Systema International Training Camp 2005 - Excerpts from Rachel Klingberg's journals

>> Summer Camp 2005 Journals

Since returning from camp, I find myself more conscious of what I am doing now, and whether I want to be doing it. I've noticed this with small actions like eating or watching television, or something more dynamic actions like talking to a stranger or practicing rolls in the park. Usually when I practice rolls, I am unsure when to stop. I feel as if I want to stop on a fairly good roll, but sometimes take it too far and start to think, "Is this a good roll to stop on? How 'bout this one?" Today, I just knew when to stop, when the practice was sufficient, my body was relaxed, and the movement was a little more fluid. I've learned something about decisive action, not wavering from the course I know is true and right, finding the inner voice, living and not just letting life happen to me. Of course, I learned a lot more at camp, and I could never communicate just how the experienced changed me, but I will post about that in a separate thread.

Part of my motivation for writing is simply a trick to retain things I've learned, taking notes, just like in college (although for the most part, I write after the training, but for camp, I had my journal with me all the time, even at meals). Another part of writing is something I do purely for selfish reasons. No-one reads the vast majority of my writing; the process is more important than the product. I just like to write the way some people like to whittle. That is the largest part of my motivation for my writing, that I simply enjoy doing it. But it's not the not the most important reason. It's my gift to you, a way of saying Thank You to teachers and fellow students, and a tool and resource for those who yearn for the knowledge. The training groups tell me my descriptions of the exercises are helpful to their practice. That alone is more than sufficient reason to write.

I wanted share those few crystalline moments that are easiest for me to recall with great clarity, because I was truly living in the now. For me, it's mostly learning to control time. The other dimensions are not so tricky. I find mastery of time elusive, like chasing a soap bubble. There is plenty in my journals about my struggles at camp, but for now, I hope you will enjoy these relaxing moments when I experienced that flow feeling of somehow controlling time, slowing it down, stretching it out, making it work for me, rather than being swept along by it like a twig in a stream. Occasionally, though rarely, I experienced an effortless mastery of a situation which, in my humble opinion, doesn't come solely from practice, but also from state of mind. Konstantin told us mastery of a situation is 95% psychological, and now more than ever, I believe Systema is a feeling or state of mind rather than a series of physical actions.

I don't want to make it sound as if I did all the exercises with ease, and I want to add that I think it's good to struggle, too. If all the exercises are fluent and effortless, then it's better to add limitations to keep yourself constantly learning and adapting. Struggle for improvement, in practice and in life, strengthens the spirit. For me, personally, hardship is not without purpose, it is not senseless, random, or pointless. It is during the hardest moments of life that we see the selfless and noble attributes of humanity shining like a beacon in the darkness. Tennyson said it best: "To seek, to strive, and not to yield."

Crystalline Moments: Excerpts from Rachel's Camp Journals
Table of Contents (click to jump to each section)
Introduction: A Fox in the Woods
Fields: A Glimpse of Youth
The Woods are Full of Surprises
The City: There's No Place Like Home
Water and Freedom from Fear
Conclusion: Brief and Shining Moments

INTRODUCTION: A FOX IN THE WOODS

On the first night, and frequently thereafter, Konstantin talked of letting go of your expectations and accepting the true circumstances that you see and feel, not the preconceived notions your mind manufactures. This applies not only to the exterior world, but also in the way we view ourselves. That is why I want to share these before and after photos with you. The one on the left was taken in June of 2004, at Vlad's seminar at Fighthouse. You can see me hiding, standing next to my mother, looking a bit uncertain. Now look at the one on the right, standing next to these two great teachers who have literally changed the course of my life. I look so much more happy, relaxed, and confident. And I actually like this photo of myself, perhaps more than any other photo that has ever been taken of me, because I think my true nature is revealed by it. Poznai sebia, just as it is described. I thought I knew myself pretty well, but in some ways, I am only just beginning to know myself, my capabilities, and the strength of my spirit. I wish I could tell you more, but there are some things that cannot be captured in words, and perhaps it is more fitting that they should not be.

