The Magic Stone: Synposis of a Work in Progress

Assuming you read the last post, about me entering a writing contest, You might enjoy a look at the synopsis I had to send in with the entry.  The actual one sent is from this one, but even more abreviated.  Anyway, this is what I've been working on for the last two years.

                                            The Magic Stone -- Synopsis

      Davey Hart is a skinny, pimply choirboy who is teased constantly and unmercifully by his 14 year-old brother Danny, an athletic football player. After singing a solo for the Christmas Eve church musical, Davey and Danny get into a fight in their mom's car on the way home, which of course, Davey loses. He wishes just once, he could get the upper hand.

      Their mom upholds her own tradition of reading the Christmas story from the Bible, but the two boys are bored. They want an adventure story. Their mom explains that there is much adventure in the Christmas story-- pirates and sword fights-- that they haven't heard the whole story.

Later, as Davey is getting ready for bed, his mom visits his room and brings a strange object to sit on his night-stand. It is a hand-high statue of an old, fat, balding angel with tattered wings. He is the Christmas angel; his job is to make Christmas perfect. He is magic, his mom explains.

Because of a wish that Davey makes earlier in the evening, the statue comes to life and spirits Davey away on a magical journey back in time, and he finds himself in a vast barren tundra with only an odd, irascible old angel named Gabriel for company. It is several weeks before the first Christmas Eve in Bethlehem, Gabriel explains. They are somewhere near the Silk Road, the main trade route from the Far East to the Holy lands. Soon, a caravan will pass by, led by Balthazar, one of the three wise men, whom Davey had wished he could meet.

      After fighting off raiders and wolves, Gabriel loses his magical powers. He can lift no more than a knuckle-sized pebble. But Davey and the demoted angel manage to connect with the caravan where Davey is put to work doing heavy, backbreaking chores. He also begins training in self defense, including the sword and sling, as the caravan wends it way west. But he is a poor student. Soon, a gigantic star appears in the western sky.

      But Balthazar, not a believer in any particular god, does not want to follow the star. He is carrying silk to Antioch, and much gold awaits him there. He is curious what lies beneath the star, but does not want to alter his journey. Gabriel explains that unless Balthazar travels to Bethlehem, Christmas will cease to exist. And also, unless that happens, Gabriel cannot take Davey back home.

Roman soldiers force Balthazar's caravan to keep on traveling toward the star. Balthazar, Davey, and Gabriel all must cross the most arid desert in the entire region, guarded by Romans. The Romans have horses instead of camels, and soon they are afoot. Davey gives them water against Balthazar's wishes.

Eventually, they reach Jerusalem 12 days after Christmas, and they present King Herod with the silk he has demanded the Romans fetch for him. Balthazar now has his gold and is free to investigate what lies under the star. King Herod is angry when he learns of the prophecy surrounding the star, and sends six Roman soldiers to follow the caravan to Bethlehem and slaughter the Holy Family.

      There is a clash of swords with the Roman soldiers in which Davey, now with more muscle, fortitude, and sword training, plays a pivotal part. Davey is no match for the Roman soldiers, but because of his kindness in the desert, A Roman centurion with them in the desert saves Davey's life. When the other Romans ask him why he saved the boy, the centurion replies, “He gave me water.” The other Roman soldiers retreat, but vow to return with the whole garrison.

      Balthazar realizes that God's will is manifested by kindness and compassion and not by strength and sword play, and finally believes in the One True God. He agrees to offer the Holy Family sanctuary and safe passage to Egypt. Gabriel is finally able to take Davy home.

      Davey is amazed to find himself back in his bedroom, and it is Christmas morning. He has been gone only a few hours! But he is strong and tanned and wind-burnt, and in dire need of a shower. When Danny tries to push Davey around, things don't go well for him. Davey is too strong.  Danny is no longer any kind of problem for him, and Davey finally has the upper hand.

Life Rules

This is just a recent journal entry.  

