For Sale_ This Old House

Sensei Canna offers insight into the real world of self defense!

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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue Apr 12, 2016 4:29 pm

But by travelling to ourselves we must confront our own loneliness. And isn't it so everything we do is done out of fear of loneliness? Isn't that why we renounce all the things we will regret at the end of our lives?
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue Apr 12, 2016 4:31 pm

What could... what should be done, with all the time that lies ahead of us? Open and unshaped, feather-light in its freedom and lead-heavy in its uncertainty? Is it a wish, dreamlike and nostalgic, to stand once again at that point in life, and be able to take a completely different direction to the one which has made us who we are?
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue Apr 12, 2016 4:33 pm

[to his opponent, after making a move in a chess game he is playing against himself] That'll get you thinking...
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Tue Apr 12, 2016 7:45 pm

So
Given that we live only a small part of what there is in us - what happens with the rest?
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Mon Apr 25, 2016 6:10 am

ImageImage
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun May 01, 2016 5:02 am

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Pianto antico

L'albero a cui tendevi
La pargoletta mano,
Il verde melograno
Da' bei vermigli fior


Nel muto orto solingo
Rinverdí tutto or ora
E giugno lo ristora
Di luce e di calor.


Tu fior de la mia pianta
Percossa e inaridita,
Tu de l'inutil vita
Estremo unico fior,


Sei ne la terra fredda,
Sei ne la terra negra;
Né il sol più ti rallegra
Né ti risveglia amor.



The Ancient Lament

The tree you would reach

your infant's hand out to,

the verdant pomegranate

with pretty vermilion flowers_

_in the mute solitary orchard

it has now just turned green

for June is restoring it

with light and warmth.

_You, blossom of my own
shaken and parched tree,

you, of my vain life
ultimate and only flower,

lay in the chilly ground,

lay in the black ground;

neither can the sun gladden you

nor love awaken you again.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sat Aug 06, 2016 4:31 am

Indian summer [ elk Robe]

A window, fogged by the whispered breath of a winter's day, gives birth to a drop of water. Weeping slowly down the glass, I trace its trail with my finger, and in its wake I journey.

A picture sharpens from memory and a voice so sweet, echoes from the past.

Red and yellow, the tears of autumn, carpet the ground.

A little boy, in Sunday-white, laughs and giggles in innocent glee amidst a shower of swirling color.

A child's song plays from everywhere in the translucent background of orange clouds and weeping willows.

"Daddy…" His words fade as he hands me a maple-leaf flower burning in monarch-yellow.

His words have faded, but I can still see them pass his smiling mouth – " I love you."

His world blurs as the memories exact their toll and vanish as mist into the past.

I travel this journey often, this journey of sadness and pain.

Crimson tips mark the paths that cross the sea of thorns, a path of sorrow that I would cross in endless repetition to bask in the sun of Indian Summer.

For at journeys end is the priceless smile of a child, my child, waiting to hand me a leaf of butterfly yellow, and to tell me once more that he loves me.

They say sadness will drain life from your soul, but for me sadness is a journey to bliss.

If I listen close, I can hear his laughter in the trailing wake of a winter's tear.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Aug 14, 2016 7:52 pm

At the foot of the rainbow

You are suddenly awake.

It is a few minutes past midnight. Your room is all-dark. A single faint
Light gleams out from the hallway of the house.

There is no sound except the hooting of an old owl in the top of a water-oak, and the everlasting voice of the sea that is not uplifted at that soft, melancholy hour. It breaks like a mournful lullaby upon the night.

And your tears come fast, from a familiar part of your consciousness, filling your whole being with a vague anguish, like a shadow, a mist passing across your soul’s Summer day.

It is strange yet familiar, a riveting midnight spell.

Knock, knock__ loud thumps on your bedroom door, but you know there is no one there.

Slowly it dawns on you it is your subconscious hammering to be heard.

So you drift.. You see your face strangely reflecting to infinity in a string of mirrors. The many faces of you longing to tell the tale of sensations and events of your ordinary and not so ordinary peaks and valleys of your life.

As in a lifelike painting you see the self pawing across your human texture slowly grasping at its joys and sorrows.

In the life of each of us there are so many tales to tell, infinite yarns of personal, and some others’ experiences __ and depths of feelings of which we know all in detail, now taking structure in the mind by past voices, images, deductions, things overheard, things foreseen, things supposed.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Aug 14, 2016 7:54 pm

Midnight spell.

As your gaze shifts from the far mirror image to the nearest…oh God..

You have aged so much; your physiognomy is so different than what you remember from your younger years.

Why the aversion of looking at your self in the mirror? Are you afraid of the many faces scowling in judgment?

You look away, your eyes falling upon an old trunk by your bed__ you know why it is still there.

It is the baggage of your life weighing on your curving shoulders. Aging, this large trunk keeps on bulging at the seams more and more, and you are ever so inclined to lift the lid and rummage its contents.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Aug 14, 2016 7:57 pm

God, so many things. And you think of the dust of your years in that trunk, and your reflections upon it as wings of a gentle eternal wind in a soft caress, stirring the sediment of the past, although brief, yet sufficient to leave the mark of thousands and thousands of passages_

_ of a thousand faces, of a thousand voices, of a thousand touches and gestures, of a thousand scents, of a thousand colors, of a thousand sunsets, a thousand looks, a thousand gazes into the eyes of family and friends, of thousands of offenses given and received, of a thousand gifts__

A thousand cries and laughs, a thousand hand shakes, of a thousand of caresses, a thousand nights of insomnia, of a thousand roads traveled, of a thousand fears, high anxieties, of a thousand hopes dashed, of a thousand of lost opportunities…..

Then you realize it all again multiplied by a thousand.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Aug 14, 2016 8:08 pm

Allen>>

Van,
I read, and have read, with interest this style of your writings and photos, and am always impressed with the beauty, calmness, and longings I read in your paragraphs.

You reach out and allow others to grasp your feelings as if they, themselves were there with you.

Uechi-ryu is hard and soft. Outside these jewels of innerglow you are known not for your softness.

If one can begin to understand his sensei, then he has come a long way in learning how to understand himself.

Allen
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sun Aug 14, 2016 8:10 pm

Allen,

Your response shows a sensitive and emotional backdrop to your character. You have suffered and experienced much.

I am honored to have you as a student.
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Art Rabesa » Fri Aug 26, 2016 11:11 pm

The more fleeting the years, the stronger the memories of the past. Yet---I can't seem to remember what I did last week. Hard and soft. I've been there for both of these with Van. Both are to be admired. Here's something all must understand. You don't want any part of Van's hard half. Believe me. ----Art
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Sat Sep 03, 2016 12:48 pm

Each one of us 'locks in' different moments and sensation very unique to the self.

At some point in our lives _the time always comes when we begin to look at our past and ask the self what our existence has really been like.

What or who has remained in our minds, even the things and people we, try as we will, are not able to eradicate from consciousness, because a word, a phrase, a sensation, a strange springtime 'air' _ or some intense smell _carries us to reminiscence.

If we all stopped to reflect and remember of times past, we would certainly notice that life is an alternating of events and situations, at times most welcome, at times unsolicited _frustrating, maddening_ and at other times instead causing much suffering.

And in the circumstances particularly saddening and tragic, where we have the habit of saying that what occurred was an ugly experience….
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Re: For Sale_ This Old House

Postby Van Canna » Mon Sep 05, 2016 8:05 pm

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