If you were at camp, I think you will learn a lot by looking at photos of yourself as a youth, one year ago, and during or just after camp. The photo with my two teachers reminds me of the photos of myself when I was younger, about 12-14 years old. I was a feisty kid, and it's just as well that this fieriness has lessened with age. It would have burned me out. In some ways, I was too confrontational, and in some of those photos of myself, my eyes look almost angry. It wasn't because I was unhappy, just a little hot-tempered and stubborn. I think if you look closely at the young photo, you can see that I have a strong look in my eyes, but there's also a tinge of defiance. In the photo with my teachers, the defiant look has gone, replaced, I think, by sensitivity. And yet there is a certain similarity between these two images of myself, almost like I've come full circle, and perhaps a little bit more, too.

[Rachel at three stages in life]

One of my great influences in life have been horses, and I look confident in those photos of myself with horses. Everyone is at home in the circumstances with which they are most familiar. I've never had confidence in abundance, but I have always been comfortable around horses, and from the ages of 10-18, I acquired a fairly extensive and almost expert knowledge of these creatures. I can't say that about anything else, although I have a good knowledge of computer programming and the English language, but I am not an expert. I think that's why the confidence is more apparent in the photos of myself as a youth than as a young adult. But of course Systema can make us young again.

I want to describe a particular moment that is perhaps the most important one in my life so far, a crystalline moment, something I think about regularly, and which affected my life deeply. Perhaps I will never experience this again, but just having felt this way once is more than sufficient.

A Fox in the Woods
I was about 14 years old, riding through the woods of Long Island on a large black Quarter Horse. He enjoyed trying to throw me off, bucking and twisting his spine, shying and bolting at ordinary objects, always trying to take me by surprise, like on our way home from a long ride, when I thought he was too tired for high jinks, that's when he'd bolt, sometimes into oncoming traffic (we had to ride on the road to get to the woods.) That's why he was my favorite. I love even-tempered animals, Labradors, fat gentle ponies, and sleepy housecats. But I have a particular affection for the more ornery of domestic creatures, especially horses that buck. They have a little bit of wildness, a little "game," and it's this drive, "the look of eagles," that makes them the most exciting.

I was riding in the woods where the local fox hunt would congregate. Fox-hunting is a popular sport among Long Island's wealthy, and one of which I do not approve. Foxes are no threat to livestock on Long Island; no one keeps chickens in the affluent neighborhoods where fox-hunts are held. Even if they did, shooting a fox for stealing chickens is one thing, but hunting it down into exhaustion and letting the hounds tear it apart, not to mention the disgusting practice of smearing the bloody, feces-ridden tail all over a child's face during his first hunt, is just far too cruel and barbaric for my tastes. I see nothing sporting about fox-hunts.

Because of the hunts, Long Island foxes are especially wary of people and horses. So when I spotted a red fox while riding through the woods, I thought it was a rare bit of luck. I had never seen one before, and never since. The fox froze, and I halted the horse. I figured I would have only a second or two to observe the beautiful creature before he bolted away. I willed the horse to be still, absolutely still, not to flick his tail or stamp a hoof or chew the bit. This is accomplished by using body weight. Horses are very sensitive. If you watch a fly land on a horse's back, the horse will immediately twitch. It's almost like you only need to think of halting the horse before he senses that it what you want him to do. Their entire defense against predators is dependent on perception, and that's why they bolt easily. But I willed the horse to stand still, and he did. The fox was also still. Of course, to keep them both still, I had to remain completely still myself, with my mind quiet and unruffled. I have never been so still, and I don't think I even know how to do it anymore.