                                                            Life Rules

2/28/15  I have another life rule. You may remember that my life-rule number one is Don't assess your life when you are sick. That includes depression and failure. This rule has kept me sane through much tribulation, although I've had it relatively easier than most. My friend Steve has just moved into an old double-wide with a hoarder. Still, asking yourself the question, What has my life amounted to? when you feel like shooting yourself in the head, is, well, not a very wise combination.

        I have been trying to enter the Genesis competition, sponsored by the American Christian Fiction Writers group, or association, or something. I fell into this by accident. The group was mentioned on the back of a book I came across, and liked it enough to read it all the way through. The author, C.E. Laureano, was either a finalist or a winner of that contest. She is also a martial artist. Anyway, I'm still trying to enter, but the entry form won't accept my data. So I emailed the contest coordinator, and she put a technician on my case, a Becky Yauder. I was waiting to hear from her as to why my data isn't acceptable. I've attached both the files for my picture, and the entry pages for her to examine. I thought she had already responded, but it was just a Welcome to our organization. Her are some contacts you can make: Bible studies, churches, prayer groups, and writing circles. I'm under-whelmed. And it is about this time of night that I wonder if my writing is any good, or that my entry is good enough. I've already had to shorten it to format it to their submission specs. I am sorely tempted to bring the entry material up and re-write it. Which brings me to my second rule: Don't work on your art when you are stoned, or tipsy, or bloated with cinnebons. I'm already a fool often enough. Garbage in, garbage out. It's like the best artist rule. Theoretically, I'm speaking.

         I took my flash drives to my daughter Heather's house, to use her computer, because,

obviously, mine was diabolical, and mad at me.  It wasn't the computer.  I went through the process of uploading all my data, and then took my flash drives out of her computer.  She stopped me, saying, "You should probably leave those in until after you send in the entry form.  That's a lot of data, and the form will probably want to draw on those again during the uploading."  Wow.  Why didn't I know that?  Because I'm an old fart?  The form went through perfectly.  I felt so stupid.  But that brings me back to rule number one.

Samurai Writing

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 Z A N S H I N 

                                                         Samurai Writing

        I subscribe to a lot of magazines, and read many of them cover to cover. I used to read more books, but they're way long. Then I found the New Yorker, and the articles, while long as magazine articles go, are way shorter than books. Spirituality and Health is a fun read, and I always read my new ones cover to cover. And the articles are way shorter than the ones in the New Yorker. I also take National Geographic, Newsweek, and Reader's Digest, and the AARP sends this newsletter that's fun to read. And the articles are, like, paragraph length. Lately, I've been enjoying the Quotable Quotes on the back page of Reader's Digest; they're only one line. I don't know where my attention span has gone, but it's no wonder I don't read as many books as I should.

        In my defense, I proudly admit to finishing a book last night. I humbly admit that I started it way before Christmas. I proudly state that it is the author's longest and most ambitious book; I humbly admit the author is Louis L'Amour. I proudly admit I have to choose between my two next-to-read books-- Gone Girl, by Gillian Flynn, and The Last Bad Man, by Miranda July. I humbly admit, I've already started another Louis L'Amour book.

        I don't care. And here's what contributes to that. I also take Writer's Digest and read it cover-to-cover as soon as I receive it in the mail. I've just read articles about fiction writing, contrast and conflict, controlling the speed of the story, and character development. Every month I learn something new about how to better produce my craft.

I get so overwhelmed with new information that I tense up with the overload and can't write.

        I think there comes a time when you must realize that reading about your craft is not actually doing the craft. At some point, you have to just sit down and write, You have to put out of your mind any thought of success or failure, being published, or formulas of approach. Forget the persuasions of the experts, the center-stagers and the literary giants. They won't help you write anything new. For that, you just have to immerse yourself in the world you are creating, and capture it in words. You are the best judge of those. Not your magazines, or your books, or your experts.. You. Cruising down the stream of your story.

