In The Sensei's Image

A Moment in Time With A Desert Martial Artist & His Pupils...

An ocean of light poured through the window frames, coloring each wolf’s face as they sat cross-legged and bare-pawed on the dojo’s mats. Boss Kusanagi indulged a slight chuckle at the sight of his students in black and blue. He had led meditations before, but this one was different. This one was something special.

There was a slight mist in the air—a dash humidity amid a dry spell—and the incense he had chosen was almost nonexistent, the scent of fresh linens drying in the wind. The middle-aged gray hadn’t deliberately orchestrated the room in this way; he chose only the colors and sensations that felt right in the moment. No plans, no designs, just on-the-fly thinking.

“Acknowledge the thoughts as they flow through you,” Boss nodded, voice reverberant. “But let them pass.”

All closed their eyes, and began their quiet mantras. When Boss began his, the descent was instant, and the results...peculiar.

Down and down he dove, swimming through the liquid thoughts and sensations. Passing him by came visions of his son Junji, his wife Kimiko, a soft purple aura framing them like a portrait on a desk. Then came shafts of red, pulsing with the clash of combat. Every sweep of the leg, every fist thrown, sharp and precise, yet flowing through effortless motion.

More and more he descended, the colors giving way to pure white light, then shuffling back into view, colliding and coalescing before falling away again. This was all to be expected. In his sessions, there was never an end, only a slow waking back to reality, the weight of worlds off his and his pupils’ shoulders.

He felt his paws hit a cold tile floor, and before him stood all his pupils. All of their various timbres of fur, various builds from musclebound to lithe. Every wolf in his midst, down at the depths of his own meditation. The thought that came next: “How could this be?”