I felt in complete mastery of the situation. The horse was utterly under my control, and that was a major accomplishment because he was not a meek creature, but one who always pushed the boundaries…took advantage of my slightest moment of inattention to seize control. The fox was also under my control, so long as I and the horse remained still, he would not move either, because movement would attract our attention. And most importantly, I had control over myself, which was far from easy. I was just entering the difficult teen years. The only way to explain it is that I felt complete mastery of the situation, my control over myself, the spirited horse, and the wild fox. After many minutes, it was I, not the fox, who decided that I had looked my fill and it was time to get going.

I've never felt like that before or since. But I got small glimpses of this kind of stillness during my time at camp. And I want to share some of those moments with you.

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FIELDS: A GLIMPSE OF YOUTH

This was our second day at camp so I was not as skilled as the later days. But I did feel very comfortable in the field, especially at night. It's very beautiful and tranquil, and it reminds me of my teenage years, when my friends and I spent many night standing in Woodhull field on Long Island. It is only just now as I write this that I realize Woodhull field is special to me. It was surrounded by forest and the trees were lined with mossy banks that were soft for sitting. We played many games of Ring O' Levio there and spent many nights in one particular corner of the field. An especially beautiful aspect of Woodhull was the swirls of fog and dew that drifted lowly through the field in the early morning hours. My friend insisted they were ghosts, will o' wisps, but it was just the wind and the fog.

There were other fields, and the memory of these natural places has remained so crisp, even as my other memories of youth faded. I spent years in these places, and it's like I can remember them down to the last rock and stone, just as I remember the house I grew up in, and the things that were in the hallway closet, even though I haven't lived there in twenty years.

These memories of youth affected the way I viewed the field at night. Experiences shape our approach in so many ways. Donne said "No man is an island," but sometimes I feel as each of us is his own universe.

On Monday day, we did a drill where half of us camouflaged ourselves in the woods; I think we were given one or two minutes to hide. As I lay with my face pressed into the leaves, I thought to myself, "This is so awesome! Exactly what I wanted to do on my vacation!" I didn't feel as if I was good at hiding, but I've always loved playing in the woods.

At night, towards dusk, Konstantin explained that this is time when significant things happen. He mentioned this during the day, as well, when we were working on the border of the field where it meets the woods. He said that interesting things happen on the borders, between dusk and dark, or between grass and woods, and quoted "Genius is one step away from insanity." Before the light faded, we were given a good 15 minutes to study and mirror our partner's movement as they stood in one place, doing mime-like movements, then they walked around slowly while we trailed, stepping exactly as they did, and then walking a bit faster, changing direction, dropping and rolling, etc. This is actually a tracking skill, as I learned when my partner stepped into the woods, then into the field again. I had followed, but by the time he stepped into the field, I was still crunching loudly in the woods. Tracking is more than just mirroring, when my partner changed terrain, I had to speed up or slow down to hide the sound of my movement.

I only just realized that my time in Woodhull field is a big part of why I felt relaxed and happy in that environment. I guess the only way I can put it is that there is just something magic about a field at night.

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THE CITY: THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Systema is great for city life and for crowd work, and city dwellers usually feel comfortable doing these exercises. We tried an exercise in four rooms above the mess hall: the rec room, and some staff quarters. We were given a few minutes to walk around these rooms, observing all the windows, entrances, floors, and walls, and then pick a spot in the rec room, close our eyes, and find our way to the back room where there was a second entrance, and then back again to the spot where we started. I surprised myself by doing this with ease. Then we did the same exercise leading our partners, both of us with eyes closed, except this time we had to go back to the first entrance and open the door. Again I could not believe it, but I was the first one to open the door.

