| High above it all... |
[Nov. 5th, 2008|06:24 pm] |
And it feels right this time
On his crash course with the big time
Pay no mind to the distant thunder
New day fills his head with wonder, boy
Says it feels right this time
Turned it 'round and found the right line
“Good day to be alive, sir
Good day to be alive,” he says |
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| Waking Up |
[Nov. 4th, 2008|09:37 pm] |
I feel like I've woken up from some fevered state, eyes clear and dry, skin cool, feeling clean and cold.
I don't know if this is another temporary lapse on my part where I get a break from myself and all that happened or this is evidence of permanency. I would like to think the latter. I don't feel that attachment any more, and I don't think I feel that on her part either, unless I'm blocking it now, which is fine with me. I can see the sun, I can feel the wind and I don't hear things from yesterday like before.
I lost sight of what I've known all along, and that is that I built myself up to where I am *alone* - I defined the path I walk and *I* am to thank for my success and my privilege. No other. I fucking forged my place among the masses and I *let* trash make me think otherwise, let me think I was one of the many dregs that limps along in a drooling stupor. I've come to see my shadow, I walked through it right onto the other side.
I am better than all of it.
All this time I thought I was the problem, that I was the one that wasn't catching the train on time. The truth of the matter is that I'm on a different ship entirely. No more chasing mediocrity in lonely fits, in low and darkened states of wanton acceptance, a slave to the body and its low standards. No more.
I will go after what I want and take it. I will rise to the lofty ideals above and beyond, hold onto the mediocrity of the "day to day" with a clenched fist and shatter it against the walls with clenched teeth and flashing eyes.
But I would not have made it here without the help of friends who took my hand and pulled me up and out of the broken glass and rusty nails, bleeding and screaming. I feel this is the sort of debt I can never repay, I only hope I can offer open arms when their time comes to pass. |
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| Kirijini |
[Oct. 23rd, 2008|09:00 pm] |
The fact that we are alive may mean that we have already been chosen for some purpose, and if life is not something we have chosen for ourselves, then maybe we are not ultimately free to die.
-The Way of the Samurai, Yukio Mishima on Hagakure in Modern Life
In the midst of looking for a Japanese language tutor, I drifted to martial arts instructors which lead me to a mixed martial class and then to a Kendo/Iaido class that is taught regularly here in little old Springfield. I attended tonight to watch and ask questions and am elated by what I saw and heard taking place. It's a small class, about six students and I recognized several things from the Iaido and Kendo reading I had done previously.
It also turns out that the head sensei drives to Bloomington for Kendo/Iaido practice every other Saturday with the same group of students. It's ironic that I've been driving to Bloomington every other weekend as well, though for the purpose of visiting a friend of mine. I watched sensei work with a student who asked about Musashi's Niten-ryū style, and sensei demonstrated some katas from it, which was pretty goddamn interesting to watch.
No flair, no bells and whistles, no "belt selling" just no-nonsense, friendly and open atmosphere. The head sensei is kind, but stern.
So this is the path I've been taken, back to the beginning really, back to bushido, back to the ideal I've been molding through bodybuilding alone until now. Now I am Sun and Steel, traditional and contemporary, a step closer to a warrior ethos I've been chasing after for years.
Here we are approaching November as well... |
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| Reconciliation |
[Oct. 21st, 2008|05:07 pm] |
This holy reality, this holy experience. Choosing to be here in...
This body, this body holding me. Be my reminder here that I am not alone in
this body, this body holding me, feeling eternal all this pain is an illusion.
Alive
This holy reality, in this holy experience. Choosing to be here in...
This body, this body holding me, be my reminder here that I am not alone in
This body, this body holding me, feeling eternal all this pain is an illusion...
Of what it means to be alive
Swirling round with this familiar parable.
Spinning, weaving round each new experience.
Recognize this as a holy gift and celebrate this
Chance to be alive and breathing
Chance to be alive and breathing.
This body holding me reminds me of my own mortality.
Embrace this moment. Remember, we are eternal.
All this pain is an illusion. |
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| A Love of Pain |
[Oct. 14th, 2008|10:49 pm] |
The limitations of pain are held in the mind. It is important to note that a love of pain does not necessarily come from the moment of pain itself, but from the reprieve when it is taken away. Granted, the application of pain itself, at the moment the nerves are experiencing it is its own kind of pleasure, of appreciation, but the endorphin rush comes post-pain, when the body is given rest and floods itself with reward.
With muscles it is an interesting cycle. You stretch, pull, rip and tear down the fibers so that, when they repair they repair larger, stronger and denser, more acutely tuned to the action that originally tore it down. This brings an interesting thought to mind - if you beat, cut, burn, tear and rip a person's mind down, through physical and emotional pain, does it not regrow stronger, more resilient? It is likely...but like a muscle that is stretched too far, pulled too hard, or stressed beyond - the mind can also break, become damaged and dysfunctional. It is important then, that one be careful in the application of pain to the body and the mind. While I am just as guilty of extremes with physical pain as any other dedicated individual, I must be wary, at least conscious of the potential for premature self-destruction, leaving in my wake a broken piece of myself that sets me back from achieving total tolerance, strength - ascension as it were.
Can I safely draw the conclusion that a painful and extensive means of total self-destruction would result in a death experience akin to the endorphin rush of of the muscles? Now I'm stepping into the extreme fantastic...but it is worth considering when I read of Kiroaki, cutting open his stomach, with the sun exploding in his eyes at the moment of death...this is what Mishima hinted at, and what so many labeled as a sort of necophilious obsession.
It could be surmised then, that such a process of building a temple in the body is for a cheap and shallow reason - a lust to experience some sort of ultimate pleasure response, if only for a single moment before it and the continuance of one's own reality, of one's own "life" ceases to exist. In turn, it has been reduced to a purely sexual, perhaps purely sensual, moment.
This is throwing aside twisted interpretations of honor or glory altogether. Instead, this cuts through to the masochism involved, and just how strongly that underlines the pain/pleasure fascination. Therefore, I have to ask myself - do I follow this path because I am no different than any other addict? Do I weave my addiction up and into a veneer of honor, glory and inflated self-righteousness? Or am I truly following some sort of creed that puts me in the footsteps of the other greats? Am I hiding under a mask of ideals when the truth is that I am nothing more than a deviant? |
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