I pull up to the studio about noon, hoping to get a little bit of quiet time and a light work-out before going back to work. Relatively speaking, I don’t get much time in the studio nowadays, but I always did like time alone here. I say “here”, not because the studio has always been at this location. But, no matter what the address, it doesn’t change much. Its still here. Right where its always been. The same smell… not a bad one… a familiar one. The same worn out carpet. No matter how new the carpet, it always seems to be worn-out. The photos on the wall. Every once in a while, some new photos show up. But the old faded ones still live here like ghosts. Sometimes I miss the chance to work out altogether because I find myself absorbed in the same pictures I’ve seen a thousand times.

I intend to stretch, practice a few forms, and reacquaint myself with the collection of weapons that I’ve just carried in from the trunk of my car. I suppose if I practiced for several hours every day, after awhile, I wouldn’t have to reacquaint myself. We would just pick up where we left off when we took a break to go to work or to sleep or to spend time and take care of my family. But, I don’t practice for several hours every day, so we reacquaint. It actually works out quite well for me. I not only get to have a life, but I get to see an old friend, just infrequently enough so that I really enjoy seeing him again.

More than anything, practice and training has become cathartic for me. I practice forms, “shadow box”, and repeatedly execute techniques. I alternate between applying intense focus on my own movements, and then continuing practice while allowing my mind to wander. Though it may appear to be so, the wandering isn’t random. I’m searching for a thread. Some concept, some strike, angle, or series of movements that intrigues me. Once found, I follow it as far as my mind will allow. I call this exercise “exploring the edges”. Everybody looks at the middle; the obvious. People don’t often take the opportunity to explore the edges. That’s where the really interesting stuff is. Practicing this way teaches my body to do things on its own, while setting my mind free to go places my body can’t.

The thread I pick up today happens to be a question. Why do I do this? Why do I continue to come here and practice. Surely I don’t feel threatened and in need of self-defense in my safe little suburb. There are more efficient ways to exercise. The people that “live” and practice here with me are a big reason. They’re family. We have a common bond that ties us more tightly that many blood relatives.

But I still think about this question of why. As the work-out continues, I can feel the exertion in my arms and legs. The 29 inch pieces of hardened rattan I grasp in each hand whistle as they block and strike. Sweat runs off of me and my forearms begin to throb, but still I follow the thread. Then something happens. It’s a brief moment. Maybe only 15 or 20 seconds. But, for a short period of time, everything feels right. My new rattan hands move effortlessly. The angles are a seamless part of the movements. Movements interact and blend with each other in a dance that seems to breath with the very essence of life itself. Power and energy become something I need to control, rather than generate. An insight, as pure as snow, comes. That’s why we do this. That’s why so many of us are still here. I may be a real youngster compared to some, who have practiced the arts for their entire lives, but I feel certain that I’ve stumbled on to something. It is why, the oldest senior instructor or master, even those that the students never see practice, when its quiet, when they are alone, when they are at home surrounded by the ghosts of those that came before them. They explore the edges, in search of a perfect moment.


Are we explorers, or are we in a lifelong struggle to keep the land we’ve already claimed?
- Anon.