We also did some crowd exercises where three groups formed three concentric rings in tight circle with Sergei in the middle. The goal was for everyone to touch Sergei, come out of the circle, and repeat twice more, touching him a total of 3 times, with 30 seconds to complete the task. Although Konstantin told us 30 seconds was plenty of time, there was a mad scramble because of the time limit. I am not sure why, perhaps from cooking, or Systema class, but I have a good sense of how long 30 seconds is, and it's longer than most people think. I knew I didn't have to rush and that helped me not to get flustered. Unlike the above exercise in the staff quarters, in which I surprised myself, I just knew I could do this one with the concentric groups—there was no room for doubt, just absolute confidence.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I seemed to be the most fluent at the urban exercises, because I have been living in NYC for the last 15 years. But I had this fantasy of myself as some kind of Sylvan wood-nymph/Sacagawea/Artemis type gliding silently and effortlessly through the woods like a dryad or one of those deadly ladies from House of Flying Daggers. I always wanted to be a Boy Scout, read the manual many times, as well as other woodland survival books, and was fascinated with identifying edible wild foods (which my mother grudgingly cooked for me alongside the family vegetables). But I guess the reasons I prefer to live in the city are the same ones that made me most fluent at the urban exercises. I think my psyche feels most comfortable in that environment, as Konstantin might describe it. The close-quarters work seems to suit me. Hmm, I wonder if this is why some of the guys at camp called me "the female assassin"?

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THE WOODS ARE FULL OF SURPRISES

My favorite and least favorite training was in the woods. During the day in the woods, even with my eyes closed, I felt so at home. My favorite training session was fighting in the woods, which last year's participants described as the "sand pit." They described getting very dirty and sandy so I don't know if it was the same location, because I didn't get too dirty. Or maybe I just like getting dirty (certainly fighting dirty, anyway : ) ) I am used to practicing at the park and the beach. At the beach, the sand gets everywhere, down my bathing suit, and in my scalp, it collects in my bathtub, and even after I shower, my bed sheets are sandy. But it's worth it to fall on the nice soft sand : ) ) and practicing outdoors has so many benefits. The pine needles are even better, soft, clean, and sweet-smelling. I think the pine forest was the most relaxing and enjoyable place I've ever practiced.

Vlad showed us some basic guidelines for working among the trees, whipping the branches around to hit your partner, rolling into the tree, slipping between the branches to trap your partner, and collapsing and rolling away to avoid being pushed into the tree. He showed so many other things, of course, that is only a partial list. Then we put all these things together and worked freely. Scott M. was chasing me through the trees. We were supposed to use the trees and branches to attack and defend. The trees took a beating, for which I felt sort of bad as I don't like to disturb nature. But they were hardy trees and it was so much fun to spar inside a tree's branches. It looked as if there was no room within the tree to fight effectively, and yet somehow, I found space to not only defend, but also occasionally trap Scott as well. I had one of those perfect moments when I was really feeling fluid, and had even been rolling without fear because the ground was so soft. At one point, I had fallen on my back and Scott was leaning down to continue the attack, so I flung a handful of leaves and pine needles into his face and managed to scurry away. Scott laughed and the moment was pure fun, just like being a kid again.

I also enjoyed the exercise where we started on the path with eyes closed, walked quietly twenty paces into the woods, and returned to the same spot where we started. Systema has taught me to walk quietly, and as long as I was careful and maintained good form and breathing, I was relatively quiet. But the moment I started to hasten or to walk without breathing, I began to crunch. KK told us there are two ways to walk through the woods which different people will prefer at different times. One is to stay upright and slip between the branches, in Systema posture. The other was to walk in a slightly lowered position, sweeping the branches aside with the hands like feelers. He took a poll to see how many preferred each way, it was about half and half (Konstantin didn't walk around giving us individual instruction, because he couldn't, due to the nature of the exercises. His presence would have interfered with the training. But he did ask the class for feedback at the end of each exercise, which was very helpful to all of us and an excellent teaching method.)

We did another exercise where one partner walked twenty paces into the woods, clapping every three seconds, while the other stood at the path observing their walk. Then the clapping partner was to halt, lean against a tree, and clap every ten seconds. The partner at the path had to close their eyes and walk into the woods and find their clapping partner. This wasn't too challenging because you knew your partner was at around twenty paces. But having 50 other people clapping made it a little tricky. The first time I did it, I didn't observe my partner's entry, but kept an unfocused gaze. To my surprise, once he stopped, I walked straight to him through the woods with my eyes closed. When he stopped clapping, I stopped as well, listened for awhile, trying to locate him to no avail, and finally he reached out and touched me. I had stopped just a few inches away. I still cannot believe I walked right to him, as I ended up close enough to reach out and touch him, and I would have done so if he kept clapping.

