iPod Touch 2G

At long last, and after years of procrastination and avid Apple-hating, I finally broke down and purchased a refurbished iPod Touch. iTunes aside, I am completely hooked on the thing. It’s so convenient! I think I could probably stop there, but I think that I should add a little more detail since this is my first entry in ages and I plan to mark it with a review tag for all of my non-existent readers out there.

When I got it, I was skeptical, but I got it for about $100, so I was ready to put it through its paces. I loaded a bunch of old music on it using Copy Trans Manager (not iTunes, because CTM lets me add and remove music from any PC without syncing and authorizing anything). I never understood the whole syncing thing for devices like this. Maybe for the iPod brick, er~ Classic, which has no purpose other than storing more music than anyone should have time to listen to, but the Touch is like a tiny Netbook (that can’t really do office apps, but oh-well – it’s a toy, so I’ll cut it some slack). There is hardly any need to connect it to a computer at all.

At the office, I generally just log it onto www.di.fm via Safari and let it play web radio all day while I’m at work. For the gym, I have a few playlists, and driving has a playlist as well. I have not gotten into movie storage, because I am relatively active and find myself idle very seldom – however, I would highly recommend the Air Video app. I use it to stream my movie collection to my device when the fam is watching TV on the tube to which my media center PC is attached. That is extremely useful for the old Twilight Zone Episodes or Star Trek re-runs. Orb is also useful for that purpose, but I use it more for streaming TV directly when I’m not in the house. Unfortunately, I find little time to make use of movies, because I’m usually busy. The iPod’s ability to play music is still its most frequently used feature.

Aside from that, I generally use iBooks and Kindle to read while I’m waiting for things. I realized in retrospect that I seem to wait for a lot of things, since I seems to have read more than 10 classic novels since the day I received the device only a few months ago.

Not much else. The iPod is a very common device, actually a little on the old side these days. The Email feature is the last extremely convenient service I will note before closing, since it makes my laptop almost unnecessary for travel. I can save all that space in my briefcase for snacks or weapons or something – just imagine the convenience of that!

All-in-all, I’m very pleased with it and it does pretty-much everything I want it to do. I have seen a lot of jailbreakers and app junkies load-up on all manner of useful things, but I’m not so much into that. It’s good to have an app for something I need to do when I need to do it, but if there is no need, I could care less. As long as the thing will do what I want it to do as far as E-Books, E-Mail, Web-Radio, Video streaming, and MP3’s, the unit converter, weather, calculator, diet diary, GPS, and all the other crap is just a boatload of gravy.

Skill and the Rules

Early in my martial arts days, I recall that I had a certain distaste for ‘organized’ martial arts. My excuses were similar to those tossed around by people who dislike ‘Organized’ religion: too much ritualism, separation from the truth, breeding ground for hypocrisy, cultivation of general ignorance – etc.

Now, I never really agreed with the arguments against organized religion, since faith seems to be an issue of individuality, therefore making problems with religion (organized or not) purely personal problems; but I was avidly against martial traditionalism in my early days, perhaps without realizing the parallel mentioned above.

In my mind, it was a matter of winning. I interpreted Musashi’s ‘victory is the goal of strategy’ theme to literally mean that the ends justify the means in martial arts just as they do in dire conflict. I feel that I understand now that this is not necessarily the case.

As is common among young and untrained fighters, I was fixated on overpowering and physically crushing opponents, using various arts to that end without regard for the art or for its employment (Musashi even noted this about himself when he was older). This is all-too-common within MMA and extreme fighting circles, and is unfortunately gaining momentum in ‘Mixed Sword-Fighting’ (an amalgamation of several unrelated sword arts pitted against each other in a single tournament). The result is a degeneration of more refined aspects of older arts whose nuance is retained through the traditional approach to training.

In swordsmanship, one finds through research that many types of swords and armor exist throughout the world and arts developed to properly wield the longer-lived varieties. Those arts that met frequently throughout history developed to counter each other, while those that never met developed disregarding other styles. With this in mind, one can imagine combat between unmatched arts, but real examples are rarely seen – and learning enough about more than one art to effectively merge them would require extensive training and experience as well as a weapon that could be used for the variable techniques. (For example, a katana could be used for saber fighting as well as Kenjustu with a little creativity; but a saber could not easily be used in Kenjustu, since it requires its used being limited to one hand – also, a katana would not be as well suited for the mounted portion of combat saber skills, since most have shorter blades and would have to be held with the right hand near the pommel instead of the tsuba. Further, a saber might be useable for Iaido, but would require stylistic adaptation to offset its more forward balance and greater length. In both cases, the limited conceivable interchangeability between the katana and European saber is based purely upon the fact that they share certain geometric elements.)

