At night I dream of fighting. Often, I am back in uniform, back in the Corps. Always I am winning, but my opponent does not fall. Always my opponent is good, and I have to work hard to avoid attacks, but avoid them I do. My strikes are solid, my technique good, but the effect is nebulous.
In the morning, I do kata. My body creaks and groans, the floorboards echo my body, and my mind floats between what is and is not real. Sometimes I think the walls between realities are thinnest at these moments. I could imagine myself slipping from one to another without much effort.
I settle down into Sanchin and sink into my stance. As I finish, my mind clears, the veil rises, my senses are restored. I smell coffee, hear a dog barking in the distance, the sound of traffic.
Tonight I will dream of fighting.
In the morning, I do kata. My body creaks and groans, the floorboards echo my body, and my mind floats between what is and is not real. Sometimes I think the walls between realities are thinnest at these moments. I could imagine myself slipping from one to another without much effort.
I settle down into Sanchin and sink into my stance. As I finish, my mind clears, the veil rises, my senses are restored. I smell coffee, hear a dog barking in the distance, the sound of traffic.
Tonight I will dream of fighting.
Last edited: