What Is A True Sensei?

Does it mean to handle a *Bokken? Or to truly perfect one’s **Kata Swinging to his heart’s content in joy Connor Burke is an artist of doubt Yamashita, master of arts, glows Callused hands and rough feet endure pain Sweat,blood pours out to form a pure soul The Running, Jumping, Dodging, Kicking And Punching drills instill peace in you? Or stir up the slumbering maelstroms Hidden deep in your *pectore Hark to the meaning of my story! Seven years of TaeKwonDo training Brings out every hint of wrath beneath My once caged soul bottling *ira Every fierce punch against the sand bag Buried crests and folds bearing zeal Sparring for the first time in my life At eight years old, frenzied in slight fear Wearing color coordinated gear The rival, a large and burly teen ^A match in which skills were sharpening. With a shout it started and ended A swift, smooth round house to the rib cage and both of my legs slid off the stage Split second moment woke the spirit Self awareness is the key of faith While the teen swirls victory in mind, Turns for what becomes a sweeping kick. As I managed to stay in the ring, oblivious of my first defeat. Mr. Smith took me aside to talk Took my belt and gave me a white belt Exhaling deep disappointing sighs The first few steps of the way of arts Leading to a lifetime of practice! *Tameshiwari- a test of strength You must break boards to climb the ranking Without hesitation nor restrain Samurais do not Tameshiwari Instead cold steel and mesh are their friends. Motobu Udundi* of Japan Practice tears the flesh till it turns steel Thick and Strong Fingers like Ikagi** Calluses stood out like white patches Belt tattered and ragged over time Daily displaying respect to shrines Workout patterns soothes pain caused by pain There is something about getting hit Whether the pain is pleasurable Or the pleasure is sought in cruel pain? Flying knuckles make me clench my teeth, Loosening my neck and eyes wide open, The punch connects but loses impact Facial nerves throbbing in rhyming stings Twisting my head in lieu of the punch A smile creeps on my writhing face As I courteously welcome him With a punch to his solar plexus* . Light punch to play on a level field, Damage was enough for him to fall. Sweat intertwined with someone's blood My school frowns on whimsical brawling But at 13, I did not care much Wretched Fury invaded my cells, Rewiring my peaceful atoms, Flourishing in others futile struggle Willfully absorbing full contact Tightening abs, cuts and scars I fear Only the end of sparring matches. I saw my belt’s color everywhere; RED,RED, and an abundance of RED Blinded like a bull in utter rage Every jab,cross,kick,sweep,punch, palm strike Filled with malevolent intention. Until I joined the black belt hall Sunday training sessions reined in rage. Two rounds of the flurry** weakens me In the morning of a crisp summer, Wondering if I am fit for this, To balance steps on this narrow path, Along the rigor of the path I Realized a core difference in skills Perfect techniques executed. Composure brings about control in strength Enough to surprise even myself Self improvement of mind and body* Ready thoughts stream in a battle line Every drip pours out of each small pore Heiho*, vibrations are carrying Sensations sensitive to the ear Sound is sound even ronins make Masterless samurai following Nature’s guidance is one of a kind. Or so humans believe is the scope Mountains form mountain blocks as streams fall And rush wilder than whipping wheel kicks By fifteen, Motobu was for me The Karate stance labeled deadly Workouts thrice more difficult and yet more satisfying than tiring My hollow mind calm like a temple. Joint locks restrain struggle and freedom Heiho woven quickly, maturely Sprouted seeds of animosity Stalks of pure ki* over,above,under-rolling For the first time appreciating Life in God’s creation full of A.I.R.* What is the origin of life? Where do we fit in the universe? Can we move without truly knowing? Knowing purpose, telos, our free will Ambitions relentless as fires Burning upon funeral pyres Control your breath to preserve the rest locked in God’s hourglasses Ki is what martial artists harness Sitting in seiza* to contemplate Earth is noisiest in pure silence The world’s quarrels became mine and thus begins my ultimate adventure Acquired what I was lacking Grace, Humility, Integrity! You heated bones until they cracked progressing spiritual forging Hard as rock and smoother than water Imagining living in the North of Japan same as the Wild Wild West Sigh! Exhorting strains of squeamish moves Never truly sure what cozen tracks lead to your final destination Budo** in limelight is shunned out Sensei please once more be my mentor Meditation soothes fatigue for all Pangs of hunger and pain are released Arts filled with rhythm, syllables No signal to end the harsh training Only the invitation for more As the sounds of the world are muted For the lasting diligent moments of concentration and ruthlessness, No luxury of mercy exists Summoning ancient internal strength. All occurring in the black belt hall Thwack! Sounds surpass the threshold of pain In these damn ever so sensitive ears. Rolling thunder strikes from all angles My last day of training in season Left me craving for more lessons Does my wolfish manner make me one? One true martial artist to the core? Or have I staved off my true path? A ronin left to pace his journey.