|The old, the new - it's just a matter of time.|
I'll be moving soon, leaving the dojo and my home to their new owners. I doubt the building will be used again for the purpose it was built, but that's okay. For all the time it was in my life, it was the dojo I spent most mornings in, it was the place where I practiced together with friends, and welcomed visitors. It was the space that challenged me to stay each winter when the temperature fell below zero; and again each summer, when windows and doors pushed wide open, still refused to allow sufficient air to enter and give my bursting lungs something to work with.
From the age of 57 to 61, this incarnation of the Shinseidokan has been a wonderful home for my karate and kobudo, but I won't miss it. I won't hold on to its memory and burden myself with thoughts of having 'lost' something. For there is nothing to be gained from such thinking, and everything to loose. Once gone I will never get it back, so what purpose would be severed longing for something that won't happen? The next dojo, in my new home, is where my thoughts are already turning. If my mind remains attached to the building in the photo, how can I enjoy the new space I intend to create?
There is an energy in giving denied to those who only take, just as there is an emptiness in those who defend their status-quo, rather than remain open to change. As permanence doesn't exist anywhere in the universe, it seems like such a childish thing to hang on to every little thing that comes your way in life. I'm not sure emotional intelligence can be taught, and yet without it karate and kobudo remain little more than physical maneuvers, often choreographed to such a degree that in many cases, both have lost their connection to reality.
In all that industry you call your karate, can you identify anything you can do without?