Spiritual Growth after Getting the Tar Beat out of Me

[This story happened to me in March 2019, and I wrote this story then.]

I sometimes struggle feeling like I don't have a purpose or goal, something to work hard at that matters and that pushes me so hard that I fail often even though I give it my best.  There's nothing pushing me that I can push back against, that demands my very best and demands I work through my fears and inhibitions. Without the external pressure, I sometimes find it hard to give things my all.

But not this morning.

This morning, I entered a boxing+kickboxing ring to spar with a much more trained fighter. I expected light sparring, in part because it was just my 3rd or 4th class, but he attacked without letting up. I received continuous hard punches and kicks to my face, head, torso, and legs, front and sides, and the only thing stopping him was my maintaining my composure and blocking, countering, attacking under great duress, which I mostly did pretty poorly. I sensed in intimate detail when I emotionally withdrew, when my posture was poor, when I exposed myself unnecessarily, when I my effort or focus were weak, and so on - 'cause he punched and kicked the shit out of me every time I failed to stay fully present in every way, not just emotionally, but with every part of my body!

I felt my brain rattle in my head several times. I tried to counterattack, but often he simultaneously parried and landed very hard punches and a few kicks to my face in return, discouraging my attacks. He often got past my efforts at defense too, leading me to sense deep down I didn't know how to stop this violence towards me. I could end the fight anytime, and I did briefly pause it twice when I thought I might black out, but I never considered giving up. Without thinking about it, I approached it like a street fight where I couldn't run away. Hence my sense of feeling trapped and unable to stop this onslaught.

That punishment is a kind of feedback I've missed in my life: someone demanding the best of me in each moment and punishing me in a way that absolutely demands presence and engagement when I fail. It sounds like a loving masculine practice, actually - one man demanding the best from another, and making failures blindingly obvious and unacceptable in each moment but without injury or belittlement, and with encouragement afterwards.

The fight made clear my need to cultivate my killer instinct. I refused to lose, but I lacked an aggressive desire to push through the onslaught, instead mostly hanging on and responding feebly the last 1/2 the time in a defensive posture. I've noticed this weak killer instinct in my grappling, though it hasn't shown up as obviously there for some reason - perhaps because I'm more skilled at grappling, and being totally defeated generally doesn't involve any pain, just the threat of pain. In addition, I realized I consistently pulled my punches, deep down not wanting to actually hit my opponent, and in pulling my punches I would bend my wrist and risk hurting myself if I actually did make contact, further inhibiting my punching. This showed again that while I feel comfortable defending myself, I lack the killer instinct to take the fight to the other person - to actually win.

After I left the ring, I shook and cried in the bathroom. I didn't notice much fear at first, but I recognized that I felt some. I felt into the fear, and in a few moments realized I felt consumed with fear - I was scared as shit in that ring and blocked out awareness of it. Now I embraced the fear instead, and practiced channeling it into strength, practiced punching through my fear to the mirror. I used all the techniques I've learned for dealing with fear: I kept belly-breathing deeply, especially through the nose. I kept feeling the fear and shaking or crying, rather than disassociating. Looking at a mirror helped, and made it clear how scared I'd become. I looked like a big little boy, shoulders up and forward, back hunched, looking small, face scrunched in pain and fear, tears coming down.

After a little while, I sought to transform the fear-energy and trembling into strength, not through blocking awareness but by recognizing that I could persevere through fear, and thus transform it into strength. I oscillated between pure-fear and fear-strength for awhile, finally arriving at a strength I hadn't felt in a very long time. This too I saw reflected in the mirror. My face was still scrunched and lines of tears still shown, but I stood tall, shoulders square, head up with an expression of defiance.

I wanted to be able to return to fighting even while feeling fear, and likewise in regular life to not let fear stop me from doing what I need to do. Finally I felt like I'd processed the fear, even though I hadn't used any words or relied on anyone else. I saw the scale in the corner of the bathroom, and as I went to step on it, I felt like a fucking man was standing on that scale finally. Words can't describe how powerful that felt. My shoulders totally relaxed suddenly, and upper back too. The tension mostly returned slowly over the next 2 hours, but the feeling didn't totally go away. I look forward to the next sparring match, and I feel excited to learn the emotional and technical techniques to fight better. These will carry over into the rest of my life in infinite ways.

As I drove away, I sensed that same defensive posture I described above in much of my life right now - little ferocity, but sufficient energy to protect what I have and live comfortably. The fight clearly showed me my attitudes which I carry every day. I want to cultivate my ferocity, that capacity to maintain perfect presence and do what needs doing no matter the fear I feel, embracing any fear rather than shying away. There's much about the world I wish to change for the better, and it's time to stop hiding from the fears that stop me giving my deepest gifts.

Lastly: I feel satisfied with how I processed the fear. In the hours and days since that morning, I haven't felt any residual tension or fear when remembering the fight or its aftermath. I remember feeling fear, but it's not stuck in my body anymore. I learned what I needed to learn from it. I've never been able to consciously feel and transform my energy in this way, and I feel glad I've learned to do so.