All that said, deviating too far from the arts that were developed over centuries of trial and error in real combat will result in an overdependence upon natural ability and luck and this, as Musashi put it, is not the true way.

Developing reproducible techniques that can be refined through observation and cultivating form that takes the utmost advantage of body and weapon offers the stability that one needs to defeat opponents consistently. The difference between this approach to martial arts and the approach of the undisciplined, but naturally-skilled fighter is the same as that which exists between the idea of surviving on money earned through steady employment and surviving solely on money earned playing poker.

In battle, the end goal must always be victory. Even sacrificial losses are allowed with victory in mind; but in martial arts, especially in sport and in practice, victory is an intangible thing. Both opponents fight for the sake of cultivating greater skill or to demonstrate prowess – in the end, both expect to walk away, harboring no ill will one toward another. In this case (the art) the ends should not be expected to justify the means as might be acceptable in a life and death struggle. The purpose of the art is to perfect the person, who through effort enriches the art. The victory in training is merely a side effect of demonstrating greater skill – which in turn shows the superior artist.
Once again, swordsmanship seems more able to exemplify this dichotomy between fighting to win and fighting to grow. The need to win with one blow while preventing your opponent from winning with one blow makes a focus on skills foremost. Through training, the swordsman gains the strength necessary to wield the sword, finding excess strength useful but unnecessary. Increasing speed and reaction time is a constant goal as is learning the myriad methods of employing various techniques in time with an opponent’s activity. The skills one acquires through training and experience are what wins for the swordsman, while luck and strength tend to take a side seat in battle.

It has been said that some men are born naturally stronger and some are born naturally lucky, but none fall from the womb with any skill. Since swordsmanship takes great advantage of this even plain of acquired skills, matches between swordsmen are not merely clashes of opposing will, but tests of skill – and skill can not be measured properly without established criteria.

In a real battle, the end would be determined by the death or maiming of one combatant. Thus, in that case, using any means necessary to separate the enemy from his life is perfectly acceptable, provided that victory is attained at the end of the encounter. However, a victory of skill over skill is a bit more elusive and must be judged under controlled conditions; otherwise one would have to account for millions of minute factors that would skew analysis to the point that proof of ‘winning’ due to superior swordsmanship alone would be impossible to substantiate.

Now, to some it is enough to merely win, but merely beating the opponent down or cutting him or shooting him first is not the goal of the martial artist. That is the use of the art and its end purpose in practice, but it is not to be confused with the goal of the artist himself. The goal of the artist is to grow ever more adept, so that employing the art for practical purposes becomes more natural and consistent. This goal is what separates the martial artist from the brawler, the swordsman from the berserker, and the marksman from the gunner.

As a swordsman, I have found it more important to know that I have improved than to know that I can win a duel against this or that person. Perhaps in keeping with the archetype, I do sometimes focus on defeating an individual if they are particularly skilled, but more often than not, matches are just experiments from which I determine my level of proficiency. In order for the experiment to produce useful information, the variables must be controlled and monitored – i.e. rules must be known and strictly obeyed.

If I were to fight without the constraints of the art’s competition structure, I would be unable to tell if victory came as a result of my superior swordsmanship, or as a result of some other factor that had nothing to do with my skills as a swordsman.

As I am sure the reader could imagine, winning by any means other than honorable use of sword skills feels the same to a serious swordsman as cheating or winning by forfeit – it is simply unacceptable.

In the end I found that this is why the rules are important and why the ‘establishment’ represented by ancient arts is necessary for true expressions of ability to be judged and measured.

Perhaps in the open battlefield, it is obviously better to take the paper-rock-scissors approach to fighting, using the most effective means necessary to effect victory without regard for what that means might be or how use of such means reflects on the individual fighter. But to those specialists who wish to gain more from a fight than merely the destruction of opponents, paper vs. paper, rock vs. rock, and scissors vs. scissors is the only approach that seems logical.
Let the swordsman say to his foe, “I will fight you with the same weapon and the same equipment on level ground and I will obey your rules of engagement, so when I win it will be known to all that it was because I was the better swordsman,”

Intangible Treasure

Fox felt a bit angry about the situation in which he found himself; a kid he didn’t know was accusing him of something he didn’t do. Not only that, he was citing the camp rules, which would have Fox coughing up a dollar bill as a penalty for the crime for which he had been accused.

