fleshyorgans

My sensei, Shihan James Gillis (or Koncho as he later was termed) died last week. The number of people (not necesssarily students of his) who have called, IMed, and emailed to let me know that he died is testament to his legacy.

So, I’m stil processing this — this post is for cathartic purposes, and for remembrance.

It’s hard to write in the past tense.

Koncho Gillis had taught karate since the 50s. He trained under Matsutatsu Oyama, the founder of Kyokushin Karate. It was truly a privilege to be trained by someone who not only learned from the master, but was a powerful and amazing teacher of the art.

He followed the old style of instruction, but without the attendant harshness. The training was tough but, for want of a better word, compassionate. It was a wonderful thing to be his student; his love of martial arts could be infectious. He genuinely cared about you — you weren’t just another body in the class. When he praised you, you knew it was for something and not empty. When he helped you, it was not condescending.

A lot of fundamental aspects of my personality stem from the years I spent training under Shihan. My level of confidence, perseverance, discovering that I am capable of more than I think I am, and happiness with myself all took root in his classes. So a part of who I am is from Shihan.

I guess I’ve spent the last few days just not thinking about it because I don’t know what to think about it..

And really, I just don’t know how to deal with the emotions — they’ve surprised me. Even with all I’ve said, I was never “close” with him. I didn’t know him as I could have, I never made the effort to learn more about him. So as I type this, I’ve learned that what I feel is this: A mentor of mine is gone. I won’t see his like again. I was lacsadaisical about something and someone important, and now all chances are lost.

Osu, Koncho.