As I was experimenting videotaping myself doing kata, the first impression that leaped at me from the screen was the discrepancy between the internal image of myself doing kata and what is finally there for all to see. It was not a pretty sight. My kata looked ragged, disjointed. My body looked too bowed over in places, loosey-goosey in an old fart sort of way. I looked like a drunken old master trying to recall a forgotten lover, the curve and line of her body lost to memory and time.
The merciless eye of the camera makes no allowances for what I feel inside. It is as if it said: "you wanted it, so there you have it, what you see is what you get."
Not the slow burn ... but the dying embers.
In the mind, the kata is perfect. I feel the old rhythms and heat in my veins as before.
It is the kata of an old man, it is as his skin and bones allows it to be seen.
I must trust that beneath the dying embers a fire still burns, enough to keep me warm.
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