A Beginner's Journey

“Eight highest ranked people – line up at the front of the room.  The rest of you – choose one of them for your sparring partner.”

I’ve done this before, but always in my home dojo.  Everyone runs to the teenage girls and away from the two tall young men – the two highest ranked students.   Twice now when class was smaller than usual I was up front.   But this time I wasn’t in my home dojo among familiar people.  This was a sister dojo with somewhat unfamiliar people.  The class included people who outrank me by more than three belts (as does the most senior student in my home dojo).  Only one of these potential sparring partners was someone who I’ve fought against enough to know a little about.   Someone snatched him up almost immediately.  I was not in a position to be picky so I gravitated in the opposite direction from the mad scramble.

 

Someone who outranks me by a fair number of ranks was standing at the end of the line in “yoi” (ready position) and like I said, the mad scramble of people finding a partner was heading in the opposite direction.  But I happen to like this man.  All my dealings with him have left me with the impression that he is a good person.  Yet in that moment when I realized who everyone was running away from, I realized I too was intimidated.  I’d never fought him before, but I’d seen him in action.  Uh oh.  Yeah – him.  YIKE!  In seconds, it was obvious who I was going to spar.

I drew a deep breath and settled into “yoi.”  I had a moment to conjure up some semblance of inner peace.

 

“HAJIME!”

That peace didn’t last long.  I need to work on that – among other things.  It quickly became obvious that my usual groove of standing my ground – the thing that works so very well against those of my same rank – wasn’t going to fly with this opponent.

“Oh, so you want to go toe-to-toe?”  GRAB!  My wrist was encased in an iron hand.  “Now get out!”

I twisted free and scooted back.  In that moment, I lost my cool.  Something about his tone of voice triggered a reaction I wasn’t expecting.  I was outraged he’d done something that is illegal in a tournament (hey, thugs in the street won’t be fighting fair either).  My “id” started driving.  I was angry and my lips curled in a snarl around my mouth guard.  Looking back on this moment, I really can’t fault my sparring partner.  This is how he rolls and really he wasn’t being disrespectful.  Now that I know I have this trigger, I can get to work on disabling it.

 

My opponent and I tested each other a bit, dodging other combatants.  He bobbed his head and rolled his fists, daring me into action.  That made me hopping mad, and again I fault myself.  A few more techniques thrown by both of us, then I realized I had him.  I deftly moved sideways and cornered him.  After I threw a kick I asked myself if I really wanted him cornered – and I released him.  As he moved out I tried to tag him with a combination of punches but made the foolish mistake of staying put.  Instantly he pinned both my arms and punched my gut.  “Get OUT!”  he urged.  Somehow I twisted out of his grip and moved back.  I breathed in, squished the inner turmoil and was just on the verge of adjusting my style of fighting when…

“Engineering to Bridge.  Cap’n, the ship canna take any more o’ this!”

“Scotty, I need more power!”

“She’s gonna blow!”

“That’s an order, Mister Scott.  We’re up against a Klingon bird of prey and…”

RrrrrrrrrrrrrRUMBLE…  KERPOW!!!

 

“Bridge to Engineering – Scotty, what the —- was that?!?”

“Did I no warn ya, Cap’n?  Automatic systems jettisoned the dilithium crystals before they exploded.”

Apparently I’ve reached some sort of milestone.  You know how people can get kind of silly about things babies do – even the gross things?  “Awww, she spit up – let’s just clean that up – dere, is dat bedder?  Wook at her, she’s smiling, isn’t you just the cutest widdoo ting?”  Well…  Yes, do laugh – I think it’s funny that the Senseis were saying things like, “Hey, there’s not a single one of us upper belts who haven’t done the same thing,” and, “This just shows you’re pushing yourself hard – good job!”  They were proud of me – for barfing???  So am I in some sort of club now?  I’m still chuckling over that.

The man I was sparring was worried he’d nailed me too hard – I assured him that wasn’t the case.  A Sensei said later I might still have a trace of the stomach bug I’d  had the week before.  It could’ve been, but I’m thinking the hormones from fighting while angry sure didn’t help.  I absolutely must get control of that and now I know one of my triggers.  On one level, yes, my sparring partner was my opponent.  But on another level, I was my own opponent.  It’s true – I am my worst enemy.  I have things I need to overcome.

