PILLARS OF THE PAST

When the party is over,
A box sits patiently
Just waiting to be opened.

Once today’s leaders depart,
Their voices linger on
Becoming yesterday’s echo.

Right before opening it,
Tomorrow’s leaders pause
As if they could stop time.

In quiet moments alone,
They question what’s inside
Before unwrapping the box.

Under the wrapping paper,
A large puzzle appears
Begging to be assembled.

Hoping they’ll keep their balance,
Building upon what became
The strong foundation we built.

We told tall tales easily,
With hopes that one day
We’d cement a legacy.

We took to heart our mission,
Despite different faiths
We bonded over core values.

We shared survival stories,
Budgets and staff shortages
And making every day count.

We improvised missing links,
Took any donation,
No gift was ever too small.

We thanked each and every one,
Those who believed in us
And our organization.

We saw not just a paycheck,
But the lives we could touch
And the difference we made.

We looked back to yesterday,
With many happy tears
Filling our aging faces.

We shared our memories,
Of years passed all too quickly
Leaving heartfelt nostalgia.

We watched time moving forward,
Many new faces came
While some stayed, others left.

We reflect on our years,
How we all have become
Like a chosen family.

We see beyond our own years,
Knowing all staff members
Hold a piece of the puzzle.

We now see what is missing,
The corners that were cut
And centers not fitting right.

We try to point out pieces,
That they keep looking for
Not knowing they are lost.

Like life, the puzzle remains,
Forever unfinished
Even with missing pieces.

 

 

THE KUROOBI (BLACK BELT) EARNED OUTSIDE THE DOJO

When most people think of karate, they picture punches, kicks, blocks, kata, or sparring. Those are certainly part of the journey. They are the visible expressions of the art. Yet some of the most enduring lessons I carried away from the dojo had little to do with technique and everything to do with character. 

Karate taught me to bow. Not simply as a ritual, but as an acknowledgment that respect is the foundation upon which everything else rests. We bowed when entering the dojo, bowed to our instructors, bowed to our training partners, and bowed when leaving.

Upon bowing in unison, the class excitedly exclaimed,

“Hai sensei”

As we hurried to our individual designated spot for bringing the class to attention for announcements, affirmations and meditation. 

As I stood in anticipation, the smell of incense filled the room as our sensei began class with an inspirational poem, one of my favorites, “If” by Rudyard Kipling. This alone gave me goose bumps as it was being read. I remained standing with my eyes closed in reflection and in a state of “mushin”. Mushin is a Japanese term describing a state of mental clarity and free from distraction. On this night, it allowed me to focus completely on the kata before me. 

Over time I realized the bow was teaching something deeper. No achievement, rank, or accomplishment exempted us from humility. Every person deserved respect. Every encounter began with gratitude.

Karate taught me patience. Progress seldom arrived in dramatic leaps. It emerged through repetition, correction, and persistence. The belt around my waist changed occasionally but growth occurred in the countless ordinary classes between promotions. There were techniques I struggled to master and skills that developed more slowly than I wished. The dojo became a gentle reminder that meaningful improvement rarely follows our preferred timeline.

Kata is a formal sequence of choreographed martial arts movements and an essential component of advancement through the belt ranks. Not only did the movements have to be memorized, they had to be performed with focus, controlled breathing and snapping kicks, throwing various hand moves and blocking imaginary enemies attacking you. It was the night I dreaded most and even more so on promotion to the next rank in belt, as I hated having all eyes on me. To this day, I still hate being the center of attention. Tonight, was no different except it was only practicing kata to improve our form.

The practice began with the most basic kata performed by white belts preparing for promotion to 8th kyu, or yellow belt. After each group completed its kata, students sat down and observed the next rank. By the end of class, we had watched students through the 4th kyu purple belt rank demonstrate their forms. In between each set of kata, sensei would make comments of the kata’s history and significance of lessons to be learned outside of the obvious physical we all observed. With no recognition beyond sensei’s thanking the rank with a simple “Arigato (insert belt color) obi” fellow seato (student’s name). We watched in admiration as each rank had its turn to perfect the current kata or to perform the new one required for their current rank.

Lessons from kata go beyond the martial arts dojo (martial arts school or place of study) to many aspects of good character essential to live a life well lived. The ones impacting me the most were confidence, perseverance, patience, respect and self-discipline. There were others, but these five stand out as the qualities which helped shape and transition me form an awkward teenager to the adult I became.