         The ancient samurai of feudal Japan went into battle already resigned to the fact that they would probably die. They had made a vow of loyalty to whatever cause or overlord they were fighting for, and their own lives were not as important as their loyalty. I am coming to a place where I write that way.

       Here's my advice; get the damn story out, and do not fret about what others think of it, or what the magazines tell you it should be, or whether it will ever be published. Get it down on paper while the Muse is whispering in your ear.

         Rewrite later. And save those Writer's Digests. They may come in handy then.

                                                           * * * * * * *

Zanshin: The Evolution of Mindfulness

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Z A N S H I N

by Dick Morgan

                                        The Evolution of Mindfulness

        I was out for a walk yesterday along a route that takes me past the neighborhood light-rail stop. Most days a steady stream of colorful people pass to and from its approaches. I like to think I am a keen observer of people, and an astute judge of character based on people's appearance, gait, demeanor, and eye contact. It is part of my martial arts training: threat assessment, adversarial size-up, safety zones, exit strategy. When I pass through crowds of people, I am continuously practicing these strategic mental exercises. I have been practicing this for fifty years; it is a completely automatic, almost subconscious exercise. I'd like to think after all this time, I'd be pretty good at it; I'd be wrong.

        I'm walking along, looking at people as they pass me; here's a pretty young girl with pigtails and tattoos, a free spirit and no threat to me. Here's a humongous giant of a man in a serapé, size alone would make him a formidable opponent. Fortunately, he appears to be passing by with no eye contact. Here's a beggar with his hand out. I give him a buck. Here's a young adult black man, leather coat, head band, raggedy shoes. Cocky, jaunty walk with his head bobbing up and down. And now he's looking at me. What does he want? How many steps is he from striking distance? Alert! His hands are coming out of his pockets!

        This black guy smiles, salutes me, and says, “How you doing, Captain?” I'm wearing my Greek fisherman's hat with my Vietnam ribbons on the brim, and it looks a bit like the scrambled egg designs of a Navy captain's hat. I was so taken aback by that, by the time I figured out what he meant and turn to thank him, he was gone. I had assessed him largely by profile, and I had been completely wrong. It was a realization that my mental processes were stuck in a rut.

        I am sure my martial viewpoint is indelible to a certain degree, that I will always think strategically. I will always have a defense plan. I carry four knives, after all. But now, without martial arts practice echoing fresh in my mind, I begin to view situations around me without as much defensiveness. Since I have stopped going to practice, I am beginning to realize that my consciousness is shifting. My mindfulness is beginning to become aware of different challenges, different goals, different ethics. I am learning that the dichotomies automatically assumed in martial practice-- good and bad, friend or enemy, win or lose-- are all artificial mental constructs, and many times blind us to deeper truths. I am learning the value of projecting peace and good will instead of toughness and invulnerability. I am learning to quiet the mind so that I can listen better with the heart.

        I can relate to people on a more humane level. Instead of adversarial posturing, there is a celebration of equality and sharing. There is a new feeling of connectedness, an almost joyous unity. I feel my spirit expanding in a new way, not yet envisioned when I wrote Warrior Mind. I am surprised by this shift in my mindful practice, and thankful at the same time. I am looking into the future with more anticipation, and more joy.

         Merry Christmas.

                                       One forest, many trees.

                                       One tree, many branches.

                                       One branch, many leaves.

                                                                     (--unknown)

                                                  Namasté.

Quote

                

                    “What wisdom can you find

                                             that is greater than kindness?”

                                                                        – Jean Jacques Rouseau

Z A N S H I N: The Journey to Awakening

________________

Z A N S H I N

                                           Journey to Awakening

        After fifty years of martial arts practice, I am no longer able to continue.