 

So I as I recovered my composure the Senseis brought cleaning supplies.  I cleaned up as per the Y’s specs (and I’m a Y employee so I know exactly what to do, LOL).  I visited the drinking fountain.  I bowed back into the dojo and waited for the next round of sparring.  I chose someone who outranks me by not quite as many ranks.

I’ve fought this other man enough to know that if I’m lucky I can  roundhouse kick his left side when he turns just a little too far to his right while doing his favorite block.  He’s tall, so I have to make quite a few adjustments – that’s OK, two of the senior students in my home dojo are tall too.  I learned something different from this opponent.  He’s heard one of the Senseis tell me to speed up my kicks.  Since then, he saw me fight in tournament.  This man has the heart of a teacher and he decided I’m ready to improve.  He caught my kicks – all save one (he’d turned just a little too far).  Catching my kicks is something he hasn’t done to me before.   I kept a level head, even chuckled inwardly a little.  Having my leg caught is a little dangerous, but if this is what it takes to get me to improve, I’d darn well better practice and improve if I don’t want it happening often.

 

I left the dojo marveling at how much I have to learn.  I’m grateful I have years to develop my skills.  There’s no deadline looming over my head – I just have to be a little bit better than I was yesterday.  If it’s going to take years, I might as well enjoy every step of the way and be patient with myself.  I will learn about myself and I will grow.  Even though I ran the gamut of emotions, got my tail soundly and thoroughly whipped, and even tossed my cookies, I had a ton of fun.  I wouldn’t have traded this experience for anything.

I’m elated that the ante has been upped – it means I am growing and am ready for more.  This isn’t even my home dojo but I’m being treated as one of their own and I’m grateful.  I can get away with a lot when I’m up against people my own rank, but bad habits fall apart when I’m up against people who outrank me.   I learn and grow as a result.  Still, a part of me is a little scared of the higher expectations.

I guess I’ll just have to get used to higher expectations because they will be a part of my Karate career from now until I’m dragged kicking and screaming to the nursing home.

Today is the 70th anniversary of VE Day.  The day my grandfather’s life almost ended.  My mother, uncle, myself, my daughters – if he had perished we would not have ever walked this Earth.   It’s also my birthday today.  In all the festivities and hooplah, I don’t want to forget what my Grandfather went through, and how my own existence was in jeopardy exactly 25 years before I was born.

My grandfather was born fighting for his life on a May morning in 1925.  He was premature, weighing in at one pound.  The doctor took him outside and pumped cold water on him to jump-start his system into action.  Grandpa and my great-grandmother fought Death and won.

Grandpa grew up fighting for survival selling newspapers on the street, often in bitter cold winter with inadequate shoes.  Hours of selling papers just to get a bit of bread, milk, and ground beef to share with his mother – a single mom in an age where even if the guy was a jerk it somehow was the wife’s fault.  I think I know where Grandpa’s fighting spirit came from.

Grandpa enjoyed playing baseball and football (no protective gear to speak of) even though he was a modest height – 5’4″ (1.7 meters).  His grit and athletic ability helped him survive the war.  Somehow he got through some pretty hair-raising stuff, including the Battle of the Bulge and liberating a concentration camp.  70 years ago today my grandfather was wounded.  Everyone else in his unit was dead.  He crawled back to camp not knowing if he’d make it back alive, not knowing the war was already over.

Grandpa taught me how to shoot baskets and throw a bowling ball, and although he didn’t understand my “thing” for Karate when I was a teen, he supported it because he believed in physical fitness.  Grandpa was bowling well into his 70’s.  When he could no longer bowl, Grandpa kept walking in the neighborhood until he had a mini stroke and fell.  He tenaciously kept up with physical therapy at the nursing home.  The final week and a half of his life, we watched his final fight with Death.  Two days after Grandpa passed away, one of his great-granddaughters won medals in her first Karate tournament.

Grandpa fought so that his daughter and son, myself and my daughters could grow up in freedom.  The Nazis hated autistic people – my Grandpa had no idea he was fighting for the life of one of his own great-granddaughters.  He just said that he was doing what he had to do, what anyone would do.   But it means so much more than that to me.  My daughters are free to study martial arts, free to exist, free to form their own opinions about life.

