J...o...h...n...’...s.....J...o...u...r...n...a...l
A R C H I V E S
Thanks
for
visiting.
October 1, 1999
What
the world needs
now is Yorkies, more Yorkies
. . . I
am still in disbelief at the disparity in the size of Walie's and Winston's
two puppies, Winslow (the moose) and Whitley (little brother). The former
takes after his sire and the latter takes after his grandsire. Walie has
been such a good mother. Since the moment I helped her with the whelping,
she has kept her offspring in a state of perfect health and development,
and soon it will be time to give them up to their new homes. Winslow will
stay in Danville with the Willoughbys and his little brother will make
his way to Campbellsville. It will be a sad day. We get our feelings too
caught up with these magnificent miniatures called Yorkies, but how can
you keep your heart in check? They are so precious. Or, as my pal Bill
Barefoot said, (not your raging sentimentalist, mind you) "Face it,
Dix. Yorkies are the purest form of life." Hey, I'll buy that.
A
path of harmony with
the universal Life Force
. . . I
have been thinking for some time about how a demonstration put together
by a Cuban instructor in Cincinnati sowed the seed of my interest in Aikido,
the most sublime of martial arts. And how the sprouted kernal was nurtured
by my Chicago contact with Koichi Tohei, prominent student of the great
teacher himself, Morihei Ueshiba, founder of the system. But then, for
unknown reasons, the plant went into dormancy for 23 years until 1999
with the coming of a glassblower to Danville. Paul Hugues is a protege
of Stephen Rolfe Powell, rising star of American hot glass, and a student
of Dale Matthews, Kentucky's preeminent Aikidoka and leader of the Louisville
dojo. Paul had the idea of starting the Danville Aikido Club and it took
me only an instant to become an enthsuiastic charter member. When Dana
brought home the flyer promoting the inaugural Matthews demonstration,
I knew that a long germination had finally come to a close. After seven
months of preparation I earned the Rokyu level of training, my first regulation
white belt, on September 18th. At last I am firmly on the path of becoming
a competent martial artist, one of the enduring goals of my life, something
that has never gone away, not since the days of watching the UC Karate
Club, or going to see Bruce Lee movies, or getting lost in the fantasies
of Kwai Chang Caine, all the way back to creating childhood stories about
"the man with the flying feet." But I have come to understand
that Aikido -- the way (do) of union (ai) with energy (ki) -- is much
more than a warrior discipline. Beyond the effectiveness of its practical
combat techniques (Jerome credits its principles with his success as a
high school wrestler), beyond even its ties to Budo, the discipline of
protection, compassion, and salvation at the heart of the Samurai tradition,
is Shobu, the divine pursuit of wisdom and judgment, the path of the sage.
Or, in the words of Ueshiba (known to Aikido practitioners as O-Sensei,
the great teacher), "The true victory is to strike down and destroy
the mind of doubt and conflict within yourself." And so it is fitting
that I come full circle to Aikidio, having externalized certain creative
skills and having internalized certain spiritual teachings, to putting
into practice for the rest of my life a process of coordinating my mind
and body to make a better world by striving to perfect the character of
one man.
October
1, 1995
Four years ago . . .
. . . Today
was the day Ouinki cornered an opossum in the garage at the Town House.
I ended up shooting it in the head with the Baby Browning, using one of
those hot defensive loads. Could not get the critter out of the garage
and Ouinki was going nuts. Didn't dare use the .410 in the city limits,
but it was loud! Always wanted to testfire one of those (wicked little
booger). Ouinki's antics reminded me of the time Ouiske got her first
mouse at the B'bach Estate. Rode solo this morning; could be one of the
last warm mornings. Otherwise, it was one of those mildly depressing Sundays,a
phenomenon that has plagued me for nearly thirty years; I hate to see
the weekend terminate.
