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Was it worth it? It was sometime around one year ago, May, or June, 2008, I think. We were closing up an iaido class and shutting down the dojo for the day. As it was fine weather that night, the front door was open to allow in some fresh air. The few students that night were bowing off of the mat and preparing to leave. A friend and I had been chatting for a few minutes after class and he was now heading to the locker room. He had placed his iaito (sword) onto a bench behind the practice area about 20 feet in from the doorway. I headed into the office to close up there. I returned to the practice area about 10 minutes later to find my friend searching around the dojo trying to find his iaito. Everyone had joined in the search. A parent picking up her daughter came in to see what the commotion was about and told us that she thought she saw someone running through the parking lot toward the back of the building just a few minutes prior. In the few minutes while we were away from the practice area, someone had entered the dojo, violated the serenity of our practice area, and stole away into the night taking a sword with him. I felt terrible. An unwanted intruder had entered into the heart of the safe community that I was working so hard to create. My friend was embarrassed for his foolish handling of his possession. I was angry at the intrusion and I was angry at my anger. You see, there was a homeless man named Johnny living with a few folks in the woods somewhere close behind our building. Johnny and I had talked about a dozen times over the last few months. I had tried to help him out by a few minor kind gestures. I felt sad for the life that he was leading and the horrible conditions he was choosing to remain in. I had been sad for him but now I felt angry at him. I impulsively felt that he had betrayed me. He might not have done anything wrong. After all, it might have been anybody. I was feeling terrible about my suspicion that someone I had treated well in the past had taken advantage of my good nature and mistreated my community. I felt badly that the environment that I was responsible for was not as safe and protected as it should have been. I felt responsible in some way. I felt the need to take some action. Sleep did not come easily that night. I could not get this violation out of my mind. I struggled over the situation trying to determine what action to take. Did I need to protect my students by responding directly? This violation was an affront to the community that I was creating. My students should not have to be on guard within the dojo. The dojo is supposed to be a safe haven where they can leave behind the stresses of their outside world. What results did I want and what was I willing to do to get those results? Now, this sword that I was trying to retrieve was simply a piece of metal wrapped by a wood and cloth handle and a wooden black painted scabbard. What was its true value? But it was symbolic. Normally a sword is considered to represent the soul and the character. The theft of this sword was also symbolic too. Could a martial arts studio be viable or worthwhile if anyone could just waltz in and out without concern? By morning I had determined some loose plan of ideas. I will offer a reward for the return of the stolen property. I will post a message on the front door and then I will go talk with Johnny to spread the word around his circle of friends. Perhaps he knew who took it and could get it back for a price. I idled my car behind the building at the edge of the parking lot for a couple minutes and turned off the engine. Stepping out of the car I inhaled fully getting hot summer-like air deep into my lungs, and picked up a boken, a wooden sword. I stared down a steep slope of sand and rocks. Thirty feet below was an abandoned railroad bed. Following it south for a mile would lead to the center of the town. I suspected that following it one way or the other for about 100 yards would lead me to the 'foreign' home camp of a small homeless community. I stepped down the slope and watched pebbles tumble down my future path. I moved quietly and slowly. I was uncertain if this was necessary. I was certain that my direction was not a wise one to take but my momentum was growing. Reaching the base of the slope I looked down the tracks both ways and headed north away from the sun. Deer tracks crossed the path in a couple of places but there were no other signs of life for quite a distance. I turned around after a few minutes and returned to the slope leading up to my car. Should I just step back into my normal world now? No, not yet. I continued down the tracks slowly moving south now. The area was very peaceful. Birds were singing all around and there was no traffic noise penetrating into the naturally beautiful setting. I moved 50 feet down the track and heard faint 70's rock playing from some radio. This must be the where the camp is located. Three small mounds rose gently on the right and formed a natural barrier occluding from view anyone or anything from the opposite side. No one walking the railroad tracks could see into this side of the world. I walked onto the top of the first mound, stood still, and looked around. Behind was a clean large grove of fifty trees with green fluttering leaves above and clean grassy patches with smoothly worn