Through practice and perfecting to the best of my ability, kata helped me gain confidence in myself. I was able to focus on a goal of achieving the next belt rank. This required me to practice and improve my kata to near perfection. With sharp blocks, defined defense with punches and clean kicks or sweeps to throw the imaginary attacker off balance. With continuous improvement and sensei’s encouragement my confidence grew not just in kata but in all aspects in my life.

The class taught various skills of blocks, strikes and kicks which advanced with our belt ranks. But most importantly it taught responsibility. No instructor could train on my behalf. No belt could hide weaknesses. Ultimately, my progress depended on my effort. The dojo offered guidance and support, but accountability rested with me. It was an early lesson in personal ownership that would later influence my work, relationships, and decisions. Perhaps most important, karate taught self-control.

With each rank the skills in, kumite (fighting) techniques, kata and knowledge of our karate style increased in difficulty and challenge. There were some difficult times where I felt it would have been easier to just throw in the white flag and surrender, just give up and quit. With fellow karate-ka helping push you through the tough moments and being aware someone in rank below you is looking up to you, there was no choice but to persevere and succeed. Everyone around you expected your best effort to persevere and keep working harder at being the very best you can be. Even when knowing you never know who is watching your every move.

Contrary to popular perception, the goal of kumite was never to create aggression. The goal was to cultivate restraint. Real strength was not measured by the ability to dominate another person, but by the ability to govern oneself. Learning when not to react often required more mastery than learning how to react. Whether kata or kumite, the practice taught me discipline. Not the harsh discipline of punishment, but the quiet discipline of showing up. Some days motivation was abundant. Other days it was absent. Karate taught me that commitment matters more than enthusiasm. The willingness to train when I was tired, distracted, or discouraged became a lesson that extended far beyond the dojo walls.

Another unexpected gift was learning how to fail. Mistakes were inevitable. A stance would be incorrect. A movement would be forgotten. A test would not go as planned. Failure was not viewed as an ending but as information. The dojo became a place where errors were revealed, accepted, and corrected. That perspective proved invaluable in life, where setbacks are unavoidable but growth remains possible.

I don’t ever recall having a short fuse or an inability to stay on task. The respect and discipline I gained through the ranks improved my patience and leadership skills. I was honored when sensei allowed me to assist teaching the pee-wee karate class. Assisting with the pee-wee class helped me further develop leadership skills and gain confidence which later helped me secure a part-time position with summer camp. What I didn’t know then karate embedded many life lessons between the techniques we practiced in class that would benefit me professionally throughout my career.

As the years passed, I came to understand that the greatest opponent was never standing across from me. It was impatience, ego, fear, complacency, and self-doubt. The dojo provided a training ground for confronting each of them. The techniques were important. The kata provided value in both goal-setting and achievement. Sparring sharpened skills we learned, while self-defense was an afterthought benefit. Yet, the lasting lessons emerged in the spaces between them.

The lessons endured long after I stopped taking classes. The karate techniques may fade with age and practice becoming less frequent. However; the principles remain accessible every day. Respect strengthened relationships. Patience sustained long journeys. Discipline helped us meet our commitments. Humility kept us learning. Self-control guided our responses when life presented its inevitable challenges. Lessons which were not immediately visible to my younger self. They were the lessons which followed me long after I stepped off the training floor. Most often, they appeared in moments of humility, perseverance, respect, accountability and self-control. 

Many years passed since I was a karate-ka in the dojo, but I still can envision our class bowing to the instructor then to our American flag and in unison one last bow and boldly stating,

“Konbanwa. Domo arigato sensei.”

Looking back, I realize karate was never simply teaching me how to move and defend myself. Rather, it was teaching me how to live. In many ways, those lessons became the true journey toward earning the kuroobi outside the dojo.

 

THE FRAGILITY OF UNITY

I know exactly where I was that day,
Attending a scheduled monthly meeting,
Composed of various professionals,
For child care owners and providers. 

The large dark windowless conference room,
Where fluorescent lights hummed above voices,
Welcomed attendees with warmth in decor,
And air cool enough to keep us alert. 

Guests arrived early, stood outside the room,
Choosing to catch up with their kindred friends,
Whom they shared professional backgrounds with.
Sharing stories since the last month’s meeting. 

Just minutes before the meeting started,
People found their seats around the table.
The meeting took on a life of its own,
Filled with its own purpose and directives. 

A quick roll call to see who is present,
Housekeeping tasks like where to get coffee,
An agenda, filled with action items,
Waiting for compromise and partnerships. 

A late comer barged into the meeting,
Without words or an owed apology,
He quickly went to the front of the room,
Where he turned on the room’s television. 

