Philosophy and Seven Shades of Crap

I really should go back to my martial arts training. I’ve been out of it for so long, that I feel that I’m becoming rusty like the old tractor that has been sitting in the field for too long. My steps that were once light and sure are now heavy, dragging and awkward. My stance was once self assured and proud, but is now something of a hunching slouch.

I picked up my katana the other day, only for it to feel unwieldy and cumbersome, whereas before it felt like a natural extension of my arms.

My idle thoughts lately have usually been of everyday worries, monetary problems, spiteful lashes at life and wistful hopes of winning the lottery, whereas before it used to be a touch more philosophical, splashed with replays of what techniques I learned, and of feeling in tune with the surrounding environment.

I’m slowly slothing back into a mainstream life of avoiding discomfort as much as possible – a life that will surely breed a low threshold of emotional tolerance.

A smart kid once directed me to an article on kuro5hin.org that outlined that comfort and pleasure are quite closely related, despite their differences in definition. Put simply, pleasure is that burst of happiness you receive when, say, you eat a big meal after being desperately hungry, or when shagging your partner whom you haven’t seen for months. Whereas comfort is the distinct absence of worry, sorrow or other undesirable vexes.

Therefore, how can one feel a heightened sense of pleasure without having experienced discomfort? Outside of intoxication by either chemical or herbal assistance, that is…

This philosophy rang particularly true when I went on a camp for my martial arts training. It entailed rising at 3am and training until 10pm (with short breaks for breakfast, morning tea, lunch, and dinner). A lot of the time, you were fighting against your aching muscles, and your mind was constantly protesting that the body simply could not take any more abuse.

But I survived. It was a testament to the idea that the brain can become so accustomed to comfort that it seeks it constantly and can forget what it’s capable of. However, the heightened level of pleasure I derived from simply sitting down was immense. And once the camp was finished, being able to have a nice, long, hot shower and then flake out on the couch with a pizza and a beer was akin to drinking ambrosia straight from wherever the hell it comes from…

Angels, help me out here…

It was these realisations, these discussions of philosophy and these chances to learn exactly how the mind and body (and soul, if you believe in the existence thereof) operates that I lament not experiencing. I feel that I must continue with the training so that I can learn more about these things, and possibly enlighten myself further.

One of the black belts is offering private tuition. That might be a good opportunity to ease myself back into it again. I think all of my repressed anger from the separation has dissipated… besides, if it hasn’t then the black belt will ensure I get the seven shades of crap beaten out of me.

Oh, and I want to go back to training because I don’t think I am able to hurt people anymore. I want to learn how to do that again… natch.