Douglas

March 10, 2008

The Trouble with Writing Xinshi

I read somewhere that I write every day here at 1000 Days. Did I make that sound like every everyday?

There are excuses, some better than others. Some of those more believable than others. But you’ll not be getting those here or now. Instead I’ll try to fill in and complete that thing about Xinshi I began on Friday.

Be warned, I’ve had about three fingers of Scotch tonight.

[Maestro] stabbed two fingers at Xinshi’s chest and crooked them like he was lifting a fish from a bucket. Across the room the old man staggered forward. Certainly all the Ones knew this to be the [maestro’s] magic. Nearly all of the Twos believed as well. I knew it to be nothing more than a trick of the mind. A false compulsion Xinshi had fallen for–again.

We all waited for the [maestro’s] next sign. Without dropping the finger-hook he waived his left hand back and forth like he was holding a placard and asking a question. :What are you doing?: I’d seen him ask this simple question a thousand times of hundreds of Ones over the years.

The thirteen red feathers of the [maestro’s]…

…[thong bracer thingie] drifted to a swaying halt as he maintained Xinshi’s attention. I found myself mesmerized by the gentle pendulum.

The ensuing epiphany took me back to the first time [maestro] called me out with the same question. Through every instance I’ve witnessed since then. Hung pointedly on the day of Xinshi’s arrival. And back to now.

I knew above all else that I was missing part of the thread, but what did coalesce was the understanding that [maestro’s] imperturbable demeanor was indeed quite perturbed. His neutral stance wasn’t. He should have been neutral and waiting calmly to respond to whatever old man Xinshi would say or not say; do or not do.

I’m liking this too much to f it up tonight.

Word count: 310
Day 185

March 7, 2008

The Trouble with Xinshi

[Maestro] stabbed two fingers at Xinshi’s chest and crooked them like he was lifting a fish from a bucket. Across the room the old man staggered forward. Certainly all the Ones knew this to be the [maestro’s] magic. Nearly all of the Twos believed as well. I knew it to be nothing more than a trick of the mind. A false compulsion Xinshi had fallen for–again.

We all waited for the [maestro’s] next sign. Without dropping the finger-hook he waived his left hand back and forth like he was holding a placard and asking a question. :What are you doing?: I’d seen him ask this simple question a thousand times of hundreds of Ones over the years.

The thirteen red feathers of the [maestro’s]

Does this seem like I wasn’t finished?

I made up Xinshi as I wanted something with an X in it. I am told that in Mandarin it translates to ‘something you think in your heart‘. Fun.

Word count: 170
Day 184

March 7, 2008

Owning the Dojo

It was strange to be with people I don’t know well. Maybe the strangeness was an adult version of being shy; maybe it’s just residual shyness. I doubt anyone that knows me would think of me as unaggressive in such situations, but I am. And have been for some time. I like to know what I am doing. I like to look like I know what I am doing. And tonight, around those new strangers I didn’t.

I showed up to participate in an aikido class. To anyone’s eye I was a newbie. I did not have a gi, instead I wore a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. I’m new enough to martial arts to think that the traditional outfit looks pretty damn hokey. Compounding the effect of my unsubtle raiment was my highly suspicious milling about. I looked like somebody that wanted something but didn’t know how to ask. Or when. Or where. Or why. Someone that was about to cut and run.

This was my third time to the dojo. The first time I’d showed up at the end of the class I’d wanted to observe. The schedule on the website made it look to me that there were two start times not a start and an end. I stayed for nearly an hour of judo before I decided I’d seen enough. The second time I’d been in was a busy Saturday and it was easier to hide. So this time I was back nearly two weeks later. Plenty of time for the several people I already recognized on sight to have lost any inkling of who I was at all if they’d even had one to lose.

It’s a casual place and no doubt comfortable to those familiar with it’s surroundings. They know where all the doors go. They know if its left to girl’s and right to boy’s. They know if it’s warmer than usual, cooler, or just right. They know everyone but me. And I feel like I’ve just stepped into a stranger’s living room.

The small group of kids already there were experienced students of this art I know nothing about, but not particularly gregarious hosts. I am sure to the majority of them I was not only a newbie in my gym clothes but also an old guy. What I needed was an owner. Not the owner, but an owner. I needed someone to take charge and tell me what to do. For me this was too new and too foreign to know where to grab on. Fortunately an owner appeared.

In the years to come I’ll always recall this fear. When I am on the mat from now on, I am an owner. No one stays afraid long in my care.

Word count: 458
Day 183