soil footpaths below. There were six unnaturally colored heaps dotting the camp. Three of those were dome tents each big enough to stand in. The tents were at the end of the grove farthest away from where I stood. The other heaps were piles of clothing mixed with trash. One of the heaps had two bicycles flopped down onto it. Here and there were chairs, a table, and a couch. This was it, Homeless Johnny's home. Much like me, someone here was trying hard to create a community of his own. A ring of rocks, discolored by smoke and charred wood, had a smoldering forgotten wood fire within it. Past conversations replayed in my head. Johnny had described some events that he experienced right here at this camp. There was the table where Johnny told me that his wife cracked open his skull with a portable radio in the middle of a game of chess. This was the location where he and his psychotic spouse were actually raising a toddler for a while. This was the location where Johnny and his companions too often drank themselves into their all-to-familiar stupor while sitting around a campfire disregarding any risks to their already assaulted livers. I stood motionless for a short time and then decided that I should pass along the edge of the camp in a feeble effort to reconnoiter the area. It would not take long to walk the edge of the camp at the base of the three mounds and then exit back out along the tracks. I was getting tense. What did I really expect to do here? I set off to walk the inside edge of the camp along the three mounds. Could I walk quietly enough to go unnoticed? Was anyone inside the camp? Was I intruding much the same way that I thought someone here might have into my dojo? The tension built in the muscles across my lower back. Step by step I made my way along the full length of the camp. Nothing new showed up. No one was visible. The distant music seemed to be floating out of the biggest tent, the sun faded, drab orange one. Some old southern rock tune played on and on. I turned my back on the camp and returned to the railroad tracks. The tracks had no cover from the sun. Standing there was much hotter than under the green canopy protection of the campsite. I intended to re-enter the campsite but I hesitated and as I did the temperature rose. Why did I feel the need to retrieve this lifeless object? What risk was I willing to take to do it? I stepped back into the camp area and looked at the tents. Slowly I walked a few paces toward the tents on a well worn pathway used often by others but never by me. I approached within 25 feet of the tents and stood still again. Five breaths later I knocked my boken loudly on the closest tree as though I was rapping a brass knocker on someone's solid white entry door. In milliseconds, Johnny's scatter hair covered head popped out from behind the big orange dome. What did I need to do? The actions last night seemed like some type of attack that just this morning I was responding to. My entry into the campsite was my attempt to blend with the attack. It was time for me to lead. "It's cool." I said. "I wanted to come and talk with you about something." "Talk with me, about what?" he said. He did not look too surprised to see me. "Last night someone stole a sword from my dojo that I want to get back. I thought that you might have heard something about it." He moved over a few steps to the seats in the campfire area. "I heard a couple guys talking about it. Yeah, I think I can help get it back." Waving toward a mud splattered black fake leather couch, he gestured displaying a the hospitality of a fine southern gentleman; "Come on over and have a seat. I was sort of expecting to see you today. " I leaned against a tree a few paces away instead. "Well, I am prepared to offer a reward for its return; fifty dollars cash. Do you think you might know who took it?" Excitement beamed from Johnny's face. "Yes, I know who took it." he said. "Fifty bucks! Are you serious about that?" "Hey Johnny, this is important to me. I came hear today because I thought that you might know something about what happened. I am going to offer this reward until 5:00 pm tonight but after that I am going to contact the police and put the problem into their hands. Do you think that you can help to get the sword back?" Johnny moved nervously swaying slightly from side to side. "I think I can get it back for you. He was looking off in the distance; his mind seemingly having drifted far away." He grew a wide grin but eerily continued staring at some far unknown point in space. I took a strong committed step: "Did you take the sword Johnny? " He moved suddenly toward the sofa and lifted one side and slid out my friend's missing possession. He held the sword awkwardly across his chest with his grimy fingers. His face sprouted a devilish grin. "I knew that I should not take it, but it was just lying there and the door was open, and no one was around. It was all shiny. It was kind of calling me." He drew the sword from its scabbard and held it pointing upward strangely over his left shoulder. "I am sorry but I had to take it." I stayed over by the tree but changed my stance. We were just a few feet away from each other. We were within striking distance, just barely I think. His posture looked threatening although extremely strange. His bizarre facial expression set a mood that conflicted with the reality of the