      There are several reasons for this, but the main reason is my health has changed. I was able to keep practicing in a limited way after having both hips replaced, but when my heart developed an irregular rhythm, the medications to correct that left me weak and light-headed. The past few months have been a difficult time of readjustment to this new person that I have become. I have less stamina, less energy, less breath. Even my thought patterns changed. I have gradually been able to compensate for my new limitations, but martial arts practice was no longer helping. My balance was off. My speed was gone. And worst of all, my sense of indomitability had vanished, and a kind of desperation had settled into its place for a time.

         I have come to terms with all of this. My health is now balanced out, and I am exercising more, and eating less. All in all, I am feeling better than I have in months, despite going or not going to practice.

      Of course there are other reasons I stopped going. The commute was an hour's drive during rush hour, after which my brain would be fried and my heart would be irregular from the stress, not to mention ten dollars worth of gas for every practice. I don't miss that.

        But more central to the point is that my teacher, Grandmaster Jim Garrison retired from active involvement and moved two hundred miles away. The new Soke (headmaster) is Master Michael Martyn, a man with less time and less rank than I, but who is much better trained, and well suited to the position. Pacific Rim Martial Arts Academy, where I have practiced for the last 35 years, could not be in better hands than Mr. Martyn's. And it is his judgment that I am ill-suited to be a student at Pacific Rim any longer.

       The system has evolved, the techniques have evolved. I have not. I am “old school,” rougher than appropriate for the youngsters of today. They are uncomfortable with us old, rough black belts, and some of them drop out rather than toughen up.

        And of course there is the subjective view of respect. I was perceived as being disrespectful by discontinuing a seminar, when in actuality, I was having a medical emergency. But no one asked me how I felt at the time. I have never intended disrespect to anyone in the martial arts world, let alone my long-time teacher, who taught that seminar. I just thought at the time that it would be a great idea to not have an atrial fibrillation induced stroke. I suppose I should have told them I was leaving; That was probably the disrespectful part.  But I wasn't feeling very well, and not thinking straight either. As I said, my view of this incident is completely subjective.  As are all views. Anyway, it is in the past now, and time to move on.

        One has to think about this; I practiced in this system for 40 years-- five years with Mr. Kim at his school in downtown Portland, and 35 years at Pacific Rim. For 39 of those years, I was viewed as a good student; I was polite, respectful, tenacious, and eager to participate. And then the last year, my fiftieth year in the martial arts, my fortieth in this system, I become less active, less able to participate, more distracted by my own crises.
It was simply time for me to go my own way and find my own balance.  The decision for me to go was mutual, and I have only one regret; the black belts were my friends, and I will miss spending time with them.

        But I have not stopped practice. The principles and philosophy of Hapkido are indelibly etched into my brain, and will affect my thoughts and actions the rest of my life. For that I am thankful. I've only stopped going to class.

       My impression of the heart of Hapkido is that we must strive to optimize our force-of-being; that is to say, our health, our mental acuity, our personal integrity, and our connections to those who touch our lives. By practicing Hapkido, we are seeking to manifest our best selves, seeking to be strong both outwardly and inwardly. The actual self defense techniques are only an expression of this. The real practice is within oneself. With this in mind, my practice is ongoing and uninterrupted.

Karate is no different from other martial arts in fostering the traits of courage, courtesy, integrity, humility, and self-control in those who have found its essence.

– Gichen Funikoshi, founder of Shodokan Karate

               After so many years, not practicing martial arts is like awakening from a lucid dream, and trying to remember who you are again.  I'm in the midst of creating a new paradigm for myself, and am no longer accountable to anyone else for its success or failure.  So, who am I, and what are my goals? The goal of seeking to manifest my best self has not changed. In fact, it has intensified. I have more time to devote to regular exercise-- walking, swimming, circuit training, heavy bag work. I'd like to get in better shape so that eventually, I can maybe get my side kick back. Round-house too. I'd like it to not hurt when I arise from a chair. I'd like to not find an automatic frown on my face when I look in a mirror. I'd like to look at my rank certificates hanging in my writing room, and smile. It was all good. But it can be better still.

