Meeting the Martian While Driving Late
Wherein our hero attempts to integrate the perennially disparate components of his life, experience and thought. Syphisian, no doubt, but he has learned to smile.
Ray Bradbury gave me the title of tonight's post. One of my favorites, Bradbury is a poet writing prose, Science Fiction prose. You can taste his words as they ooze like honey from the pages, intoxicated by phrases that have few equals in any literature. There are very few good Sci Fi writers, he is among the best.
In one of the stories in the Martian Chronicles, he describes a late night meeting between a human truck driver and a Martian transport driver on a highway connecting two human settlements on Mars, a Mars of an earlier human conception, where civilization existed, ancient and sublime till it was destroyed by human disease. The meeting crosses the boundaries of time, an intersection of nows that occur when we ignore the illusion of linearity that the universe presents.
So it is with tonight, a late night intersection of time and thought and feeling. I am am alone tonight, Wife is out of town on a business trip, my son is gone to his mother's for the summer and I have the place all to myself. A rare treat, and one that I relish. Don't get me wrong, I love having the Wife about and the kids underfoot, but occasionally the solitude is welcome.
So, update on life. I am spending two hours every morning practicing with the Chinese straight sword, still a beginner, but learning. It is, of course, very different from the rapier, it is a cut and thrust weapon, shorter, but offering more types of moves and varieties of attack. Still, the rapier by nature of its simplicity and reliance on the thrust has significant advantages, and it is not clear to me, in the contest of Musketeer and Jian master, who would prevail. My current favorite is a new purchase from China, biased on a 17th century design. It is heavier than my Damascus blade and has a true point, less quick, not as potentially razor sharp, but with more heft and thrust. Wife has become accustomed to seeing me whirling on the back deck, sword in hand, just as she has accepted that my friend Dick and I suit up once a week in a mad attempt to run each other thru. We all have our quirks, her's is reality TV,mine is edged weapons.
One other thing, I have started the long, slow process of iron palm training. It involves repeatedly striking first a bean bag, then progressing to a gravel bag and finally a bag of steel shot, all the while learing how to direct your chi. The final goal is breaking bricks. I will keep you appraised of progress.
Why, you might ask, all the focus on arts martial and painful. No Virginia, I neither worship at the leather alter of St. Pervertis the Flagellent, nor do I feel the need to play monkey penis games with other men at the local bar.
By now even the most casual of readers can tease the essence of my opinion on the level of control granted to mortals (none, nada, neyt, na, ixnay)and the pain, suffering and misery that said mere mortals bring to themselves when they lose sight of this simple fact. All we ever control is our own actions and reactions(am I not getting annoyingly repetitious, class),and the key to that is a discipline. Spiritual disciplines come in many flavors and forms and I have tried many. I find, in the end, that the martial disciplines, when approached in the right spirit, do the trick.
Swing a sword, save your sanity?
Hmm, note to self, need a better tag line.
Well, off to bed, get sleep while I can. Looks like I am in for another 36 hour marathon tomorrow.
Sleep well
Ray Bradbury gave me the title of tonight's post. One of my favorites, Bradbury is a poet writing prose, Science Fiction prose. You can taste his words as they ooze like honey from the pages, intoxicated by phrases that have few equals in any literature. There are very few good Sci Fi writers, he is among the best.
In one of the stories in the Martian Chronicles, he describes a late night meeting between a human truck driver and a Martian transport driver on a highway connecting two human settlements on Mars, a Mars of an earlier human conception, where civilization existed, ancient and sublime till it was destroyed by human disease. The meeting crosses the boundaries of time, an intersection of nows that occur when we ignore the illusion of linearity that the universe presents.
So it is with tonight, a late night intersection of time and thought and feeling. I am am alone tonight, Wife is out of town on a business trip, my son is gone to his mother's for the summer and I have the place all to myself. A rare treat, and one that I relish. Don't get me wrong, I love having the Wife about and the kids underfoot, but occasionally the solitude is welcome.
So, update on life. I am spending two hours every morning practicing with the Chinese straight sword, still a beginner, but learning. It is, of course, very different from the rapier, it is a cut and thrust weapon, shorter, but offering more types of moves and varieties of attack. Still, the rapier by nature of its simplicity and reliance on the thrust has significant advantages, and it is not clear to me, in the contest of Musketeer and Jian master, who would prevail. My current favorite is a new purchase from China, biased on a 17th century design. It is heavier than my Damascus blade and has a true point, less quick, not as potentially razor sharp, but with more heft and thrust. Wife has become accustomed to seeing me whirling on the back deck, sword in hand, just as she has accepted that my friend Dick and I suit up once a week in a mad attempt to run each other thru. We all have our quirks, her's is reality TV,mine is edged weapons.
One other thing, I have started the long, slow process of iron palm training. It involves repeatedly striking first a bean bag, then progressing to a gravel bag and finally a bag of steel shot, all the while learing how to direct your chi. The final goal is breaking bricks. I will keep you appraised of progress.
Why, you might ask, all the focus on arts martial and painful. No Virginia, I neither worship at the leather alter of St. Pervertis the Flagellent, nor do I feel the need to play monkey penis games with other men at the local bar.
By now even the most casual of readers can tease the essence of my opinion on the level of control granted to mortals (none, nada, neyt, na, ixnay)and the pain, suffering and misery that said mere mortals bring to themselves when they lose sight of this simple fact. All we ever control is our own actions and reactions(am I not getting annoyingly repetitious, class),and the key to that is a discipline. Spiritual disciplines come in many flavors and forms and I have tried many. I find, in the end, that the martial disciplines, when approached in the right spirit, do the trick.
Swing a sword, save your sanity?
Hmm, note to self, need a better tag line.
Well, off to bed, get sleep while I can. Looks like I am in for another 36 hour marathon tomorrow.
Sleep well
posted by Maurice_Basilius at 10:32 PM
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