Weekend: Mindless Monkeys

Me loves you all, you all know that, or sorta know that. But now imagine all the films that I have missed while writing up my own. Writing up? It is a long story as usual.

Recently I told somebody very dear to me who was stuck in a certain dearly and tightly held position to look at what could be given up. “Give up? Give up what? I know I am right!”

You know that this is the time when I look at you – you know who you are – and just wait for you to listen to your own words again. Then I do not tell you what to do, if nothing else it is because even if I did, it would not help. Not that I would know what it would be that you could give up, only you can decide that one. Well, I am at this point myself right now. I need to listen to my own words, what is it that I can give up?

This week a friend called from Frankfurt and at one point confessed that while we have managed to keep in touch over many years, he never could get his head around anything that I do, nor did he ever get an idea of what kind of emotions I have. I for my part remembered that he once told me that he wanted to spend a day taking pictures while I work. I thought then that that was an interesting idea, he is a professional photographer, and I am curious as to what it looks like to capture me working… thinking… writing. Was this even possible? Wouldn’t his presence change the way that I work on a normal day?

Today I read aloud a letter written on the 11th of this month – initially addressed to an old friend who has held my hand through some of my wildest adventures and vice versa – to Frédéric while we drank a bit of green tea this afternoon. All that I have learned in the past weeks was succinctly expressed in that letter, and then there was one passage that only the initial addressee and I could know the meaning of because it referred to a context that only we shared, but not one that I share with Fréderic. This complicity with my old friend is of another nature than that which Fréderic and I share simply because we have different shared experiences. There is a sense of propriety which belongs within integrity that barrs me from going into the details of what constitutes that specific shared understanding and experience that then expresses itself in interpersonal communication code. After I read another letter written on the same day to another friend who recently joined my entourage in which from a totally different shared experience express the same sentiments. For Frédéric this presented two facets of me that reflect a very basic element of the complexity of my being, and finally the big puzzle made sense to him. If I had not read those two letters aloud and in sequence I may have for ever have forgotten that they express exactly the same thing from two very different experiential contexts.

On Friday evening I left the tatami in tears and clearly emotionally affected after hearing news that not only reminded me of the fragility of life itself, but also reminded me of a school teacher – liceu -who had disappeared from my life in the rudest of all manners by all of a sudden dying of a brain tumour and without saying good-bye. He was an architect and drawing teacher, and upon hearing of the death of a former Dojo member for the same reason, all emotion and tears surfaced. How can I so miss the life of a man whose name I have long forgotten? Yet in my mind there is a vivid recollection of the kind of teacher that he had been for me. When he died, a part of me died, or so it it feels today. Previous to all the emotional outburst that only happened after the training was finished, the three of us had worked very hard. The two of them – Ivo and Lothar – had been totally merciless with me and attacked with some serious intent. Given that they are both much taller and heavier than I am, the only chance I ever have of neutralising their attacks is to just get the technique down which involves me having to leave my little autistic protective shell, dispose of my mind, and really feel the relationship and the energy directed at me.

On Saturday I had a most fantastic Karate training led by Patrick Mottet. We did a lot of kiba dachi kihon, tekki shodan and bunkai that corresponds to some of the forms in the tekki shodan. Two intensive hours of training that I absolutely enjoyed because of the intensity but also because the bunkai included Aikido techniques like katagatame, kotegaeshi and ikkyo. Today I am still feeling the kiba dachi especially each time that I try crossing my legs.

Why this, why now? There is lots to give up for this mindless monkey here!

G! Do you know what? Yes!

And things are just as they ought to be.

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