There are senseis in a sister dojo who sometimes compliment me on what they call my “fighting spirit.”  I always, always, always think of my Grandpa when I hear those words.  I feel that compliment deeply, and very much appreciate it.  My Karate daughter has a “fighting spirit” too – in her it manifests as gleeful concoctions of strategy on the fly.   I never saw my grandfather play football or baseball, but his eyes would light up as he talked about strategy.  My autistic daughter has her great-grandfather’s legacy as well – she struggles against her own disability every single day at school, and this self-awareness and determination is marvelous to see.  I think we’ve inherited something very precious indeed.

Thank you, Grandpa.  I still remember 70 years ago there was a young man not much older than my own daughters crawling back to camp in agony and fear, all his friends dead.  Thank you.

Two months ago I read Andrea Harkins’ blog post “To Be Like Bruce Lee” and decided it was high time I made a trip to his grave.  I grew up in Seattle but had never made seeking the site a priority.  I never really caught on to the hype about Bruce Lee.  I have yet to see one of his movies.  After I read about how he struggled against injury and racism I thought it might be nice to leave flowers on Andrea’s behalf.  She was all for it.  Finally the perfect morning came around – I had an errand near that part of town and the weather was beautiful.  As I prepared the card for the flowers it occurred to me that I wanted to leave flowers too.  It was the first stirring of what touched my heart and spirit later that morning.

Errand accomplished, traffic fought, flowers purchased, card secured with ribbon, I drove through the gates of Lake View Cemetery.   Too late I saw the sign saying that the office is across the street.  However, I was so delighted with the place I decided to drive around and see if I could find the grave on my own.

I was thrilled to see so many old mausoleums, sculptures, and graves.  I was surprised to find so many names of city founders.  Seattle has a very quirky history featuring some interesting people, and many are buried in this cemetery.  I saw quite a few unique modern graves and many Asian style graves.  But I somehow missed Bruce Lee, and I knew what his grave looked like from Internet pictures.  Reluctantly, I admitted to myself that time was ticking away.  I found a place to park on the street outside the office.  I was very grateful they weren’t busy.

I suppose I could’ve planned the entire thing out and researched exactly where Bruce Lee’s grave is so I could’ve gone straight there.  But then I would’ve missed out on the whole experience of the treasure hunt.  I would barely have noticed the other graves.  I would’ve missed meeting the helpful lady working at the front desk of the office – she was delightful.  I’d certainly have missed signing the Bruce Lee guest book for myself and for Andrea Harkins.  I would never have seen that in one week, visitors came from all over the world – including a rugby team from the United Kingdom!  Most of all, I might not have a desire to return another day for a nice long ramble.  As I drove back through the cemetery, I realized it is possible to over-plan one’s life.

I know how I missed spotting the graves – the colors are used for many other headstones elsewhere and one cannot see the names from any road.  The stones face downhill towards Lake Washington –  to the east where the sun rises.  It is a beautiful spot bordered on two sides with hedges.  A bench encourages visitors to stay awhile.  I placed the shared bouquet and card, snapped a picture for Andrea, and sat down.

I had the place to myself, which is probably unusual, especially on a gorgeous Spring morning.   The bright warm sun was a blessed relief after a miserable, dark, rainy winter.  Birds sang sweetly and the evergreen trees sighed in the gentle breeze.  I immediately felt at ease.  I hadn’t planned on lingering but the place drew my heart into itself.  I wasn’t quite ready just yet to contemplate the life of a man who I don’t know much about, so I let the peace of the place soak into my soul.

What’s his story?I started wondering about the people buried nearby and got up briefly to see who they were.  I found this stone at Bruce Lee’s right.  It’s squeezed between flagstones and a red camellia bush – easily overlooked.  This was the oldest and, to me, the most compelling grave near the Lees.  Three years my junior when he died so far from home.  What was his story?  Had he studied boxing?  What would he think of who he’s buried next to?  Where are his descendants?  Does anyone notice his grave when they visit the Lees?  Sometimes when we find what we are looking for we discover there’s more to pursue.

I took a few more pictures, sat down on the bench again and read the inscriptions on the Lees’ graves.

I reflected on these inscriptions for awhile.  “Your inspiration continues to guide us toward our personal liberation” is especially apropos for Andrea Harkins’ tribute.  I am very glad Andrea found inspiration in Bruce Lee’s life story and had shaped that inspiration into a post that encourages people to overcome obstacles and free their potential.  As I sat on the bench across from Bruce Lee’s headstone, I realized reading about his struggles had touched me more deeply than I knew.  The longer sentiment on Brandon Lee’s grave really resonates with me.  I try to appreciate and recall life’s best moments as much as I can – including a sunny day in a quiet graveyard, where I discovered more than what I’d originally come for.

