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When training Aikido after I made Sandan, 3rd-degree black belt, I was 37 or 38 years old, not yet 40. I was still relatively young, reaching my athletic sweet spot in martial arts. I had gotten so much technical expertise and awareness in Aikido from Sensei, Bobby, and Kyle. I crossed-trained with weights, and aerobics classes. I even trained for 3 years with my friend Charles, learning kickboxing. I was solid in Aikido. I was the solid martial artist. I could hold my own with anyone. I was the proud student of Sensei Dan.
At that time, I almost had a sense of immortality, that I could accomplish almost anything. However, mortality is the distinctive humbler. My knees began to bother and betray me—the result of having flat feet. Throughout all the years of relentless training, my body had compensated for those inherent structural infirmities, until the accumulated physical imbalance in my body could no longer tolerate.
At 39 years-old, I woefully considered giving up Aikido, because of the pain. That possibility terrified my very soul. Fortunately, Bobby recommended that I see Victor, his friend and chiropractor. I went to see Dr. Victor for the first time right after 9/11. In many ways, my experience revealed the darkest of times both personally and globally.
Dr. Victor said he could start by correcting my structure, altering my diet, and cleansing my body of toxins. More profoundly, he became my spiritual guide in helping me heal myself. Physical pain can be the residue of unresolved trauma and emotions from the past held in the body. For me, much of the residue was growing up as a boy in fear of my Dad.
Mortality came to me. I had spent most of my life proving that I was tough, that I was strong enough. Growing up the frightened powerless child at home, I never wanted anyone fucking with me ever again. As I’ve seen with me before, being more of anything will never be enough. With Dr. Victor’s love and patience, I began to discover peace in accepting myself for me. I authentically got from Dr. Victor that despite all my circumstance, I am a good man.
There shall arrive our Jesus moment in life, when age catches up, when mortality comes to us. Life is never about being the strongest, the smartest, or even the wealthiest. Mortality reminds us that more, better or different doesn’t really matter in the bigger picture.
We must all discover our measure of peace in life. Life has a defined beginning and defined ending. What defines us is what we do in between. Who are we going to be in that in between?
Mortality transforms as the blessing that inspires us to make a difference for others within our lifetime. Ironically, making a difference transforms as our unique access to immortality. Making a difference for one generation may possibly make a difference for the next. And so on.
Mortality taught me compassion for another’s pain and suffering. Everyone’s suffering is personal and valid. It can’t always be about ‘sucking it up’, about being stronger and weather your storm. Because sometimes, you just can’t do anymore. I’ve lived in that space, too. Motivation is bullshit. Compassion is what humanity is made of.
Cheryl reminds to be kind to others, and not forgetting to be kind to me. Everyone deserves kindness. So do I. Everyone deserves compassion. Me too. I discover wisdom in my mortality. Mortality is the possibility of peace for all people from within themselves.
Not everyone can be strong. Not everyone can be smart. Not everyone will measure up to what we want to be. That I accept who I am is compassion, and discovering that peace within me. Peace is to live for.
I’m well past the midpoint in my particular journey. So I’ll take on that Cheryl says I’m wise or at least wiser in my older age. I surrender to I have much to discover about life, and still more to discover about me.
I’m honored and so grateful for those whose lives I’ve been privileged to participate in. You foster love and faith in my greater than I know myself to be journey. That we all must reconcile our individual journeys is the greater source of peace. I love and honor you all. Peace.
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Photo credit: Pixabay