        This is the life I find myself within:

                  Let it be mindful,

                              Let it be purposeful,

                                                Let it be joyful.

                                               * * * * * * *

ZANSHIN: Change

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Z A N S H I N

by Dick Morgan

Change

       I thought about starting this article with the title, The End of an Era. My Teacher for the last 40 years, Grandmaster James R. Garrison, is stepping down from his position as headmaster of Pacific Rim Martial Arts Academy. He is moving out of the area, retiring to a farm near Roseberg, in Southern Oregon. He will still keep his position as Vice President of the World Oriental Martial Arts Federation, still oversee WOMAF business outside of Korea, still be in charge of promotion and rank, and still conduct seminars at Pacific Rim, as well as occasional seminars around the United States. And he will still teach at Pacific Rim occasionally, but not all the time. He is stepping down as Soke (headmaster) of Pacific Rim.

       Grandmaster Garrison's martial art history is extraordinary. He has studied under a list of masters that reads like the Who's Who of martial arts: Robert Dewar, Jhoon Rhee, Koichi Tohei, Walter Todd, Wally Jay, John Chow Hoon, Willy Cahill, Mitsugi Saotome, Sangcook Kim. Grandmaster Kim took Mr. Garrison with him on many trips to the far east to study martial arts from masters in Japan, Hong Kong, and Korea. Together, we have had seminar experience with Dan Inosanto, Fumio Toyoda, James Nakmura, Ellis Amdur, George Ledyard, Rene Ledemeyer, Art Gitlan, and many more I can't remember. Through Grandmaster Garrison, I have met and made friends with many accomplished martial artists through the years: Tom Wilson, Steve Fedux, Jason Mix-- there are just too many to remember. And those who have advanced to the rank of black belt under grandmaster Garrison Garrison have all been stellar individuals with high integrity, because so much was required of them.

       The picture is clear. Pacific Rim has always been a Mecca for those who wanted serious training. And of all the martial arts personalities I have met, I still believe Grandmaster Garrison to be the best teacher I have ever studied under in my fifty years in the martial arts. He brought not only his long history of serious martial art practice, but a life-long study of its history and philosophy. He has the most complete martial arts library in the Northwest, and possibly in the United States. He has the complete written records of the entire history of Hapkido, and the only filmed copy of the entire 48 katas of Shosuishuriu Jujitsu. Many of the Sosuishitsu (renamed) practitioners don't even know there are 48 katas, and only practice the 42 they know of.

       These forty years have been an extraordianry experience, an inimitable and stellar

personal history of my own. I feel rich with it.

But the history will continue. The new Soke, or headmaster, is Master Michael Martyn, sixth degree Judoka, and North American representative for the World Martial Arts Federation. A high work ethic and a fierce competitor, Master Martyn has practiced Judo for 25 years. This is a man who, at an international seminar, walked up to the Japanese students, and introduced himself the same as we do at Pacific Rim. He bowed and said oni-gashimatsu (Thank you for what I am about to learn) to the biggest Japanese Judoka, a man who towered over him. A man who threw him down hard and repeatedly before showing any mercy, slowing down his movement so that Mr. Martyn could learn. A lasting friendship developed between Mr. Martyn and Mr. Agamisu, who later became the head Judo instructor for Tokei University-- the source of most of Japan's Olympic Judo team members. Several of the Tokei University judo team members, all Olympic medalists, have come to Pacific Rim to train with us.

This was a man who endured a Judo seminar sponsored by the World Martial Arts Federation in Tokyo, And after five grueling days of training, was the only non-Japanese student to finish the seminar. Afterwards, he shrugged as he told Grandmaster Garrison, “It was just like training at Pacific Rim!”

       This is a man who has a thriving Friday night Judo class, filled with adults and kids of all ages, eager for randori. ( Judo free practice)

         Pacific Rim will be fine.

         I still don't like change.