She would need to take another trip.
She had heard of a woman who lived on the coast, an eastern prefecture many miles from her own. Locals would come to her seeking advise or an indication if they could fish safely. This woman seemed to have some sort of alliance with the sea, she could predict wind and rain. She seemed to know when the sea would be at it's worst. Perhaps this woman could help her make the connection.
This time she would need to find a way to protect herself in flight. This would be a long trip and she still wore the mark of the last long flight. Although it was fading, it could still be felt when hand passed over skin.
And there was the strange man who had followed her through the village. He could also be a threat.
She thought she had lost him in the marketplace. She was able to do that, to disappear with a few deft movements. She had been collecting spices for the trip, and felt the skin on the back of her neck flush hot. It was then she noticed his gaze burning into her. It made her very uneasy and so she decided she needed to lose him. It was not the first time she had needed to employ evasive tactics. Being an unmarried woman in the town sometimes meant unwelcome attention. They were generally easy to shake. But he was not.
After a series of quick maneuvers he was still there, looking right at her. She was starting to feel warm, sweating slightly from the chase through the throng of people, animals and carts. Rounding a corner into a small corridor between dwellings he had stepped into her path. Abruptly. She had thought he was behind her. She was like a stone, heavy, unmovable. Something held her to the spot. He had reached out to her right side and for a horrible moment she thought he was going to disarm her. But he slipped his hand under her traveling coat and through the silk of her tunic ran his fingertips lightly down her scar to the top of her hip bone. Nowhere near her Jian. It all happened in a heartbeat.
Then he withdrew his hand and turned and ran down the corridor, fast. Incredibly fast and then he was gone. She felt sick, bile rising in her throat. Dizzy she took a moment resting her hot cheek against the roughly hewn wall. It's coolness seemed to bring her back. Then she ran after him. Knowing that it was futile, he would be already gone, lost in the crowd of people, but it made her feel better to do something.
Had he known about the attack, or had he touched her there by sheer coincidence?
That night she tried to recall him, to find a clue.
He was taller than her. She had not seen him before today. He was dressed in brown traveler's robes. He had light hair, dark eyes, maybe they were brown. There was nothing striking in her recollection other than he was a westerner like her. He was wearing a hood the whole time and being so busy evading him she had not noticed as much as she had hoped. But she did remember his smell, cypress maybe. Perhaps he had been sleeping in the forest, but that was some distance from the town, certainly a good half day traveling by foot. The forest was mainly hinoki cypress, the trees not felled for many years as it was thought that Tsurube-otoshi lived there. Woodsman were scared of the monster who, it is told, lurks in the tree tops waiting to drop down and kill anyone who dare enter the forest. She had heard these stories herself, that sometimes the monster's head was not attached and it would drop as a fireball.
Despite the stories she would go there in the morning. If there was no warning then she would take her chances and fly.
Fury had always made her a fast flyer. In truth she was angry at herself. Eating her meal that night she knew this to be true. She could have moved away from him, stepped back out of the corridor and into the crowd. She has lost her courage, her nerve and had stood there like a sack of grain. Sometimes it is our own weaknesses that cause us to be angry with others. She thought it interesting she could know this, but yet still be angry with him.
Easier that way.
March 27, 2012
Getting of wisdom
"By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest."
Confucius, 551 – 479 BC
Who was this smart man? I would very much like to ask him how I can stop falling into the third category. Pity time travel is not an everyday reality or I would be off to the closest machine, with my Mandarin and Cantonese phrase books under arm and jettisoning myself back to his doorstep.
Although I do think it ironic that his philosphy was called Confucianism.
Confucius, 551 – 479 BC
Who was this smart man? I would very much like to ask him how I can stop falling into the third category. Pity time travel is not an everyday reality or I would be off to the closest machine, with my Mandarin and Cantonese phrase books under arm and jettisoning myself back to his doorstep.
Although I do think it ironic that his philosphy was called Confucianism.