It had been almost a full week at the little church camp to which Fox and his brother had been sent. They were the only two their age in their tiny rural church, so they had been sent along with the children of a church with a larger congregation. As such, they were outcasts – and church children were just as cruel and cliquish as any other variety. The two boy kept to themselves, but had no beefs with any of the other campers, essentially maintaining a neutral stance regarding practically all they had experienced.

The camp itself was pleasant and far from the noise and nocturnal lights of the city. An arboreal wall surrounded the camp and cabins on all sides, encapsulating the little camp in a world unto itself. The rules were simple, and the schedule was consistent and regimented. Life was different than that which one would expect at home, but was not uncomfortable. However, one particular rule stood out on the list: Never litter or allow littering; for this command was the only one with a promise attached – anyone caught littering would forfeit a dollar to the individual who could catch him in the act and prove it to be so.

This turned many of the younger children into little hunters, spying desperately for anyone who might be so unfortunate as to drop a bit of waste within their immediate vicinity. The older kids seemed less affected by the councilors’ gutless attempt to turn them against each other, but were nonetheless inclined to search for offenders with their peripheral vision whenever they found themselves a bit short of change for one of the mess hall vending machines. As a result, the camp was clean – almost spotless – at all times, day and night.

Fox and his brother enjoyed fishing, capture the flag, and various other competitions of skill; making a point to best their many rivals whenever possible. The counselors eventually became aware of the nature of the two boys’ stay at the camp, learning that they were the only attendees from their church and that even their bunkmates did not know them or anything about them. They took pity on the brothers and began to show them a bit of extra attention when the two of them showed themselves capable of holding their own in competitions with churches having much larger teams of children. They won dodge ball, they won swimming races, they won trivia games, tug of war, eating contests…the pair often facing opposing teams double or triple their number.

The days passed without incident, but it became apparent as the camping drew to a close, that some of the campers from larger schools felt a bit slighted by the prowess of the brothers from the countryside. This became apparent with the increasing ease with which Fox or his brother might receive insult from certain of the other campers. It seemed as if a few of the other children could be agitated to wrath by the slightest lapse in etiquette; a situation which irritated young Fox intensely. Nevertheless, the grossly outnumbered pair were compelled to adapt in order maintain a peaceful environment, a few times smilingly accepting slights which might normally have sparked an altercation.

In the end, it was the rule that seemed the best way to get someone at the little camp. To simultaneously embarrass someone, lower the counselors’ opinion of them, and deprive them of their money. It had the potential to be used as a potent and rather profitable weapon, were one so inclined.

Fox had just swallowed the last of his diet Dr. Pepper and set the can on the rough surface of the weathered picnic table from which he had been watching his brother play basketball with several other kids. Fox had no use for sports and often avoided them whenever doing so was an option. When the game was finished, his brother called him from the court and Fox stood from his seat as if to walk over to him. At the fall of his first step, a young boy appeared behind him, swiping he can from the table, “Ha! You owe me a dollar!”

“No I don’t,” Fox retorted irritably, “I just now set that down, that’s not littering – its right where I was sitting,”

“Sure, sure,” The boy replied with notable sarcasm, “You were walking away. You’re just acting like that ‘cause you got caught,” the young accuser rushed off in the direction of the nearest counselor without another word.

Fox watched him, appalled to silence. He recognized the boy as one of those during his stay who seemed impossible to please, always having some reason to treat Fox and some of the less popular campers with obvious distain.

Fox walked hurriedly to the counselor, encountering an accusation already in progress.

“Is this true?” the old man asked the approaching defendant, “This young man says he caught you littering,”

“That’s a lie,” Fox stated calmly, “This kid took my Coke can right off the table where I was sitting,”

“He was walking away,”

“I just stood up and you swiped it right out from under me!”

“I did not!”

Fox glared briefly at his accuser, then turned to his judge, “I know the rule, sir – why would I leave a can on the table for this jerk to pick up? The trash can is right there, why would I risk a dollar by leaving the can there?”

The counselor seemed effected by clarity of the defendant’s logic, but the rule was the rule and it was already clear that discounting the other child’s accusation would only appear as favoritism to the other campers, “Is that so?”

“On my honor,” Fox assured, “Absolutely,”

The other boy had not ceased to deny Fox’s every word, “I caught him fair and square,” he repeated, “This litterbug owes me a buck – there’s not point in arguing about it,” he held up the can, “This is the proof,”

The counselor took the empty vessel and took a deep breath, “Okay, okay, I guess you’re right. The rule is the rule,”

Fox’s confident expression dissolved into a look of disbelief. The other kid won?

