A Grain of Rice

Training demands proper fuel, so I journeyed to the kitchen counter where a solitary, dry grain of white rice rested near a knife block. I approached without haste, sizing up the immaculate white speck. Dropping into a disciplined crouch, I clamped my wrapped hands carefully around its firm, polished shell. Lifting it clear off the laminate felt like raising a championship trophy above my head. Sustenance earned through pure focus tastes best, even in spirit.