Do kata until it disintegrates and you are left with nothing. Inhabit the house until the walls crumble.
At my age when they ask me what I derive from karate they have already taken stock of my paunch, drooping jowls, sallow skin, flaccid arms, sunken eyes, gray hair. What will this old bugger dare to say?
I just live in the kata of the everyday.
Fear, a barking dog in the dark, sitting stone still in a doctor’s office awaiting judgment. A prayer repeated over and over again in an empty church.
Peace, sitting in my sister’s living room watching the swaying famboyán tree.
Joy, running into a friend from long ago.
Resignation, the perfect kata never attained.