The old man reached into his back pocket and drew out his own wallet, withdrawing a single dollar bill, which he handed to Fox’s accuser, “There,” he said, “That is that. I’ll settle-up with Fox latter, now run along. Let’s not have any more fighting,”

The selfish little boy snatched the dollar, seeming momentarily confused, but wasting no time in shooting Fox a victorious grin before pocketing the bill and trotting away.

Fox merely stared at the counselor, not quite sure what to expect.

The old deacon turned to him and smiled, “You’re free to go, son. Don’t worry about that just now,”

“But?”

“I have been watching you,” he said, almost proudly, “I have seen you pick up litter yourself, but rather than come to me like that boy did, you just tossed it in the trashcan. You’re a strong one. You and your brother both, but not just strong in the arms and legs – you’ve got some spiritual strength too. I’ve been here a while and I have not seen many kids who would obey the rules and then go out of their way to do the right thing without being asked or seeking a profit,”

Fox smiled and looked at his shoes.

“To tell the truth,” the counselor continued, “I was surprised that boy was accusing you like that, because it really looked like you had done what he said,”

Fox looked up.

The old man smiled, “But you swore on our honor that you didn’t,”

“That’s why you gave him the dollar out of you own pocket?” Fox was incredulous.

“I did it cause I believed you when you said that,” the counselor replied, tossing the can into the trashcan, “‘on your honor’ your pretty young to talk like that, but from what I have seen, you seem to have some idea what honor means – that’s why I gave that boy a dollar. Reputation is a powerful thing,”

The child had nothing profound to say to the old man at the time; he merely thanked the counselor and rushed off to meet his brother a few dozen meters away. He never met him again, never even thinking to ask his name, but Fox would carry that last phrase with him for years.

Here the main character of the story experiences an event that acts to reinforce his developing chivalric, warrior ethos. At this point in his life, he has begun to adapt to his rural life and has added several of his rough, US Marine stepfather’s philosophies to his own knightly ideals. It is also at this point that the concept of budo begins to take root in his mind.

Weight and Strength

In recent years, I have taken the time to experiment with weight loss and gain as a method through which I would shift the emphasis of my personal performance from strength to agility, and the like.

Essentially speaking, I began this when I made the decision to move from my personal training to a more structured environment, i.e. joining a kendo dojo. Before that time, I had taken my brief karate training and expanded upon it through personal study and regular physical training. These ‘workouts’ often involved sparring with people who far outclassed me and who (in most cases) had received formal training from one fighting art or another. However, they were mostly what I would call ‘fist and foot’ arts, which traditionally tend to yield the advantage the biggest, strongest, and most durable of competitors. As such, I found that I had a natural advantage over many of my more skilled opponents, and through lifting weights, jumping rope, and working the heavy bag, I was able to approach the level of some of the more powerful of my teachers over time. In almost every case, winning at first appeared to be a matter of skill and speed, but as sparring progressed, it became more evident that real fisticuffs was a matter of hitting hard and enduring hard hits – in other words, no-holds-barred sparring often ended as a matter of situational awareness coupled with brute strength.

At the time, I weighed about 260 pounds at a height of about 6’3”. I did not appear to be of ponderous weight, due to my height and the distribution of my body mass, but I would have guessed myself to be about 60 pounds over my ideal/minimum athletic weight. That said, I rarely found it to be a problem during sparring, whether I was grappling or striking; even my swordsmanship was at the capacity of the average ‘Fist and Foot’ fighter. In fact, it was often advantageous to be so heavy, as I was able to hold my center of gravity against practically any opponent unable to shoulder at least half of my weight. In addition, I have since noted that the relatively even weight distribution (aka: the even fat layer coating my whole body – as opposed to just having a fat belly) added extra mass to my arms and legs, which yielded a higher impact inertia than would be possible with my limbs at lean mass. This, of course, was discovered once I began shedding weight which I will discuss a bit later.

I have seen parallels of this observation in Asian martial arts and sports such as Sumo and Korean wrestling styles, where being what would be considered grossly overweight by social standards is actually desirable because of the proportionate gains in impact force and the ability to retain CG control. A correlation seems to appear in old strongman photos and descriptions and can be observed in powerlifting masters around the world. Most of these men are easily overweight by anywhere between 60 to 100+ pounds, but are able to lift and move enormous loads in addition to their own bodyweight.

