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.