Seminar – taking stock 2 (Atari & “Hitting the structure”)

There is another thing that I realize I’ve walked away with from the Aikiweb seminar, evidenced by how frequently it’s been popping into my mind. It is the phrase that George Ledyard used, “hit the (partner’s) structure”. This phrase fits so well that I am tempted to say I prefer it over the expression “tai-atari (体当たり)”, which would be the original term I heard. Perhaps tai-atari would show its usefulness in the connection to “ki-no-atari”, which of course leads to an early point, namely that there is no absolute distinction between body and ki, or body and mind. For now, I had a train of thought run through my mind based on “hitting the structure”.

With variation among schools of aikido, there are place where the partners pause. E.g., after nage does the turn in tenkan/tai-no-henko; the first cut down in ikkyo omote; the first cut down to create kuzushi for kata-dori or katate-dori ikkyo, the cut down after the initial irimi movement in irimi-nage, etc.

What the examination of pauses boils down to is, what possibilities do you have from that position? The scope can be as narrow as, can you and your partner go to the next proper step in the form? It might be wider, such as can you extricate yourself from that position and continue attacking, possibly with the other hand, without opening yourself up to all manner of techniques and attacks? From this general question of possibilities, the examination is no longer restricted to the codified pauses in the forms. It’s anywhere uke’s balance is broken, which direction they fall or stumble, and how they recover. And, possibly the extraneous question, how to still “be uke” in that the interaction between nage and uke is completed with uke falling or being pinned.

What the idea of possibilities has to do with “hitting structure” is that in order to have the possibility of acting on a partner, one must be engaged with them. That is, I might have many possibilities by disengaging, staying away, and making noncommital gestures to engage, but none of them will give me access to the possibilities of interacting with or acting upon my partner.

The more or less codified pauses are points at which uke can check whether they are organized enough to a) hit the nage’s structure with their structure (as opposed to with only their arm) and b) move in accordance with the next step in the form, or more precisely speaking, move such that the next step in the form is fitting (or else the nage can either forcibly continue the form or change to something else that is more fitting).

Offhand there are 4 ways in which the interaction can go.

1. Uke hits nage’s structure with his own structure.
2. Uke hit’s nage’s structure only partially (eg with muscular strength only).
3. Uke hits part or none of nage’s structure (eg only the arm) but with his own structure.
4. Uke hits part or none of nage’s structure and without his own structure.

There’s a fifth way, consisting of uke leaning on nage. I’m presuming that this gives uke the sensation of pushing on nage. Suffice it to say, using one’s body to push and to lean are quite different actions. At the least, leaning creates the potential for falling, and likely makes acting upon uke’s body by nage a completely different action. Utilizing the fall is probably primary and not necessarily easy.

One way that it is not easy (if uke is leaning skillfully, like a good tackle), is that nage must still be moving with his structure, not just any old way. A skillful tackle will fill up the “space” within nage’s body such that nage may be literally backpedalling, or unable to use his body with the feeling of backpedalling.

When one “grows up” in a particular school, they learn where to stop and how. The “how” part might not be examined very deeply, though there might be a sense of accomplishing it better or worse. Another piece that might not be examined is “why”. From what I myself have seen, both students who do and don’t come from schools where these “pauses” are practiced struggle to one degree or another when faced with the examination of “how” and “why”. This examination is probably presented to students familar with pauses as pausing in unfamiliar places and times, with consequences relating to what happens after a pause. These students may at least have the possible advantage of having something to translate to become more flexible or generalized. To students unfamiliar with pauses, the examination is likely more of a struggle. For one thing, if a student is used to continuous movement, they may face the demand of organizing their body only at a few points, such as at the very beginning or very end of contact with nage. If demanded to pause right in the middle of flow, their body organization might be lagging behind, accustomed to the luxury of catching up later in the flow, or jumped ahead, knowing what the next leg of the flow will be like. Or perhaps the student might not even be behind or ahead, but simply doing an approximation, sort of like counting from 1 through 10, “1, 3, 5, 34, 2, 78, 5, 9 9.1, 10″, used to getting by within the loosest of criteria. If a student was suddently corrected that this was not really counting from 1 to 10, they might have some justified response, indicating the criteria that they’ve been using, such as “I counted 10 numbers didn’t I?” or “I started with 1 and ended with 10 didn’t I?” The student who is already used to pausing may be used to counting correctly from 1 to 10, but struggle with the task of struggle with the task of counting from 1 to 20 using whatever numbers they deemed fitting. For both, the examination of pauses may seem nonsensical.

