(no subject)
The final thoughts before sleep, when half falling into a dream, are a silly catch:
Those singular, unforgettable moments… when a new spark ignites dormant, blinded soul.
Stirring flames of a new color into sprouting, spreading in unstoppable rage through mind, heart, and body… calling out, to live and love with every last ounce of energy, like never before... …before it’s too late, before life’s fuel runs dry, before this sweet air thins, before heat fades into cold night, before wisps of smoke and fluttering ash are the only remnants of what could have been a fire to burn through eternity.
But the clock strikes last call, so we all hurry into our carriage before it turns to pumpkin, ending another night not far from where it began.
And the first thoughts upon waking… before dreams lose all their substance, can be just as neat…
Up early, hungry and painfully groggy, just to practice more of a foreign, grueling, art. So much of the style and attitudes behind it, behind Wushu, are completely opposite of my life’s training. Taking in these new abilities, by stripping away all my old fighter ingrained habits, has become a frustrating battle. It’s not even beneficial for my career anymore. Work is diverging and molding into a new form that will have little use for any of this.
Yet I continue.
I go because I have always gone, have always trained in something, always lived as a martial artist, and always felt incomplete without it.
But as I get ready, I can’t help missing the old hard training that I was raised on. I miss taking on powerful opponents for hours of rigid, exhausting matches. I miss the exhilaration of landing that perfect strike, and then being caught off guard as attacks come even harder in return. I miss reading my enemy and coming up with combinations to stifle their style, and I miss those rare, amazing moments when hitting…
The zone…
When agitation and weariness disappear under the intensity of battle, when I know exactly what’s coming next, just by an enemy’s slight shift in weight, flicker of eyes, or twist of muscle. There's time to think here, about all the possible counters I’ve learned from every teacher, and still more time to combine them into something new to compliment my own ability.
The few other instructors who’ve talked about this, have said time seems to slow for them. But I’ve always thought that to be poor description. It’s more of a mental disconnection with everything except the moment at hand. The sounds of everyone and everything disappear, the odd smells of sweat and school are gone. All fatigue, and pain, and stress, vanish. Every part of me becomes focused on this one fight.
The rest of the world is gone. And with all of it’s distractions no longer cluttering the back of my head, I can see the battle with magnificient clarity and speed, making everything seem in a sense, to slow.
It never lasts long though, because as soon as I realize what’s happening, as soon as I notice any of this and think on it, I loose it.
I can’t help but stop and try to grasp what all of that was. But then the next heavy kick flies through the air, slams into my head, crunches agianst jaw and throws me to the floor. It fills vision with stars, jolts me back to reality, and makes me burst into laughter.
Well, maybe it’s good to miss all of that, because otherwise I’d never examine it so closely…
time to go train and find out what this new art holds in store.