I wrapped up my musings by thinking about what Bruce Lee means to me.  I’m still trying to figure out that thing about being like water, and maybe I’ll spend my life exploring different aspects of it.  I am grateful for the words even though I am totally ignorant about if “be water, my friend” was his own words or a screenwriter’s words, or even some ancient author’s words.   I next wondered how much inspiration is infused into the lives of the Sensei(s) who teach me.   Certainly I’ve heard Bruce Lee’s name a time or two during Karate classes!  I realized I’m grateful for his life because of how he touched others.  I ended on a whimsical thought – what would Bruce Lee say to me?  Probably, “Practice,” I thought wryly as I stood up and bowed.

I came away refreshed for the quiet time of reflection in a peaceful place.  As I walked back to my car I thought about Ando Mierzwa’s blog post, “How to Meditate Without Losing Your Mind” and realized I had actually applied what I’d learned in that article.  My eyes were open the whole time, but yes, I was meditating and it had changed me.  I found an appreciation for the life of someone I barely know anything about.

There was one more surprise for me that morning.   Before I reached my car I spotted a water spigot.  It occurred to me that the bouquet could’ve used more water in the vase so I turned back to get it.  As I neared the grave, I spotted the reflection of the card.  I recognized a “perfect moment” when I saw it and took this picture:

A gift left on a grave reflected back at me – a visual representation of how I gave something but ended up receiving so much more.  This more than anything else spoke to me because I value the art of photography and have been developing (pun intended) my skills for most of my life.  If I hadn’t turned back to the grave, I’d have missed this moment – missed the gift of shooting a unique picture (which is what us photographers live for).  If I hadn’t turned back to Karate after so many years away from it, I’d have missed a thousand precious moments.

Later in the evening I discovered the peace from that morning was still with me in the dojo.  I do believe my performance was better than usual as a result.  I do seek out peaceful places frequently during the week while on my daily walks with the dog, but it’s rare that a place will touch me so deeply that it spills over into my Karate hours later.

All that from what started out as a simple favor for my friend Sensei Andrea!  And thank you, friend.  If it wasn’t for your blog post, I wouldn’t have had an experience I’ll treasure for the rest of my life.  I know what’s written on Brandon Lee’s grave about such experiences, so I’m writing and sharing my experience so it can be remembered by not just me, but also by you and by my readers.  Hopefully some little piece of this experience will live and breathe in the soul of another and inspire something positive.

 

Whenever I get ready for Karate, I’m struck by how few things I have on my person.  Things from my life outside the dojo get safely tucked away in a locker.  I put on simple garments (gi jacket, belt and pants) and grab a tote bag containing only basic necessities – fist pads, mouth guard, band-aids, and Kleenex.  I leave a lot behind.  I need very little.

As I move from the locker room through the busy hallway of the rec center, there are no pretenses about who and what I am.  Nothing hides my purpose in being there.  I don’t know anything about where the other people are going, but once glance tells them about me.

Most of the time in class I don’t think about anything but what I’m doing.  I am muscle, breath, movement…  I am action and reaction.  Each moment is a chance to improve on the previous moment.  I live in the “now.”  I forget my age, my income level, and all the chores waiting for me at home.  When I’m at my best my body, mind, and soul are immersed in one thing and one thing only – learning.

 

 

I can’t hide the level of intensity I put into my Karate.  I sweat.  That salty, smelly liquid seeping out of every pore is difficult to fake.  I kiai – a war cry that comes from the gut, the heart, and the soul.  It sounds really lame if I don’t put everything I have into it.  I make mistakes – a genuinely human trait.

From time to time I have to admit to not knowing something or I need to ask for help.  If I don’t, my lack of knowledge will be agonizingly obvious.  If I think I know something but am mistaken, that too will show.  There is no faking one’s way through something.  Either I can do something or it needs work.

Simplicity can mean a paucity of material things.  I don’t need a lot with me in the dojo.  I wear a uniform.  Simplicity can mean clarity – I don’ t need to clutter up my mind by thinking about stuff that’s not related to Karate.  Simplicity can mean truth – there’s physical and audible proof of my intensity.  Simplicity can mean candor – admitting I don’t  know everything.

Karate is so incredibly complex.  Yet there are elements of simplicity as well.  It is a paradox that fascinates me.