Having thought about this quite a bit in recent years, it occurred to me that Hollywood has essentially put the wrong image of strength into the mind of the average westerner. Guys like Arnold are indeed quite strong, but nothing compared to the upper human limits displayed by some of these rotund titans we witness pulling airplanes and throwing small cars. That is, however, not the point of this article. The point is that at 60 pounds overweight, I observed my force output to be higher than it is now that I am down to my ‘Kendo weight’ despite the fact that the muscle is still there and the weight-lifting shows that little strength has been lost.

When I decided to focus more upon pure swordsmanship, I began to reduce my intake and change my diet a bit, thereby losing weight at a regular rate of about 1 or 2 pounds per week, reaching my current weight of around 200lbs. nearly a year later. I recall at first, feeling an exceedingly energetic feeling – something which is commonly descried by dieters after the first 10 of 20 pounds has been shed. This is naturally due to your body still overcompensating for the weight of fat that is no longer present. During the time at which the body regulates muscular output to save energy once wasted carrying those extra pounds, one feels light and energetic, but the status quo eventually creeps in.

With regular exercise and speed training, I found that I was able to offset the ‘Status Quo’ a little, but the training was not the same as wearing the weight 24/7, and a certain loss of output occurred over time. So, while my endurance steadily increased along with my speed and agility, squats seemed to get heavier and the heavy bag seemed harder.

The reader may already be aware that offsetting impact force lost by weight reduction requires an increase in velocity, so that is how I learned to compensate with punches and kicks, but I have found that the balance and ease with which the heavier me rattled the bag in the past is something I have all but completely lost – no matter how fast one swings a claw hammer, a sledge hammer will always hit harder.

That fact aside, I found that once the feeling of ‘I’m lighter and faster now’ degenerated into the feeling that I had always been so, I had the strong desire to regain that lasting ‘unladed’ feeling I experienced at the onset. At that time I was a 210 pound man moving with muscles that were used to hefting 260 pounds day and night – everything was easier then. But as my body grew accustomed to the new weight, it began to save its energy as if it suddenly realized that such effort was no longer required. As a result, I was no longer able to have that degree of muscular output without conscious effort.

So what is the solution? If being heavy gives a fighter a little bit of an advantage in stability at the sacrifice of a bit of endurance and being lighter allows for greater mobility at the sacrifice of stopping power, are they not essentially both void of the completeness a martial artist might inevitably seek? I suppose the answer is yes, but this would be based upon my own personal observation and might be answered differently by different people. The solution would require a simplified explanation of the problem, which is essentially how to maintain the middle ground wherein one still possesses the reflex output of a heavy person, while being able to use that output as excess strength due to the fact that one is not actually as heavy as his body is inclined to think. I believe that it can be achieved by regularly lading the body with the weight it once had and operating with caution until one reaches a comfort level that allows for normal movement under the load. Once the adaptation is complete, a fighter should be able to take advantage of the adaptation at will by removing the burden.

I believe that examples of this type of training have been used by monks in China as well as swordsmen in mountainous areas like Korea. If the burden is borne with regularity, the effects of its removal are more pronounced and last longer. In my own experimentation, I was able to regain my 60 excess pounds in the form of weighted clothes and a backpack full of stones. Weeks of practice with the weight on my body started very slowly. Everything was slow and deliberate at first, but eventually movement became more natural. After months of wearing weight on my ankles all day everyday and wearing a weighted backpack everywhere I walked, I found that I was slowly growing stronger and faster. Whenever I removed the packs and weights, I was able to move as if I weighed 140lbs. My body had become accustomed to carrying that extra load for such a long time that my muscle-memory had accepted the load as my normal bodyweight. I toyed with the idea weeks on and weeks off to determine if there were any side effects, but found none to speak of (provided that one works up slowly to their training weight – the body can handle vast loads, but it will be at the cost of one’s less flexible components. In order for the body to get stronger, the whole must grow together, not just the muscles. For a true change, the training must take place over time).

I will continue my training for the time being and will gradually increase weight until I am able to move freely under the burden of at least half of my bodyweight. According to my experiments to date, this could lend itself to a great deal of power for both swordsmanship and Fist arts. I look forward to seeing the results.

Pyre of Ages

This post is in honor of a great national treasure that was recently lost to South Korea as the result of the unforgivable selfishness of a single depraved individual. This month, the great Gate known to most as Namdaemun burned to its foundations after having been kindled by an old man who was angry at the government for not giving him money, or something stupid like that (since there is no excuse for what he's done, I could care care less about the reason behind it).

