| [ | mood |
| |  contemplative | ] |
Did you know that I started learning karate? If you're my friend on Facebook, you certainly already know. In fact, you're probably already tired of hearing about it.
The dojo I attend teaches 剛柔流 (goju ryu), a style of karate developed in Okinawa. The name means "hard soft style," although it seems like a lot of people like to fight over what that actually means. Some say that goju's hits are hard and blocks are soft, and others say that that description is much too simplistic. I personally like to think that it implies a certain emphasis on yin and yang, balance in all things.
Anyway, I love this class. I can't say enough how much I love this class. I was so very lucky to find my school and meet my sensei and senpai. I am so lucky that I randomly found such a wonderful place full of such wonderful, supportive people. Since starting, I've slept better, my body feels better, and I'm happy nearly every day. I feel like my perspective on life has even changed. Somehow, the world seems more beautiful.
That's not the reason I'm posting today, though. The reason I'm posting is to share an e-mail with you. The other day, Eric asked why I loved karate so much. I wasn't sure how to answer him at first, but I decided that it was because I was actually learning something (rather than just running in place on a treadmill,) and because karate is about teamwork and self-improvement rather than competition. Well, those reasons are all well and good, but today I think I found the real reason:
Dear Eric,
You asked me why I love karate...
I was searching for mentions of my dojo online, (of which there are actually very few,) when I came across the blog of one of Sensei's students. On the page was a picture of that student, Michael, and Sensei, sitting in seiza after his successful brown belt test. Their faces were austere but proud.
I decided to take a look at Michael's most recent entries. The newest, from February 28, was short, and featured a black and white picture of Japan, and a brief, sad poem. Next was another poem, and then another. It hit me that these entries weren't actually written by Michael, but for him, in honor of his life. You see, Michael died of cancer just a few months ago.
Below the memorial entries were pictures of his funeral. A number of students from the dojo attended, all wearing their gi. A woman played the koto, and an alter with Michael's photograph and various Buddhist symbols stood by one wall.
The last entry written by Michael himself was posted on January 3rd. It featured a beautiful, but humbling, poem about watching yourself die. It seems that he posted quite often, even during his last days. He talked about dealing with his pain, getting weaker, and trying to hold on to that last spark of life. One entry, titled "Loose ends," described the process of preparing yourself for death -- moving in with your loved ones, finding new homes for your cats, saying goodbye to your friends.
One of the last things he did was tell Sensei that he could no longer attend class:
On Wednesday, I called my karate teacher to tell him that I can no longer study my beloved martial art. I told a friend of my decision. "Sure, you need to stop if you're no longer getting anything out of it," she said. I corrected her: It's not that I'm no longer getting anything out of it. It's just that I can't bring any more into it. Classes were leaving me feeling as if I were coming apart at the seams.
I visited the dojo Saturday with bags of books for my teacher. The morning's class had just ended and most of the students had gone home.
Sensei invited me out onto the floor. "Just follow me as I do these moves," he said. "We'll do them slowly. Don't do what you can't."
He led me in very slow, measured, gentle steps through three kata. I knew these were advanced, black-belt-level kata but I can't recall seeing them performed in the dojo and I'm not even sure of their names. I am a brown belt. Were I to continue studying karate, I wouldn't have been taught these kata for several years to come.
I was overcome with emotion at the profound emotional and spiritual meaning of his gesture of symbolic instruction.
Words won't work.
I was moved nearly to tears.
This is why I love karate.
Love,
Michele |
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