dangerously threatening posture. Did he know what he was doing? I had my wooden boken in my right hand with the tip down low by my ankle as though it was a cane helping keep me balanced. Though it was down low, the weapon was ready to spring up and smash against Johnny's hands or block his downward strike if needed. Did I really want to be in this position? I held still and waited. Did I intend to redirect the power of an attack that had occurred the night before or was I intent on hitting force directly with opposing force? Johnny looked pitifully possessed. A shiny sliver of this simple strip of insignificant metal had taken control of his reasoning. He stood frozen for a few seconds seeming mesmerized by the power he felt this possession offered him. His face thawed first, the lips sagged down slightly downward in both corners. He was slowly pulling out of some hypnotic trance. He turned his face toward me but said nothing. He had not moved the sword away from its high position but any ill intent seemed to be falling away rapidly. His shoulder slumped. He slowly lowered the blade and returned it awkwardly into the scabbard. "Fifty bucks!" he spouted as he quickly pulled the sword behind him as though protecting it from being snatched away. "I gave you my word that I would give you a reward and I will, but you crossed a line with this. You know I have always treated you well by helping you when I can. Stealing from my dojo was an insult. You are never to come into my dojo ever again. Do you understand? Never again!" The negotiation and conversation ended there with his agreement. All that was left was the payoff and the exchange. "We need to walk up to my car to get the money." We walked over the first of the three hills protecting his camp and stepped onto the sun-soaked railroad tracks. Walking side be side, we made our way to the bottom of the slope that lead back up to the parking lot, the edge of my world. I was still fearful that things would not work out. Johnny still held sword and he certainly was not someone who had earned any trust from me. So who should walk up the hill in the lead? I motioned for him to go on first and he did. About 10 feet from the summit he turned around and looked down at me walking a few feet behind him. I did not know what to expect. He reached out and almost shyly passed the sword over to me. His face showed remorse; at least I think it did. I climbed up the remaining few feet to my car to get Johnny his money. The payoff was made and Johnny oddly thanked me profusely. I put the sword onto the back seat and closed the car door. Johnny meekly asked me if I could drive him a mile or so up the road to get breakfast. I could not help but feel sad compassion toward him and toward the circumstances that he lived in. I agreed to bring him. He babbled on about how this money was going to be really helpful to him. My thoughts went to how I was going to call my friend and tell him about retrieving his sword. I had succeeded. I had done what I set out to do. I felt proud. The ride over to IHOP's breakfast place brought Johnny right alongside the liquor store. Was that his true destination? Did I understand him any better now than I did the day before? My pride evaporated with my next thought: Had I just given an alcoholic an easy way to drink himself into oblivion? Would he be able to control himself or would that money damage him terribly. Johnny opened the car door to step out to the place that would most satisfy his hunger. Suddenly I felt sadder for him than ever. "Johnny, would you like me to drop off some food now and then for you. I could put some containers over by the guardrail at the edge of the parking lot. It wont be anything special but it will be hearty. Check there tonight or tomorrow morning when you pass by." He closed the door, waved, and turned away. I left him in the lot and drove off. I did not want to look back to see if he had chosen to eat or drink his breakfast. I picked up my cell phone and called my friend to tell him that I had retrieved his sword and that I would explain how later. My voice was flat. At sunset that day I brought some cooked rice and some soup to the drop off point. I stood and hoped. Many times over the last months my mind wandered to that exchange often. The event presented me with a the rich tapestry of a puzzling emotions and unanswerable questions. Was Johnny's part rehearsed? Had he expected to come visit me later that day if I had not sought him out first and offer to get the property back for a simple finder's fee? Had I been the willing victim of extortion? Had I been masterfully manipulated and lead by Johnny to the victorious end of his plan? Would he be back sometime soon and try something similar? What would be the result next time? When I looked at Johnny I felt like I was looking at some image of myself reflected by the contorting surface of some rippling puddle. Ironically my name is John too. I had briefly explored a wildly foreign world and returned home safely. Two days later I returned to the drop off point and found that the food was still there. Nothing had been touched. I picked it up and placed the food in my car behind the driver seat to dispose of later. The soup container fell over and leaked onto the car mat. It took some time before the foul smell was fully gone.
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