Empty Hand Revolution

Idaho Calm

Cosmo circulated among the half-dozen students in his makeshift class. Boise’s Ann Morrison Park created as ideal a location for martial arts instruction as any park in Delhi, plus no one ever fought over the space. Cosmo corrected a young man’s side kick, then realized multiple people were making the same mistake.

Using a tree trunk, Cosmo demonstrated the correct form before having the students circle the tree and try it themselves. They were a motley crew: a college student, a young mother with her baby sleeping in a nearby stroller stuffed with blankets, a man who always seemed to be in the park.

Since Cosmo hadn’t officially received his work permit yet, the group offered impromptu donations to help keep him fed. Cosmo praised the group’s improvement. As they struck the large trunk from all sides, a smattering of leaves drifted from its branches—less due to their kicking and more due to the chill October weather.

He noted a police cruiser crawling along the road that bisected the park but didn’t think anything of it. Police in the United States, outside of airport security and customs, had never given Cosmo any trouble.

Moments later, two officers approached the class on foot. “Excuse me, sir. Are you the instructor here?”

Cosmo faced the pair with a smile. “Yes, officers. Can I help you?”

“Do you have a permit for instructing martial arts or for conducting a performance in the park?”

Cosmo shook his head. “We’re just practicing.”

The second officer wandered toward the incongruous group of students. “Are any of you paying this man for his instruction?”

In unison the group shook their heads no. The college student spoke up. “We just come out here to practice. This guy was nice enough to offer us some tips.”

The officer eyed the student suspiciously. “You don’t pay him for those tips?”

“No, sir.” The student stood his ground. Donations weren’t officially the same as payments.

The first officer took over. “Paid or not, you can’t host a class of any sort in the park without a permit.”

“I’m sorry, officer. I was not aware.” Cosmo wondered if someone had seen him and his class knocking bark off the tree and decided to call the police. It certainly wasn’t anything worth arguing about.

“You’re not in any sort of trouble, this time. Just a verbal warning.” The officer and Cosmo stared at each other for a few seconds without flinching. The officer seemed confused by the fact that Cosmo neither demonstrated malice or fear. “But you’ll need to be moving along.”

Cosmo nodded. He bowed toward his class.

They bowed in return.

Without further words, they gathered their stuff from piles on the grass and parted ways, each heading in a different direction.

Cosmo checked briefly on the sleeping baby tucked beneath a layer of blankets. He smiled at its mother before strolling toward the river.

He didn’t want to push his luck, but if he judged the police correctly, they were indifferent about breaking up his class. He figured it should be safe enough to return to a different section of the park in a couple of days—weather permitting.

Every morning at the same time, he walked from his apartment, located on the upper bench section of Boise, down to the park. Casually, he started his workout routine at 9am. That way if people wanted to join him, they always knew when. And an Asian man performing martial arts in Boise was never too hard to find, even in a park the size of Ann Morrison.

He reached a footpath on the edge of the river and followed it west, downstream, toward the section of the greenbelt people had comically warned him to avoid. Boise residents’ ideas about what constituted dangerous amused him. He supposed it a good thing they hadn’t been exposed to the sorts of dangers he had taken for granted both in the jungle village and the corrupt streets of Delhi.

As he strolled beneath the mottled light and shadow of large cottonwood trees, he focused on replacing the noises of the city with the gurgling of the Boise River and the crunch of leaves beneath his feet. Even after a mild confrontation with local police, Cosmo had never felt so peaceful.

No one sought to take his life. No threat of assault hovered around him. He hadn’t carried a knife or short section of pipe as weapons in months.

He genuinely liked his life in Idaho, even if it felt like a delay in fulfilling his true purpose of bringing economic sustainability to jungles and rural villages all over the world.

He had found a local church that allowed him to teach informal martial arts classes. The classes gave him a platform for sharing his story. On Saturdays he often held demonstrations at the skate park where he shared his faith with kids from all over town. Never had anyone threatened him for talking about Jesus.

He missed Sarah, but the six months were nearly up.

During their separation, Sarah had decided at her own pace the two of them were meant to be together. They had already agreed on a new wedding date.

He left the footpath and perched himself on top a sunny rock. Closing his eyes, he filtered the smell of decaying leaves and goose manure from the urban odors. Not exactly the jungle of Nagalim, it soothed him nonetheless.

In six weeks, Cosmo would travel back to California and marry Sarah in the spring of 2002 rather than the fall of 2001. Then the two of them would move to Idaho. Sarah would love the tranquility of Idaho as much as he did. Boise would serve as a great place to honeymoon while waiting for Cosmo’s green card.

Together they’d be free to resume the ministry they felt called to pursue. Months and years from now, they would look back at this time in Idaho as a wonderful sabbatical. Nothing more.