He fumbled to find a local network,
Finally, the channel came into view.
The room’s noise became all too silent,
When all our eyes fixed to the TV screen. 

We first questioned without hesitation,
If this was just a tragic incident.
The media pieced together fragments,
Of a jigsaw puzzle missing one piece.

Twin towers once watched over the city,
Now stood nothing, but shattered skeletons.
From the ruins, dark plumes of smoke escaped,
As if they cried, begging for our help. 

As we all began to question the ‘who’.
A news anchor spoke of the missing piece.
It appeared enemies in our backyard,
Set out to cripple our beloved nation. 

We tried so hard to grasp what just happened,
Hoping this is not another world war.
With the TV playing in the background,
We turned toward prayer for comfort and answers. 

Overnight, our country came together,
Like reciting the pledge of allegiance.
We put political parties aside,
We all became, “One nation, under God.”

We were no longer republicans and
We were no longer democrats that day.
Sharing tears behind our patriotism,
We all became, simply, Americans. 

I know exactly where I was that day,
When we all came together as one voice,
Showing to the world, how we stood together,
With the words, “never to be forgotten.”

Not long after the dust and news settled,
We reverted back to our old ways.
We lost our direction and character,
Our partisan views became polarized.

Our history is never forgotten,
Just written down somewhere, hidden from view.
Only a lesson to be skimmed over,
For the next generations to review. 

It became our responsibility,
Sharing stories and to never forget,
Those who lost their lives that September day,
And the many who fought for our country.

Yet, my generation and those before,
Carry tales of the day and those after.
But what seems only like yesterday’s news,
Yet twenty-five years passed by already. 

Reminding citizens and residents,
That the banner waving red, white and blue,
Speaks words of our past and present heroes,
Who fought and defended our great country. 

GREETING THE GIFT OF A NEW DAY

I greet the day,
By watching the sun,
Struggle through night’s slumber,
Scramble up the horizon,
Of where the ocean meets the land.

Slowly climbing,
Out of the white clouds,
Forming a comfy bed,
Capturing a good night’s rest,
Not rushing to start a new day.

Once the day starts,
There’s no turning back,
As there is no rewind,
Just replayed memories,
Flashing before my own eyes.

I live each day,
As much as I try, 
I squeeze in all I can,
Hoping to fill all my life,
With passions and experiences.

Every new day,
I greet new people,
Hoping to make new friends,
Learning something new to do,
Or just enjoy conversation.

The noon high sun,
Casting its warm light, 
As heavenly blessings,
Bestowed upon me today,
As I chase only my shadow.
 
I call old friends,
Make a date to meet,
Catch up since our last time,
We all got together for lunch,
Sharing our life’s laughs, tears and fears.

We talk about,
What we ought to do,
Perhaps take a day trip,
Or maybe something longer,
Or simply relive memories.

I call the day,
Just after the sun, 
Welcomes the night’s darkness,
With just my pen and paper,
I begin to write my day’s thoughts.

The night’s cool breeze,
Brings the peace to night,
Calmness settles my thoughts,
Leaving me just enough time,
For today’s quiet reflection.

My written word,
As I always said,
Speaks louder than my voice,
When I have time to ponder,
I reflect and not ruminate.

At the day’s end,
Knowing all too well,
Tomorrow brings with it,
A new set of challenges,
Which again, I will overcome.

TURNING THE PAGES OF GETTING OLDER

The innocence of youth,
Scatters my thoughts all over,
Leaving me more questions of life. 

Age is just a number,

High school seems like yesterday,

I am older now than I thought.

 

When my legs slow me down,

Yet, my mind is still racing,

Life has thrown me an evil curve.

 

Each year is a struggle,

Unfolding answers slowly,

To questions I’ve long forgotten.

 

The tears I cried today,

Planted tomorrow’s flowers,

Showing off all of its splendor.

 

Simply reminding me,

Find life’s beauty to enjoy,

In everything I do today.

 

There’s no time to regret,

Just another lesson learned,

As yesterday can’t be undone.

 

Days pass by all too quick,

There is no sense wasting time,

Worrying about tomorrow.

 

Without any fanfare,

Tomorrow will still arrive,

When arms of the clock meet at twelve.

 

Filling the voids of time,

With a balance of to-do’s,

Of my own and those of others.

 

A check marks it complete,

Not always perfect but done,

The next task waits patiently.

I don’t live in regret,

I ask questions to get facts,

Rather than ruminate choices.

 

I live my best lived life,

Despite endless indulgent,

I make intentional choices.

 

My life remains steadfast,

Like a guardian’s promise,

Of a long well lived complete life.