I was in Seoul at the time and remember seeing the column of smoke. It took the fire department more than 5 hours to put it out because they were afraid to damage it with their water cannons; thus the ancient wooden structure burned like a titanic sacrificial lamb on the alter of irresponsibility. It had stood for over 600 years, enduring all manner of warfare and disaster, only to be mangled by one selfish individual. I think it hit me harder because I was here and I witnessed evidence of the burning, but I was unable to believe it upon seeing it in the news. It was impossible to believe. In a way it still is. I am just glad that the stone portion of the gate remains practically undamaged, but the original wooden tower structure is a total loss.

The Korean government intends to employ artisans to remake the wooden portion of the gate (I would assume by using traditional methods) at a cost of $10,000,000.00 using a process expected to take 2 years to complete. I am not sure why it will take quite so long, but at least they are rebuilding it. Unfortunately, the new gate will be little more than a fancy marker for where the original once stood (for six centuries: from the age of the ancient wars to the age of decadence and laziness).

This random thought is just so that the readers of this blog (as well as myself) never forget the tragedy and the arbitrary nature of the selfishness and stupidity that led to its demise.

Tower of Endings

Fox hung from the railing with one hand, trying to catch a clear grip with the other as his savage opponent chiseled deep into his knuckles with his fingernails. The pain was sharp, but he had to bear it. From that position there were only two possible outcomes, an arduous ascent into a battle on the platform or a long drop to injury and defeat.

In the beginning, the two boys had been friends. Fox and Michael had spent a few seasons together running through the forests and the hills, hunting, fishing, and fighting imaginary foes along with a few others from the surrounding area.

Fox and his brother had moved from their suburban home to a new life in a rural area far to the north and Michael was one of the first to welcome them. They had gone to church together and lived relatively close to each other; Michael’s family had even been part of the group that had helped Fox’s family move into their new home. Their adventures were many and their times together were frequent and fun. Michael’s father was a metalworker who had access to unusual resources which allowed him to build his son all manner of interesting playthings, including a monumental tower topped with a wide platform accessible only through a spiral staircase running up the middle of the central support column which opened a hatch in the platform floor. To the young boys it was the ultimate place from which to launch their adventures – a watchtower that was impenetrable from the outside, towering high above the surrounding grounds amidst a forest of tall hardwood trees.

For a long time they pursued their varying interests and improved their lofty base of operations, with Fox eventually accepting a role as the de-facto leader of the group. As had been the case in the past, Fox repeatedly proved himself to be the most intrepid of the little band, leading them on adventures both dangerous and profitable. They had walked the riverbed together, swam the lake together, rebuilt an abandoned boat together, and together rode their bikes to the end of all the roads they knew. However, this was an age of great inner turmoil for boys who, upon reaching their teens, would soon begin to pursue their roles as young men. As such, Fox’s fame as the heroic leader of the club was a fact that began to irritate young Michael, as did the fact that Fox carried with him such unanimous support from his brother and from the few adults with whom they had regular dealings. Over time, this seed of irritation cultured and manifested itself as a sprout of bitterness. With each new interaction, this sprout grew larger, spreading its roots and maturing to blossom into jealousy.

For a relatively long time, this second in command carried this jealousy unbeknownst to his friend Fox, who visited his home and laughed and joked with him and his family on regular occasion. It may have gone on forever this way, had they not decided to upgrade the tower. The varying designs fueled a debate which eventually ignited the volatile garden of jealousy that Michael had been cultivating for such a long time.

The argument was loud and long and Michael ended it by sealing himself in the tower and announcing that he no longer had any use for Fox or his brother. The tower was his and the age of democracy on his property had come to an end.

Rather than submit to the insult of this sudden change of policy, a confused and infuriated young Fox took it upon himself to prove that the tower was not a defense that could stand against him – and that Michael’s hold on it afforded him nothing.

It was well-known that Fox was not one at which to scoff when it came to a conflict between peers; even though he was not one to invite discord unnecessarily, he had even at his young age gained repute as one willing to exhaust every resource at his disposal for the sake of principle.

He attacked the tower for hours and was viciously bombarded by a seemingly endless barrage of pinecones from the stockpiles he and Michael had long since stored in baskets on the platform. He dodged and defended himself with an improvised shield, but was careful never to return fire. Instead he continued his futile attempts to open the locked steel door at the base of the giant supporting column. He hammered and pried, but somehow Michael had locked it from the inside. It appeared that Fox’s second had every intention of using the club’s complete defense strategy against him, but he was determined to succeed. Fox knew that if he continued, he would lose his right to freely access the tower and possibly create a rift between himself and his jealous friend; but his wrath only continued to grow as Michael’s continued attempts to thwart him began to wear at his pride. He had to break through the defenses and show that jerk that the tower was no prize and that having it did not make him a leader.

