The master stands quiet, as still as the stone,
In a courtyard of shadows, he centers alone.
His muscles are coiled, his breathing is deep,
Awakening power that others let sleep.
He empties his mind of the future and past,
To find the pure stillness that's meant to outlast.
Then enters the Challenge, unruly and sly,
A mischievous phantom that flits in the eye.
It taunts and it teases, it dances around,
To pull the great dragon right down to the ground.
It pokes at his patience, it pulls at his sleeve,
It whispers of shortcuts it wants him to believe.
It jumps like a monkey, it laughs at his form,
A naughty little spark trying to start up a storm.
A lesser man’s anger would rise to the bait,
To strike at the nuisance with fury and hate.
To tighten the jaw and to rigid the spine,
And waste all his strength stepping over the line.
But Bruce does not stiffen, he doesn't contract,
He knows that the water will always adapt.
He smiles at the chaos, the arrogant play,
And simply allows it to get in its way.
He flows like the river, he yields like the reed,
He gives the wild trickster no ego to feed.
He steps to the side as the chaos swings past,
And uses its momentum to bind it at last.
One effortless motion, a tap and a sweep,
And the naughty distraction is put back to sleep.
The trickster defeats its own foolish embrace,
Outmatched by the water, the silence, and grace.