March 19, 2012
Flight of the Warrior Chapter 2- Seeking the connection
It had been months. She had visited her heart place many times and honed her sword skills. She felt strong but yet there seemed so much she did not know and this made her uneasy. The uneasiness made her train harder.
She had overheard some elders talk of the old ways, clinging to a wall like a spy in a backstreet hungry for information. She had come to understand some of the theory by listening to these conversations but that was a poor substitute and she knew it. Japan was a dangerous place for a woman who did not have the protection of the local Daimyo. She knew that living at her father's farm was tolerated for now but this could change. If she was to protect herself she would need more than just her jian. She would need to understand the messages carried on the wind, in fire, by the earth and on the water.
At times she felt close to a breakthrough.
The first time was in the clearing, she had fallen roughly after overbalancing during practice. Embarrassed she had spent a moment laying on the ground nursing her twisted ankle, her left hand partially buried in the dead leaves that had fallen in preparation for winter. In that moment, chastising herself for her personal weakness, she had felt a tremour through the earth. It seemed to move toward her hand growing in intensity. It took only a second to reach her fingertips. She had jerked her hand away in surprise and instantly regretted it. Two mistakes in the passage of minutes, both costly. Pride bruised and a learning opportunity wasted. She rose hastily and limping slightly moved to collect her things for the return journey, just as a large bough of the tree broke off and fell where she had been sitting. She stared at it, her mouth open in surprise. It was the width of her torso and would have done her great damage.
She had been told by her mother, before she left on her final pilgrimmage back to the Netherlands that when she was ready she would be able to feel things, see things, know things that would help her. She had questioned her mother, did she mean the five senses? Did she mean intuition? She had smiled in the half light, touched her lightly on the cheek and turned briskly toward the gangplank and boarded the sailing ship. She had not heard from her mother since, but had written her countless letters. Local sailors thought the ship had foundered in a storm, but she was not yet ready to entertain she was alone in the world.
Then again it had happened. She was planting some herbs in her garden, her back to the wind. Bent over the patch of earth she had prepared she felt a push on her right side as if the wind had whipped up at that precise moment and spent itself to spin her round. Then it was gone. She responded slowly, feeling pins and needles down her arms into her hands. The first sign of fear. She turned in time to see a band of cloud rise up over a ridge line full of menace and electricity. It was racing as if it knew it could not last long. Heavy rain fell on the ridge behind her, as the cloud unloaded to get over the mountain. Claps of thunder booming all around her. She had run inside. Looking through the shutter, watching the progress of the storm.The air was full of electricity and her hair stood on end.
There had been a couple of times. Much like the storm, she had not understood what the warning was until the moments unfolded. Then afterwards she could see the connection.
What she needed to do was tap into the message. For the message would always be a warning. At least that is what she thought. It would help her, give her an advantage when fighting. She would need it. She had learned once before the hard way that some possessed a strength far superior to hers. She would need other arsenal in addition to her mastery of the jian.
There was a time when she trusted the sword would be enough. She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. At least that ignorance had not cost her life.
She was susceptible to stubborness, to making the same mistake over and over as if stuck in mud, knowing that if she struggled it will exhaust her and pull her further down, but unable to stop trying or change course. Her pride unable to accept that she had chosen poorly, again.
She repeated to herself, like a mantra, I must not make the same mistake. At least she hoped she would not.
She had overheard some elders talk of the old ways, clinging to a wall like a spy in a backstreet hungry for information. She had come to understand some of the theory by listening to these conversations but that was a poor substitute and she knew it. Japan was a dangerous place for a woman who did not have the protection of the local Daimyo. She knew that living at her father's farm was tolerated for now but this could change. If she was to protect herself she would need more than just her jian. She would need to understand the messages carried on the wind, in fire, by the earth and on the water.
At times she felt close to a breakthrough.
