Belt

I am looking at the debris that has washed ashore after 78 years of living; yet not so much washed ashore as has clung to me all this time, refusing to be jettisoned. 

Here is my black belt, the designation itself awarded me by Shimabuku Tatsuo Sensei, founder of Isshinryu Karate. “Bree-deh! Black belt no stay?” He said, interrupting my workout in his Agena, Okinawa dojo. “No, Sensei.”  I always wore my original white belt when working out though he had already awarded me green, then brown. Not long after that I received my silk certificates bearing his chop awarding me 5th degree black belt status. 

Here it is, frayed and worn from repeated ties, the Japanese manufacturer’s trademark, Darumu, still affixed to one end. Darumu, the one who always comes back up immediately when being downed, so that down and up are one motion. “Seven times down, eight times up!” -- the ancient practice and principle. 

The belt reminds me that has always been my practice. Down is always an invitation to Up, the one flowing into the other. “Yes!” has always been my practice and will be forever. Thank you, black belt that has stayed with me all these years.