The second time we did this, I made the mistake of observing the path he took and trying to duplicate it with my eyes closed. That didn't work at all. Konstantin later told me I needed to free my psyche. It is sometimes like taking a big leap of faith. It seems impossible, like some supernatural skill, to find your partner in the woods with eyes closed. Even if you think it's impossible, that's OK. Just don't try to tell yourself precisely how to do it. It's like suspending the linear concept of time—step-by-step is not always the easiest way to learn a skill, sometimes it has to be all at once.

The exercises in the woods reminded me of a drawing exercise called "eye-on-contact." It is a way to draw on the right side of the brain, rather than the creative left side as is more typical. You place a small object with some contours, such as a bottle of ink or a small statuette, on the table in front of you. Then you draw the object without looking down at your paper, keeping your eye on the object the entire time, not lifting your pen from the paper, and "feeling" its contours as you draw. I like to do this with old-fashioned pen-and-ink rather than felt-tip or ball point. Pencil does not work so well because you cannot tell if you lifted the point. With a little practice, the "eye-on-contact" drawings will be far more accurate than when you draw by looking at the object, then the paper. Your mind adds some clutter between the steps, and the end result will be your idea of a bottle of ink, rather than a true depiction of it. That personal idea of the bottle of ink is usually the goal in art, to express creativity. Photo-realistic drawings are usually less interesting than interpretative ones. But sometimes, it's good to explore different capabilities, to see the creativity even in a rigid art like calligraphy, or to see the logic in a fluid pursuit like pen-and-ink drawing.

Even though I loved the exercises in the woods with eyes closed, at night in the woods, I felt somewhat helpless. Oddly enough, if I was walking alone in the forest at night, I would have been more relaxed than with the other campers. Alone, I would have been able to choose my own pace, but trying to keep up with the group or with my partner made me feel anxious. My partner Olga was absolutely at ease in the forest at night, and moved rather quickly. I found myself clutching at her just so I didn't lose her. Her skill in the woods at night amazed me and far outstripped my own. And she didn't even seem conscious of it; it just flowed out of her. She walked in the woods at night as boldly as she did during the day, and when we hid, she was absolutely silent and still. I was careful and slow, so why was I the one who constantly got slapped with branches and made a huge racket?

I learned a great deal about myself in the woods at night. During the ambush exercises, groups of four had to hide near the path and ambush people walking the path, taking the paper that was taped to their back. That was, without a doubt, the time when I felt the most uncomfortable. I felt my joints lock up as I was hiding, but I didn't want to change position, because I didn't want to let down the others by making noise. They were dressed in full camo, and didn't seem particularly delighted to be paired with Olga and I (although they quickly changed their minds about her). And when it came time to ambush, the others developed an excellent plan of attack, and Olga ambushed three times as many people as everyone else. I did not participate in the planning, and I found myself unable to move when it was time to attack. It was as if I was frozen in place. It was interesting to see other people exhilarated by an exercise that disturbed me (and these roles would be reversed in among all of us in different settings). I asked Konstantin about it later, why I froze up and was unable to even ambush one person, and that's when he said I need to free my psyche, and later I was told that he also said that it was too compartmentalized. When I asked him that question, he answered it immediately with just a few words. Although we don't speak the same language, Konstantin is just so skilled at conveying the knowledge. There are no wasted words, and he is an extremely compelling speaker, a strong presence, you just cannot look away. And of course, what he taught us is fascinating. I've never met anyone who knows so much about human nature. All the good and terrible things we do, I got the sense that Konstantin has seen the full range. What a marvelous thing that a member of the GRU should be a Ph.D. in psychology. It makes perfect sense, but it seems uncommon here in the U.S. Nor, for that matter, would I ever have the privilege of being taught by an active member of the U.S. Secret Service. I thought I was lucky just to study Systema at all, but to study with Vlad and Konstantin for a week…wow, I never would have imagined I'd be so lucky.

