Grip and Flow: A Kendama Memoir

Grip and Flow: A Kendama Memoir

By Brian Castillo

Chapter 1: Grip Before Flow

Before there’s flow—

There has to be grip.

Before you move freely,

you have to learn how to hold still.

It doesn’t matter how many tricks you know

if your foundation is shaky.

Grip is presence.

Grip is peace.

Grip is the decision to engage with this moment— not chase the next one.

I saw it in Wyatt’s eyes the first time he tried.

Pull-up. Spin. Miss.

Frustration rising.

Then again—pull harder. Miss harder.

But Kendama doesn’t reward force.

It honors rhythm.

Bella taught me that when she was still small enough to hold the Ken with both hands.

She didn’t rush.

She didn’t flinch.

She waited.

Breathed.

Aligned.

And the ball landed.

It wasn’t luck.

It was presence.

We call it grip—

but really, it’s the first step toward mastery.

Hold with purpose.

Move with intention.

Then let flow follow.

Chapter 2: Control the Controllables

You can’t control the weather.

You can’t control who watches you.

You can’t control if they cheer—or if they ghost you.

You can’t control what they say behind your back,

what they think about your style,

or whether they understand your fire.

But you can control your grip.

You can control your breath.

You can control your feet.

And that’s where the power lives.

I’ve seen it a hundred times in the gym.

A student pulls the ball up—

then chases it like it’s running away.

The Ken flails, their body follows.

No anchor.

No breath.

Just reaction.

So I step in, quiet but clear:

“Where are your feet?”

They look down.

One foot behind. One foot off.

Mind tangled in the miss.

“Be where your feet are,” I say.

Then we breathe.

In for 6.

Hold for 2.

Out for 8.

Again. And again.

Still the body.

Still the mind.

Then try again.

This time—they don’t chase.

They let the ball rise.

They stay grounded.

They guide it home.

And when the catch lands—

there’s a little spark.

Not loud. Not flashy.

But deep.

An exhale.

A quiet smile.

A moment of glide calmness.

Because something just clicked.

Not just the trick—

The truth.

When life feels like it’s spinning,

when your friends feel far,

when the voices get loud,

when the noise becomes your rhythm—

come back to your breath.

Come back to your posture.

Come back to your response.

You can’t grip the world.

But you can grip the Ken.

You can find your center.

And when the moment lands—

you remember what’s possible

when you stop chasing

and start choosing.