of standards. Do not consider others with different standards of living different. Like in swordsmanship-they have their own unique style. It may not be good, it may be unstructured, rigid, weak, flashy, or complex. Yet how much more so will your own style be strengthened by recognizing flaws in others and seeing it in yourself.

"Master, I know my self-worth, my strengths and weakness. Yet I still feel other`s opinions too strongly. How am I to deal with other`s comments and criticisms? I find it strangely difficult to weigh the truth of a man`s judgement." The Master replied " Let no man force his opinion upon you. To do so destroys your ability to judge the truth and sincerity of his words. Ultimately it takes the strong will to decide, but I would add it requires the accumulation of wisdom and knowledge to judge, confidence to choose and intelligence to see the changes that will happen based upon such a decision. All men will judge you, it is rare for a man to give you a chance to judge yourself. I give it to you now, the knowledge that the sole responsibility of any act of will is yourself. This is hard, people will call you arrogant, judgemental, prideful, egotistical and even self-centered. Better yet they will say righteous, accountable, dependable, self-sacrificing, even innocent and naive. Which word is the worst? the best? Why should it matter to you? Please think on that and prepare your thoughts for next meeting."

My strongest enemy

The strongest enemy I can ever face is the doubt within me. Such an enemy knows my fears and weakness. It would exploit the smallest crack, a sliver of doubt can become the heaviest weight. And it is strongest when I have reached solid perceptions about my relationship with reality. It is when I have built up such logical-inter locking ideas that doubt can slip in the easiest.

In the dark it is a whisper "what if you are wrong?" And for a moment, a brief flash inside my head, everything is a mistake. Every rule upon which I have based my interactions with the world, every value and principle I have weighed against my own unerstanding of the truth, is simply all mistaken. But then I must blink away such thoughts, for if not then all the hard work towards the formation of an agreeable self using my logic, my thoughts, my ability to reason is all based on the wrong perceptions. What if any human found out his ability to percieve has been twisted, that who he is is simply having the wrong notion of the truth? What would I do? Would death be a better choice than to face the fact that the build-up of your character is a joke? That is a powerful question.

But I think the treasure here is the very ability to doubt my own thinking process. It brings up questions that would otherwise remain buried. Questions that usually could not be asked. I think this is what is meant by "fighting yourself." Just like in swordsmanship, in that I can only reach a certain level before I must seek out stronger, more knowledgeable opponents if I wish to surpass my own innate ability (my own ability to judge and evaluate my skill).

Comprehension and basics

Always am I seeking to be better, aways to be the best. I betray myself if I do not seek improvement. I cannot imagine, as a teeneage, why I did not see the seriousness of focus or dedication. It is my responsibility to myself to ask how I can improve. I have only to look at my first attempts. Such static, blocky movements! But that was the devolpment of my mind at the time. I could not comprehend fitting together 2 or 3 forms of the body nor controlling the motion of seperate muscles. If I truly believe that there is no seperationbetween mind and body then I must treat each as important as the other. i must think more on this and how I can train such a tool as the brain-I mean how do I strengthen intelligence, increase the speed of synapses or sharpen the point of clarity? I think the answer lies in my ability for imagination. The ability to create out of nothing such ideas to test my perception, to test the definition of my world. Again, again I have come back to the sword, for like physically where I must eliminate such useless movements that would trip me up, mentally I must do the same.

Analytical, logical, reason, inductive, fanciful, playful, unusual, linear, random-what kind of thinking is best? I think analytical, interpretive thinking is best for predicting and judging an opponents movement. But this should only apply in preparation and training. Its hard to describe but I think duality fits the best role. Here I should be all encompassing: taking into account all factors that I can, but on the other hand it is not my focus to try and understand all these factors and then act. As I said before that is work I should do before hand. Rather the duality is that there should be no seperation in thinking between myself and those factors; swords, bodies, terrain, sound etc. Even when training it is hard to achieve this kind of mind set. But it occurs to me truthfully, what difference is there in mental activity between sword fighting and sitting or walking around the city or even at work engaged in some projects? It comes down to the balance of when and how to act.