The first time was in the clearing, she had fallen roughly after overbalancing during practice. Embarrassed she had spent a moment laying on the ground nursing her twisted ankle, her left hand partially buried in the dead leaves that had fallen in preparation for winter. In that moment, chastising herself for her personal weakness, she had felt a tremour through the earth. It seemed to move toward her hand growing in intensity. It took only a second to reach her fingertips. She had jerked her hand away in surprise and instantly regretted it. Two mistakes in the passage of minutes, both costly. Pride bruised and a learning opportunity wasted. She rose hastily and limping slightly moved to collect her things for the return journey, just as a large bough of the tree broke off and fell where she had been sitting. She stared at it, her mouth open in surprise. It was the width of her torso and would have done her great damage.
She had been told by her mother, before she left on her final pilgrimmage back to the Netherlands that when she was ready she would be able to feel things, see things, know things that would help her. She had questioned her mother, did she mean the five senses? Did she mean intuition? She had smiled in the half light, touched her lightly on the cheek and turned briskly toward the gangplank and boarded the sailing ship. She had not heard from her mother since, but had written her countless letters. Local sailors thought the ship had foundered in a storm, but she was not yet ready to entertain she was alone in the world.
Then again it had happened. She was planting some herbs in her garden, her back to the wind. Bent over the patch of earth she had prepared she felt a push on her right side as if the wind had whipped up at that precise moment and spent itself to spin her round. Then it was gone. She responded slowly, feeling pins and needles down her arms into her hands. The first sign of fear. She turned in time to see a band of cloud rise up over a ridge line full of menace and electricity. It was racing as if it knew it could not last long. Heavy rain fell on the ridge behind her, as the cloud unloaded to get over the mountain. Claps of thunder booming all around her. She had run inside. Looking through the shutter, watching the progress of the storm.The air was full of electricity and her hair stood on end.
There had been a couple of times. Much like the storm, she had not understood what the warning was until the moments unfolded. Then afterwards she could see the connection.
What she needed to do was tap into the message. For the message would always be a warning. At least that is what she thought. It would help her, give her an advantage when fighting. She would need it. She had learned once before the hard way that some possessed a strength far superior to hers. She would need other arsenal in addition to her mastery of the jian.
There was a time when she trusted the sword would be enough. She laughed bitterly at her own stupidity. At least that ignorance had not cost her life.
She was susceptible to stubborness, to making the same mistake over and over as if stuck in mud, knowing that if she struggled it will exhaust her and pull her further down, but unable to stop trying or change course. Her pride unable to accept that she had chosen poorly, again.
She repeated to herself, like a mantra, I must not make the same mistake. At least she hoped she would not.
March 12, 2012
Riding
I spent a couple of hours on my trusty mountain bike today nosing round the dirt tracks along Diamond Creek and then the Yarra. Delightful!
"When I go biking, I repeat a mantra of the day's sensations: bright sun, blue sky, warm breeze, blue jay's call, ice melting and so on. This helps me transcend the traffic, ignore the clamorings of work, leave all the mind theaters behind and focus on nature instead. I still must abide by the rules of the road, of biking, of gravity. But I am mentally far away from civilization. The world is breaking someone else's heart."
Diane Ackerman, 1948-
March 10, 2012
Creation can be...well....ugly
So I have been witholding photos of my work from the Jewelry course, mainly because I seem to be talentless.
But I am pushing on and despite ruining 1 hr worth of labour Wednesday night in 1 minute by over annealing my 'spring' which will eventually become a chain bracelet, I soldiered on and repeated the task.
We were also introduced to the buffing machine which gives an amazing look to the metal but terrifying. "You can lose a finger, or be scalped if you get your hair stuck". Oh goodie. I am in then!
 |
| Ring at top, 'spring' waiting to become chain, and chain links ready to be soldered |
But I am pushing on and despite ruining 1 hr worth of labour Wednesday night in 1 minute by over annealing my 'spring' which will eventually become a chain bracelet, I soldiered on and repeated the task.
We were also introduced to the buffing machine which gives an amazing look to the metal but terrifying. "You can lose a finger, or be scalped if you get your hair stuck". Oh goodie. I am in then!
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