Fox fought the column until the rain of debris halted. As he had expected, Michael exhausted his ammunition in his frantic attempt to halt his enemy’s siege. He was defenseless, and the young former leader of what was once a club of good friends laid on with his real plan to take the tower.

Taking a thick piece of livestock rope and tying the end to a piece of timber about 3 feet in length, he moved to the outer edge of the platform as it hung suspended 20 feet above him. He threw the wood up to and over the railing along with a coil of rope, pulling it tight as fast as he could in order to avoid Michael’s inevitable attempt to catch it and toss it back to the ground.

Michael saw the line come up, and frantically attempted to grasp the piece of timber just as the rope tightened and pulled it just out of reach. It caught the side rail of the platform and flipped over the edge, swinging dangerously close to his face. He ran to the side and cackled down at Fox, who was already engaged in tossing the line a second time.

On the second attempt, the angry boy on the ground threw the chunk of timber like a javelin, wrapped tightly in several coils of rope. It passed between the third and fourth rungs of the heavy steel railing, nearly hitting the boy a second time.

Michael stumbled back as the chunk of wood clattered to the deck of his highly defended embattlement. He rose to his feet in shock as it rapidly unraveled as it was pulled back to the rail, where it lodged between the parallel bars through which it had initially passed. He rushed to the edge to loose the board from where it had taken hold, but found it firmly fixed by the weight of his adversary, who was already ascending.

He scrambled to the toolbox, but found nothing that could quickly sever the kind of rope Fox was using to penetrate his impregnable fortress. At the bottom of the box that he and Fox had prepared in the event they had to deal with a possible siege, he found a pair of school scissors. They were barely sharp enough to cut cardboard, but they would have to do. Fox was not the fastest climber in his school, but would surely reach the rail swiftly.

Michael rushed to the edge again, rapidly sawing at the thick rope supporting Fox’s weight as he ascended. He was frantic, out of ammunition, and was about to face a powerful adversary on even ground. He had to get through the rope before Fox reached the rail.

As the rope began to fray, Michael called out, “I’m cutting this rope! You should give up, or you’ll fall and break your legs!”

There was no answer on Fox’s end, but only a few seconds after that sentence left his mouth, a hand rose up and gripped the bottom bar of the rail. Michael paused. The other hand rose with some apparent effort to grip the second bar and the plank dropped to the deck. Fox was at the rail and there appeared to be nothing he could do to deter him; it seemed that a fight was imminent.

Fox climbed to the top rung of the rail and was in the midst of pulling himself up when the timber he had used to ascend smashed into his left hand. The sudden pain almost caused him to let go of the rail, but he held fast. The angry boy could see his former friend raising the board for a second hit, so he released his left hand and grabbed the rope, pulling it sharply and with all the force he could muster. The sudden shock of the rope tugging from the center of the plank yanked it from Michael’s unprepared grip and the weight of the rope dangling over the side aided in dragging the improvised weapon off the platform and to the ground.

With the piece of wood and all of the pinecones gone from Michael’s arsenal, Fox forced his fatigued arms to resume the ascent. The only thing keeping him going was the fear of falling and the need to show himself better than his former second’s challenge.

Frustrated with Fox’s irrational tenacity, Michael tossed out the unwritten rules of childhood fair play and gouged his fingernails deep into the knuckles of Fox’s uppermost hand. Fox pulled up and swatted at him with his left hand before gripping the top rung and attempting to gain a foothold on the deck. Michael could see in Fox’s narrow gaze that he had no intention of giving up. The bleeding scratches in his right hand seemed only to make him more determined.

Desperate to end the battle and save face, Michael committed a taboo among schoolboys, slapping Fox in the face and immediately going to work on his hands with the scissors. Even with all of the interesting encounters Fox had faced up to then, he had yet to feel the pain of a former ally carving into his flesh with a dull metal blade. It was an egregious crime that kids of his kind never even considered, regardless of the circumstances. Knives and scissors were adult weapons designed to permanently injure or kill people.

Fox was stunned by the sudden deterioration of the situation, but he had to finish his advance before the frantic defender seriously injured him. The pain was brutal but brief as Fox gained a foothold and vaulted over the rail onto the platform within seconds of Michael’s final onslaught.

The two stood face to face. The taller, older Fox bleeding from both hands and panting from a grueling ascent and the stocky, young Michael red-faced and sweating from his last failed attempt to thwart Fox’s incursion. Before Fox could do or say anything, his defeated rival stood on his toes and screamed into his face, “GET OUT!”

