I remember watching the show Sanctuary about young Kioshi Oze who enters the World of Sumo. He is reckless at the beginning and he wants the results that ought to be achieved by years, sweat and blood. Now, I watched hundreds of stories about young people entering the arenas. But this one hit me differently. Kioshi enters for all the wrong reasons. But he stays for the right one. He is no spectator to this life, although his life is brutal with its unbearable truth. His family is broken. But he is fighting for the chance. Just like his opponents. The chance which you can see in the gladiator world of Spartacus. One fight can change your life. But in order to fight it you will go for miles of fightdom. Kioshi goes that way and learns from the best of his school. He is no longer a wagabond. His spirit is different. His spirit is lifting others. (The spectators.) At the end of the show there is a moment where an old wrestler is sent to his retirement in a traditional sumo way. Each selected guest cuts his hair and the final cut belongs to his master-coach. That tradition just glues me to the screen. I imagine myself sitting on that chair when each of my students, clients and readers get to cut my hair and the final one is cut by my father. Who is my master-coach in life. As he cuts the top we look at each other for the distance that was covered as two men with their internal fights. I know and he knows that we were both the people of arenas. We had no confort of being a spectator in life. We had fights. We had to win. We tasted defeat and we tasted glory. Sands, blood and noise. This is the undisputed way of grasping the reality. My way of fighting is to write. I am no longer a young Kioshi. I am not retired yet. But there is a clear understanding of my Sanctuary. My duties and my journey blend in a poetic way. And as I stare into my opponents face I yell:"One more time!"