I have been to Vlad's seminars before, although it was only at camp that I got to know him a little better and now I consider him a friend. Vlad's material was of course more familiar to me, but the environments were different than my everyday training location and so there were many new tactics I learned to utilize the environment to my advantage. But Konstantin's material was almost entirely new to me. I had some very basic knowledge of body language and other cues, but nothing like the information he shared with us. For some professionals, reading body language could save lives. That's the amazing thing about the training camp. The information was extremely well-suited to law enforcement and first responders, and yet it was also perfectly suitable for rank beginners. I would guess there are very few styles that can accommodate that wide of a range of skill using the same drills and exercises.

Returning to the woods, I loved them during the day, but at night, I was constantly worried about losing the others, even though I knew I could find my way back to camp and I had a flashlight in my pack. I've spent much time in the woods at night, just recreationally, but that did not help me when there was a task to be done, whether keeping up with the others, or ambushing people. It was a strange and curious feeling. My confidence was misguided, and I was not skilled in the woods at night as I thought I would be, whereas my understanding of Olga's ability (that she was careless in the woods and not focussing on memorizing landmarks or drawing maps) was completely wrong, and she was remarkably skilled in the woods. Without Olga, I might have felt even more lost.

There is more about the woods at night, and my courageous partner Olga, in my daily journals.

The ambush exercise also illustrated another contradiction in my impression of myself. I'd be an excellent tactician, and that I would enjoy forming a plan to ambush, with my logic skills, my tendency to apply Occam's razor, and my love of exploring all viable possibilities. But strategy also requires creativity, and I guess I haven't found this kind of creativity within myself yet. I was surprised and perhaps a little disappointed that I have more skill with the close-quarters work, when the conflict has already begun, than initiating an attack. I thought I could be one of the tacticians, but it turns out I'd be better at storming a building, taking out a sentry, and rescuing hostages. The closer the quarters, the easier it seems to be for me. But for some reason, this realization that strategy isn't my strong point made me feel as if I could only be the muscle and not the brains of any operation. And I had expected that I'd be just the opposite. But I have since accepted my own skills for what they are here and now. Besides, you didn't see James Bond spending too much time in the woods. He mainly operated in the cities or at least, in hotel rooms, ski chalets, submarines, and other enclosed spaces. So I'm in good (if entirely fictional) company. I'd like mine stirred, though. Shaking bruises fine liquor.

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WATER AND FREEDOM FROM FEAR

"You don't drown by falling in the water; you drown by staying there."
-Edwin Louis Cole

In all four environments (which Konstantin described as metaphors), there was always a segment of the group that was most at home. I always thought I'd be a woods/fields person; I love camping and wood-lore and always wanted to be a Boy Scout. To my surprise, I got freaked out in the woods at night, and as much as I enjoyed the field, I don't think I was very good at camouflage or tracking. I was unsurprised that I was more adept at the urban environment, but water? I am not even a good swimmer, and I don't usually go out over my head. I also don't like holding my breath, sometimes I panic during those no-breath exercises. But I don't get freaked out by water, I love swimming. I was surprised that some of people were freaked out by just being in the water, and I imagine they are from landlocked areas. The interesting thing was two of the guys who told me they didn't like water were military men, one of whom was trained to leap into the water from great heights. Because I love swimming, it was just like playing to me. (Well, except the part where your partner holds your head underwater while striking you.) The water, more than any other setting, is where I got the closest glimpse of fear, in my classmates, some of whom would not enter the water (it was the only environment where significant portion of the students would not enter), and in myself, because I expected myself to be fearful but instead felt energized and quite at home.