Seminar – taking stock

• “The Animal” – Clark sensei responded to someone who was basically commenting how it “feels like nothing” when you do the technique and your partner falls down. Perhaps the question was, how do you assess and improve the skill if you can’t feel when you succeed? Clark brought up the concept of the “animal” that we feed with the feeling of success or otherwise working away at something (eg wrestling with someone, overpowering someone). Getting better at technique means becoming able to do technique in a way that doesn’t give you that feedback that “feeds the animal”. Conversely, if feeding the animal is your incentive for practicing, then your technical improvement will accordingly stay at a level at which you can still feed the animal. To move on, you have to starve it.
  An immediate thought I had was how the animal can adapt to different “diets”. And, because the animal isn’t being fed by the initial diet, I might be in danger of feeding it without noticing. This is a question of  internal awareness and introspection, one that could be the biggest one I took away from that weekend. It was one of those “Ag!” moments where I realized I didn’t really understand what my teacher was getting at years ago. I’ve already had a couple of “Ag!” occasions where I thought I understood why Endo sensei was so persistent about the idea of feeling oneself and not being captivated by the partner to the point of not noticing or ignoring the partner.
  My “project” now is to notice the animal’s current diet.
• The value of a group to which you belong, or a “kai”.
  Talking with some of the Jiyushinkan people, I could see on one hand how much they were developing as human beings from their practice because they belonged to a coherent, cohesive group. Belonging entails having a set a values, priorities, relationships, reference points – all of which entail having an identity. Paradoxically, being able to have an identity enables a person to question themselves and thereby grow.
  On the other hand, and this is not a piece that is strictly wedded to being in a group, there is the aspect of “other”. That is, belonging to a group influences how you see people outside of the group and how your experience is when you encounter such people. The main, possibly only, danger lies here, in that that development of “other” could go poorly. Precisely because the danger lies here, a person’s way of mitigating that danger is to initiate encounters with it (ie interact with “others”) and continue to be/become the person he/she is trying to become. So, if belonging to a group involves any related danger, it is to minimize exposure to “other” and increase the possibility of a person’s grasp of “self” and “other” to go awry.
• Premises and assumptions.
  Examining the assumptions that I place myself under in my practice is a good way to contemplate why I am practicing, what I think is important, how I prioritize, what I’m trying to get out of it.
  To start from specifics, I think I don’t value reversals as much as I value absorption and efficient use of energy. I probably value continuity more than intentional acceleration/deceleration. I think I value surrendering myself to my partner’s actions more than consciously deciding or knowing what we are doing from moment to moment.
  I probably value demanding, or encouraging, a pre-decided form to happen by making my own openings rather than my partner’s openings apparent. This could have something to do with boundaries, but particularly when I’m dealing with someone I’m not familiar with or with a beginner, I will be more likely to leave the windows of opportunity open, and close them with people I’m more familiar with and of a higher level. Of course the premise is that I think one dimension of an interaction with a partner is awareness of who they are and when something is being artificially, rather than organically, given/taken. I don’t know if this reflects my attitude on social context or my aikido development.
  Why? Why choose these assumptions? For the first assumption, at the risk of providing an evasive answer, I like “neru” practice. I like the idea of striving for unconscious awareness and accepting whatever comes. As mentioned above, with a higher level partner I can “keep a channel open” for my own agenda (eg attacking and putting them down, or reversing) but it’s not an emphasis.
  As for the second assumption, again at the risk of an evasive answer, I think that that is more in accordance with my philosophy of life at this point. It’s likely also how I’ve “starved my animal”, at least in one way.

Progress, and reliance on teachers

A conversation topic that came up recently was around attending seminars and having contact with one’s shihan. (As an aside: the topic brought up the feeling of reactance within me because it felt like it was “drenched” in common sense and was part of the impetus for my writing Common Sense and Reactivity.) In the conversation, it was clear there was a difference in the amount of experience, and consequently the outlook, of myself and the other person. We had quite different views on the role of a teacher in one’s practice, the ways in which one is responsible for and creates one’s practice, and the role of a teacher with whom one does not have frequent contact.