Early morning thoughts

Its quiet here, as if there`s an agreed noise level that everybody keeps. I find myself fitting into some of the community habits, feeling out the routine of this area of the city. But it is still hard to relate to the people living around me. But did I feel closer to those back home so long ago? No, I find that the environment of a place screams at me more than a person. I guess back home I found the layout, structure and style of the town familiar. I could anticipate the scenery I would see. I remember whenver I would drive, walk or run somewhere, I woul seek out new ways, undiscovered pathways between point A and B. Here, even more so, for every direction is unknown. I learned from lots of hiking experience to orientate myself on landmarks. In the forest this meant noticing different shapes, classifying logs, rocks and streams, colors of moss or the quality of light because it indicated the density of the surrounding folliage. Here, in the city, it is easier. Signs, street damage, odd parks, family names, public artwork etc. With these visual clues it is easier to place in my mind a quick access map of any detail.

Again, my thinking parallels swordsmanship. A constant question: does the sword reflect upon everything it touches or perphaps does the development of character, of self influence the sword? It can only be both. Like above I seek to know the completness of a motion. one cut- perfection comes from knowing what is incorrect. If a specific angle of a cut feels right, why? Why are the other 44 degrees wrong? What other purpose might those angles serve? Might one be good for parrying and another just for slicing? These are questions I must ask to pare away those uncertainties that could lead to hesitation.

The Perfect Cut (after training session)

The perfect cut is the only cut. This expresses the motion I am searching for. That any cut made with the sword is the exact cut needed. This applies to the moving of my body. Footwork, stomache muscles, shoulder rotation, finger pressure, there is only one motion that is right. This not only means the cut, the technique should fit the role, but also that I should not have any regrets as to the cut I used. Hesitation is a sign that I am unsure or dissatisfied with a movement. Often, after a series of cuts I notice that the transition of muscles or weight on the feet was wrong. This, I think, is my body telling me unconsiously that there is a better cut, a more efficient way to move. I can only guess that this sensitivity comes from constant awareness of every point within your ability.

Behind the perfect cut is true balance. Some moments in training and outside I see beyond balance. It seems to be truly understanding gravity and the feeling of it effecting my body. When riding the bus I can feel the pressure and release as we turn corners. When doing handstands I can feel the slight shift in pull on my feet. The best unity of balance I`ve had is when I seem to let my muscles adjust to the different positions rather than let my brain judge how they should move. Even when I am practicing on the ball of one foot or on one hand, the beat of my heart is enough to disrupt balance. So even an awareness of the beating of my heart and the flow of my blood is needed. How can I improve in that aspect?

At night, on a pinnacle of rock

The blazing lights below blur together, to my tired eyes they looked like raw energy connecting sections of city together. When I unfocus just enough I see the true relation of a city, the flowing of data through, around and directly to the heart of each point. Here, so high above and surrounded by open air I feel appreciation and respect for the builders of these places. Immediately it is crushed by despair at the thought of living again in a city after being so free in the country. Down there lies the future, the shaper of my thoughts to come, a city of interactions and ideas. Down the trail, over the rocks, past the rice fields is the past; the constructions of human thinkers, clues in designs that point to reasoning and logic of the founders.

And here I am. In a different culture. Up in the mountiains in the night, in a different country. This is an oppurtunity that I must take. In the country I had the ideal freedom, i explored my thoughts and technique with no constraints. Where they were built not in competition with the land but in an agreement. Homes were ordered, nights were quiet, mountains were as high as the sky. And I resonate with any landscape I live in, and it was the same there. But it was lacking, I challenged myself, pushed my own limits. I`ve seen the limitations in such living. And so here I am, in the city to expose those limitations, to find those emotions uncovered by interaction with the pulse of humanity.

Its lonely on nights like these. No one to share in these incredible views. But at least I have seen them tonight. I must rember the feeling of being on top of mountains, of camping deep in the forest as the sun is setting, of the rustling of trees being the only sound, of walking up a mountain canyon through grass and feeling as the only human in the world. These are already inside, I wonder how they will evolve in contrast with the industrial, the mechanical, the designed? Well these are thoughts for another day, I still have to make the climb back down through the trees and the moon is not so strong. And tommorrow is my first job.