I was accustomed to the lake, because I swam whenever possible; it was so refreshing and invigorating to swim in the ancient and beautiful waters. It was faster than showering and a wonderful energizer between training sessions. In my opinion, it was one of the nicest aspects of the camp. I don't usually get to swim in lakes because I live in the city, so I felt that swimming in the lake really healed my spirit which is sometimes worn down by urban life. The tranquil lake is the exact opposite of the bustling city.

Because I swim in the ocean, my friends think I am a huge wimp about swimming, because I'm terrified of crabs. I have to turn away whenever I see them. They actually make me feel queasy and fill me with dread. I always approach the water cautiously and hesitantly, looking down suspiciously at everything that moves, and sometimes I freak out and run back to shore if I see a possible crab. I had forgotten that lakes do not make me feel this way; freshwater creatures are cute and lovable, not evil and scary like crustaceans. I mean, what kind of creature has an exoskeleton? Only robots, aliens, and shellfish. If you think about that for a moment, it's ominous.

I jumped into the lake happily without any hesitation, which made me feel as if I was a kid again, camping with my family as we used to in the summers. I am not a good swimmer so I don't like to go over my head. I found it interesting that some people were freaked out by just being in the water, even up to their knees, although they could swim and probably a lot better than I can (the doggie paddle is my favorite stroke). The fact that I don't get cold also made the lake easier for me. I think it's because I have more padding. When we did the fighting in the water, some of the skinnier guys were absolutely shivering when we stood on the shore to watch demonstrations. The lake water was quite warm, in my opinion, but sometimes the air was cold, but it never bothered me.

From the pictures from last year, this is the one thing I didn't think I'd be able to do. I get a little panicky when I can't breathe, I start to freak out. But I just loved fighting in the water. I wasn't so crazy about having my partner hold my head under water for ten seconds while he hit me, but the rest of it was great. None of the rules applied in the water, my feet had more drag, and all the sneaky ground tricks with my legs, which I think are my best skills, completely failed to work in the water. Ground work when your body is underwater is completely different than on dry land. Standing up, it's more similar to working on land, except with a lot more splashing and there is the slowness of the water dragging on limbs. Like fighting in the pine trees, fighting in the water felt more like horsing around than training for combat. I half-expected the life guard to blow the whistle at us!

This wasn't really a crystalline moment, but Vlad looked over at me just as I had kicked my partner and because my foot had slower drag, his jaw sank down into my knee. This was a complete accident as we were accepting the kicks rather than avoiding, but working in the water requires a different set of timing—I think we would have had to spend an hour or two to get a good grasp of it. Vlad looked over as this happened and said "She's dangerous!" and laughed…he is so good-natured, and so generous with the compliments.

A more crystalline moment was when I was climbing out of the water after practicing some throws with my partner—throws in the water are of course a lot of fun as the water is better than any mats. I felt exhilarated, the water is so energizing, and Systema practice always gives me a good feeling. Valerie said "Rachel!" in a sort of surprised, encouraging way, which was so sweet. I got the feeling she was proud of me, although we'd only just met. She was so kind and supportive to all of us. I have to admit, I did feel brave, because I knew how I personally had felt about the prospect of fighting in the lake. It is the one thing that I thought I would not have the courage to do, I thought I'd be too scared, but it turned out that I loved it. That is an interesting feeling, learning that something that you dreaded is actually something that you love. It makes me wonder what else about myself I don't know.

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CONCLUSION: BRIEF AND SHINING MOMENTS

Above I've written some of the most enjoyable moments of Systema camp. I would like to share more, but it's a struggle to be concise, rather than report back to you everything that happened. My complete journals are more inclusive, and I will start posting those soon. There you will find the trials and tribulations as well as the joyful ease. I hope you liked reading these little moments of clarity. They were like sunlight streaking through the trees, which were sometimes rather dense, but without the branches, the sunlight wouldn't look so beautiful.

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