In most martial arts schools, the punch is the staple of the strikes.  Whether you’re in MMA, karate, kung fu, and even tai kwan do, punches seem to lead the strikes as the favored weapon.

But there’s a problem.

If you’ve ever looked at an x-ray of a hand balled into a fist, it looks like a bag of bones.  Literally.  What happens when you throw that bag of bones into something hard like a skull?  Bones break, splinter, shatter.  Professional fighters like those seen in the UFC have hands broken all the time.  And they’re skilled fighters who not only practice the correct way to punch from different angles and situations, but they do this an average of six hours a day, five days a week.

Now, the traditional martial arts instructor is asking a person off the street, who practices maybe an hour a day, to strike with a bag of bones.  Common!

I’d talked to a true kung fu master, who practiced iron body training, used to specialize in breaking skulls with a single punch.  He said something really interesting.  He was instructing a student who was about five feet tall.  He told her that her striking range was inside her attacker’s striking range.  No four foot person is going to attack her.  The master taught to use slaps to work your way inside, then use elbows, knees, gouges, etc.

Slaps.

There was a scene in Tombstone where Kurt Russel’s character, Wyatt Earp, confronted a card dealer who made trouble for the saloon.  As the card dealer was threatening to do something, Kurt–we’re on a first name basis–slapped him.  It was one of the coolest scenes in a western.  Kurt slapped him again and again.

Slaps align the bones in your hand.  Because of this, breakage is unlikely.  And if you think a slap doesn’t hurt or is sissy, ask anyone to slap you hard and tell me if it just tickles.  Accuracy is still required, but not as much as a punch.  You want to be effective with a punch, you gotta be totally accurate.

Slaps also take little skill.  You can slap someone with bad form, and it’d still hurt.  Punch someone with bad form, and all you’ve done is push them.  Another strike that takes little skill.

In my book, my character have claws.  So I had to find creative and interesting ways of striking and fighting because the punch was taken out of the equation.  Ask any woman who has long nails make a fist and punch.

Over to my left I saw something that was kind of creepy.  Maybe not creepy, but made me ask if this was really happening?  In a large empty space of green grass, pooled in the middle were a flock of black crows.  There must have been a hundred.  Maybe more?  Less?  I didn’t sit and count.  Didn’t know if I was going to be pecked to death.

Keeping my distance, I started to walk along a winding cement path.  Through the trees and around the grass the flock of crows followed me.  Or coincidentally flew at the same place that I strolled, despite the ocean of land all around me.

Then a back of a tomb stone caught my eye.  Beside it was another tombstone that was also very familiar.  I calmly strolled around to the front.  I knew.  I’d found him.  I’ve seen pictures of his tombstone before, and there was no mistaken this was Bruce’s.  To the right lay his son, Brandon.

During the time I was taking acting classes back in college, I’d wondered if Bruce had any children.  I never thought to find out before.  Bruce had two, and his son was an actor.  It was sort of finding out that Jesus had children.  And yes, I loved reading the Da Vinci Code.  I dreamed about working with Brandon.  Soon after, a tragic accident resulted in his death.  So sad.

In front of the grave site a marble bench sat.  An engraving lined the edge of it, but I don’t remember what it said.  I paid my respect, bowed three times, sat on the bench and had a conversation with one my idol.  Yes, call me weird.  Then it happened.

A single black crow landed on a tombstone next to Brandon’s.

I looked at it.  It looked at me.  I know what you’re thinking.  No, it didn’t talk to me.  Nor did I talk to it.  Now, when this was going on, I didn’t time it.  But the crow sat there for a long time.  Long enough for me to be weary of my vulnerable eyes.  Suddenly…it attacked me.  I got up ran away, flailing my arms.

Just kidding.

It kept looking at me and, moments later, flew off.  Moments later, I left.  The whole experience was surreal, spiritual, and it’s been something that I’ve wanted to do, and done it.

So you’re saying the crows and crow landing by me was a coincidence.  Perfectly understandable.  On my last day, I went back to the cemetery to say one final good-bye.  I entered Lakeview Cemetery.  There were a lot more sparrows and not a single crow.

I flew back home feeling a connection, energized, with a pretty cool story to tell my dates.  Oddly enough, they don’t continue seeing me.  Hmmm.