Two Hits

When is it night?
The sun is always rising, always setting;
When exactly is it day?
They flow,  must  flow, transmogrify and blend,
Or neither would be anything.
And hard and soft, and tight and loose—
Punch like a river of Yin, ki flowing to the unclenched hand,
And then

The tight hard bang of lightning Yang,
A mighty sanguinary blow:
The snap of ki, once trapped, now free
To rapidly impact your foe
Till he is apt to flee, collapse,
Or pee perhaps, in pain and woe
And pangs of fright like fangs that bite
His mangled fighting spirit so.

(me hitting you)

Then loose once more, relaxing into Yin—
Formless, void, no mind, the highest art.
But remember, remember,
Just as both leper and emperor exist outside the law,
So too both novice and master have no art,
But the master alone has achieved transcendence.
For only by truly knowing the art can you pass beyond it,
And the way of form is the only road to the way of void.

Punch through  the target, true and hard,
And to the guarded heart behind—
And then let go, to bend and flow,
Ascending slowly from your mind;
Un-know, and blend with glowing ken.
The dojo’s end is where you find
The start of new discarnate clues
To far-off truths no man can bind.

(you hitting the floor)

Jamey Toner is a down-and-out fighter on the comeback trail.

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