From a Distance

I watched another Promotion Results class this morning.  During the past two-and-a-half years I've seen new students try their first Tae Kwon Do class, heard their voices, watched them come closer to the front of the class as they earn higher belts.  It's amazing to see the growth in the punctuated spurts of my internet hangout sessions.

And there is a part of me, a large part of me, that watches and wishes I could be there.  It seems like a shadow puppet play.  I cannot touch them, or talk to them, or interact with the people on the screen.  I cannot learn the things they are learning, cannot hear or see everything said, cannot teach or be taught, except in a limited capacity.  I'm not there, I'm not taking up a place in the class, my efforts are not inspiring anyone, they can't hear my kihop.

And why does that matter?  Except that it does.  Love seems to thrive in a community, to grow when it is received.  It's so much easier to give it that way.  Love that goes out and hears no echo, how does it know that it spoke?

What inspires us to keep endeavoring?  Sometimes I think of the Tae Kwon Do masters in my club.  Sometimes I think highly of my ability to uphold myself to certain ethics and ways of life, to pursue certain ideals; and then I see them and am humbled.  What inspires them?  To whom do they look?  How do they know that they are heard, if there is no one around them so able?

When I think in this way, faith seems very important.  Not necessarily faith in a god or a religion, just faith.  Belief, perhaps in love; belief in its existence within oneself, and its existence in the world.  Is there a foundation for such a belief?  Upon what does the sun rest itself?