This afternoon, I entered my dojo for what would be the fight of my life. I tended to my trusty shinai which I had so carelessly broken by beating people over the head repeatedly. And for the last time, I donned my bogu, wrapped my tenegui around my head, and tied my men on tight. After a troubled meditation, I fought the penultimate battle of my kendo career.
My ma'ai and waza were regrettably lacking, but my ki'ia, ah my ki'ia. I could be heard bellowing for miles away as my shinai struck my opponent. I heard people muttering, "dude's got wicked ki," but only in the pauses as I caught my breath before resounding my triumphant battle cry. And my zanshin, the likes of which one won't soon forget, it was like lightning, first here, then there; "MEN," "DOOO," "KOTE, MENNNNNNNNNN," I cried as I unleashed a barrage of attacks.
When the battle was called, I stood motionless, tasting the blood in my mouth before I retracted my shinai, sonkyo'd, and bowed to my stunned opponent.
As I sat, removing my armor for the last time, I meditated on all the opponents that have fallen to my shinai. It was time for me to move on, to seek a life of peace. As I tore off my zekken, I felt as if a piece of my soul was being torn from my body. And as the final letter bearing the sole name any of my opponents ever knew me by- as that large, bold "B" was removed, my soul was parted from the armor and that way of life. I had cracked the boulder.
Now I am at peace.
-j.patrick-san, kendōka
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
JP, off topic, are you going to the PSA thing tonight?
yes... although i have a thesis meeting at 4:00, so i may be late. you should come, bring the babe.
nice. sounds like we're going around 6:30.
Post a Comment