BE LIKE A WATE
The old dojo was a haven, a place where the scent of sweat and wood clung to the air like a second skin. Young Kenji had been sweeping the floor, his movements stiff and self-conscious, mirroring the rigidity he felt within. Master Ito, a man whose frame was slight but whose presence radiated a quiet strength, observed him from the corner.
Kenji yearned to be like Master Ito, to possess the same effortless grace and unwavering focus he displayed during their training. But Kenji felt clumsy, burdened by his own expectations and the pressure to live up to the legacy of his father, a renowned martial artist. He was trying too hard, forcing himself into pre-conceived notions of what a martial artist should be.
Master Ito approached him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He didn't reprimand Kenji's awkward sweeping. Instead, he picked up a nearby bamboo stalk, its green skin gleaming in the filtered light. He held it out to Kenji.
"What do you see, Kenji?" he asked.
Kenji frowned. "A bamboo stalk, Master."
"And what does it do, in the wind?"
Kenji hesitated. "It… it bends?"
"Exactly. It doesn't resist. It doesn't try to stand rigid against the gale. It yields, it adapts, and by yielding, it survives. This," Master Ito tapped the stalk, "is like the essence of Jeet Kune Do, the art Bruce Lee envisioned. Be like water, Kenji."
Kenji didn't understand. He'd heard snippets of Lee's philosophy, but it seemed contradictory to the discipline he’d been taught. He was supposed to be strong, unyielding, a rock against adversity. How could he be like water, formless and adaptable?
Master Ito saw the confusion in his eyes. "Come," he said, leading Kenji outside to the dojo's small garden. He pointed to a small, carefully sculpted pond. "See the water, Kenji. It fills the pond, conforming to its shape. But if I were to pour it into a teacup, would it resist? Would it try to retain the shape of the pond? No. It would become the teacup."
He then picked up a handful of smooth, grey stones and tossed them into the pond. "See how the water absorbs the impact? It doesn't shatter or break. It yields, then returns to stillness."
Over the next few weeks, Master Ito subtly shifted Kenji's training. Instead of rote memorization of forms, he encouraged improvisation. He pushed Kenji to find his own expression within the techniques, to adapt them to his own body and his own strengths. He reminded him to discard what was useless, absorb what was useful, and add what was specifically his own.
Kenji struggled at first. He felt lost without the rigid structure he was accustomed to. He fumbled, he made mistakes, he felt the familiar sting of frustration. But Master Ito was patient, always guiding him back to the central principle: be like water.
One day, during a sparring session, Kenji faced a more experienced student, Takeshi. Takeshi was strong and aggressive, his attacks relentless. Kenji, instead of trying to meet force with force as he usually did, remembered the bamboo stalk and the water. He yielded, he sidestepped, he used Takeshi's own momentum against him. He adapted his movements, flowing around Takeshi's attacks like water around a rock.
He found himself reacting instinctively, drawing on techniques he hadn't consciously considered. He was no longer thinking about the forms, he was simply reacting, flowing, becoming one with the movement.
He didn’t win the sparring session outright, but he held his own, surprising both himself and Takeshi. Afterwards, Takeshi clapped him on the shoulder. "You've changed, Kenji," he said, a hint of respect in his voice. "You're… more fluid. More unpredictable."
That night, as Kenji swept the floor, his movements were different. They were still deliberate, but now there was a newfound grace, a confidence born not of rigid adherence to form, but of a deep understanding of adaptability. He wasn't trying to be Bruce Lee, or his father, or even Master Ito. He was simply being Kenji, learning to be like water, adapting to the world around him, finding his own strength in flexibility, and embracing the continuous flow of change. He finally understood that the true strength wasn't in resisting, but in yielding, in adapting, and in finding his own unique expression within the ever-changing current of life. He was becoming his own dojo, his own master, his own flowing river.