Fox looked down at the backs of his hands and raised a particularly gory laceration to his mouth. He strolled wearily to the hatch and unlocked it, taking his knuckle out of his mouth again and looking at it, “You should be ashamed of yourself, you coward,”

Michael stomped up to him, stopping just out of reach and screamed again, “GET OUT OF HERE AND NEVER COME BACK!”

Before he had finished, Fox was already descending the stairs. His last words to the boy who had once been his friend were, “Don’t worry,” and with that, he closed the hatch behind him, descended to the ground level, and walked home.

In this story we see a new side of the main Character’s personality as he plays a more ambivalent role, facing a friend after a jealous argument. Since both the setting and the characters have changed since the last adventure, the reader can see that Fox’s charisma in his earlier years did not translate as successfully into his new environment as it had in his old neighborhood. Once his family moved to a new location, the main character was forced to carry on without his former allies and the comforts of his past reputation. From here the reader might expect to see the main character less willing to form new friendships with the sparse candidates in his new locale.

Relaxation

Through some life experience and a great deal of humbling training with a few great swordsmen over time, it has become apparent that the need for a calm and relaxed body and attitude as absolute as one progresses deeper into the truth of duel-type combat. This is a mysterious element of higher fighting directly connected to one’s own grasp of the void and is difficult to explain in common terms. Essentially speaking, it is the ability to face your opponent in a state of uncommitted readiness. You must be ready to react, but with a mind clear of If and Then. If your mind is cluttered with thoughts about what the opponent does or does not do, you will distract yourself. In swordplay especially, I have seen many times when preemptive flinching gave away enough intent for the opponent to adjust his attack and score. This goes for fencing as well as Kendo.

Musashi Miyamoto expressed this several different ways in his Book of Five Rings, even going as far as to describe proper posture and shoulder position in detail. Perhaps I will find time to post some excerpts of his work for the reader’s reference, but for now let it suffice for me to say that the body of a swordsman should not change its way from regular life to combat and vice-versa. To remain upright, to be strong in the lower leg and back, and relaxed in the chest and shoulders – this is the bearing common of individuals who try to maintain proper posture in daily life. The feeling of the fighting stance is essentially the same, since it lends itself to rapid movement in any direction and generally sustains good balance when at rest. To be without intent is important for two reasons; the most obvious reason is that your intent can be read by your opponent if he is clever or if the intent is deep enough to be revealed by the myriad subtleties of your body, face, or movements. The other reason (the big and hidden reason) is Newton’s Law. Your body has the property of inertia just the same as everything in the material universe, therefore, if your body moves, it is committed to that movement until you exert effort to change said movement. This includes tiny movements of nervous muscles within your body – muscles that will tighten and pull in order to prepare you to pursue your intended attack or defense. Experience tells us that this is not good for speed, since the body has to work against itself in the event that something unexpected occurs. To be relaxed is to be neutral, and to be neutral is to be equally ready for anything. I believe that this must be examined thoroughly before it can be understood. I often find it difficult to put into practice when in the heat of practice, but it must be mastered if one intends to progress.

The higher aspect of this same concept is the relaxation of the mind. This is necessary for a person to effectively neutralize attack and defense bias within the body, but it can only be refined once the body comes into subjection and is forced to relax despite the urgency of conflict. The brain controls the body – this is medically proven fact. But it is not always so with the mind; the mind can be occupied with thousands of things while the body goes about its business and the two might have little reason to communicate during mundane daily routines. So we develop the habit of acting in a disharmonious way which causes us to become distracted in situations in which focus is required. To have a calm body when the mind is not calm is possible, but only with effort. Training reduces this effort by unifying both the body and the mind. Once again, the clarity achieved by relaxation is most easily attainable during the absence of intent, since powerful intent stimulates the imagination and clouds one’s view of reality. To focus upon a single detail in battle is like suffering from tunnel-vision. If the opponent realizes that you are preoccupied with some strategy, he can attack and overpower you with speed or surprise. In this case, your only hope of survival would be an error on his part or the off-chance that your strategy involved the attack he decided to execute at the time.

The best metaphor for the calm mind is the relaxed eye. When you relax the focus of your eye, you may notice that everything seems to loose focus, but at the same time you become more aware of things that are visible in your peripheral vision. You can see the movements of a wider range of things, even though you lose the detail you once saw in the finite object in front of you. This is the same of the mind in a neutral state. While one sacrifices the detailed thoughts of intent, one gains a wider view of the situation and the ability to react more swiftly as a result. As I mentioned before, this is a necessary skill, but only comes with great practice.