When I myself went “guru seeking”, over some time I found that there was no such thing as a guru, while simultaneously I discovered how interesting and deep the things were that I had presumed I already knew relatively well and were not so deep: namely, basics. I also discovered how many different sources of inspiration and stimulation there were, as opposed to solely my main teacher. While I never achieved the feeling of having found “the one (guru)”, my teacher guided me in some tremendously significant ways, almost always in a very subtle, nondescript manner. Though I wasn’t conscious of it at the time, my teacher was there to relate to me and for me to relate to him, even when it wasn’t explicit. By simply relating and communicating with me, his teaching occurred in such a way that I kept and developed my autonomy, self-motivation, and self-discipline. Despite my receiving such encouragement to stand on my own two feet, I am now revisiting the idea of how much I was relying and leaning on my teacher.

In what ways have I been “leaning” and “letting my guard down”? For one thing, I was able to presume that my teacher was watching me and would give me feedback or guidance from time to time based on what he saw. My presumption was supported by the fact that I did in fact receive such feedback – furthermore, it was always meaningful. Another thing was, when communication happened, verbal or otherwise, I could rely on his fully listening to me and taking me seriously. Conversely, he conveyed to me that I should try to be serious, not lackadaisical, and attentive as well. In other words, it was not only words and information that was shared, but feeling and attitudes also. In relation to nonverbal communication, it could not be clearly concluded what was given and received by each person. So when I had the feeling my teacher was doing a behavior that related to me (e.g., observing me or imitating me), he would be straightforward and honest about it, without necessarily going out of his way to verify it for me. That is, he did not make an effort to hide anything, without necessarily making sure we saw everything. And sometimes, when he felt like it or when we got close enough to what he felt was meaningful, he would communicate to us on the general subject, whether it was directly relevant to our understanding or what he thought was a relevant tangent.

In summary, I could rely on my teacher, if no one else, to see me deeply for what and how I truly was. I could rely on him to communicate to me what he perceived, whether it be a verification, reflection, or critique. I could rely on him to be honest and transparent about himself, and still end up being someone I could aspire to be like myself.

So, then, without a person in my life without these things, am I totally hobbled in some ways? If I rely on these things, am I forced to stop without them? Intellectually, I can see that, despite receiving the benefit of certain valuable things from a teacher, I should not be reliant upon those things in the exact same way for my entire life. At the same time, as human beings everything is not always obvious and simple, and sometimes we need to stop and make an effort to take stock of what is and isn’t. Currently I can tell my heart protests and doesn’t like the prospect of losing a valuable support. But I know in my head that it is already lost and the time is now appropriate for me not to have it – thus it’s more a matter of accepting the reality of my current and next life stage.

The topic of whether a person “needs” to see their shihan every month, every year, etc. and have the same, un-evolving relationship forever is moot. I can only imagine it is troubling for someone who find it difficult to see themselves practicing and teaching along side their teacher someday, with the same knowledge or ability that seemed so grand and unattainable years ago. Another aside: when I was seeing a therapist as part of my own therapy training, I had a clear realization one day that I had internalized his lines of inquiry. I found myself asking myself the same things he often asked, things that I did not notice by myself, initially. By internalizing (maybe the terminology is “introject”), in a way I became independent. On one hand, I didn’t need him to actually ask the questions – I could pose them to myself. On the other hand, they still didn’t feel (initially anyway) like my questions. Until they are mine, perhaps I am relying on him.

Judging

I like analysing people. Now I try not to focus on judging others, guessing what they are like and what they might be thinking about, but I still watch others in the street to observe the way they walk.

Since I can remember, I’ve never really gotten how people seem to use the word “judge”. It seems to carry a negative connotation. “Assess” seems to make some people feel better. I wonder if people’s negative take on “judge” has something to do with perceiving that one is separate with others, that one can observe the world and not be a part of it.

I have a thing with posture. It might have something to do with my bad eyesight. I notice posture/comportment from far away – it enables me to identify people when I can’t see their face. Not only do I notice it in a pure sense, I notice it in a subjective sense i.e., if someone’s posture is really bad or really good, I take notice. I can acknowledge that I’m noticing because it’s good or bad – I don’t mind too much saying so. Perhaps this is when people don’t like the word “judge”. “Who are you to say that person’s posture is good/bad?”

But the bottom line is a significant part of why I notice what I notice is due to my subjective experience of the thing. The above has been about good/bad, possibly beautiful/ugly. What about other dimensions?

For example, at some point in aikido I started to pay attention to whether a person really meant to attack and experience the prescribed technique of the moment with me, or they meant to sort of attack, sort of let me do the technique but more fall down by themselves, sort of attack but be more concerned with blocking my atemi, prevent me from doing what we’d supposedly agreed upon, etc. This is not a simple good vs bad kind of aspect, yet I would say that it has to do with “judgment”.

Subjectively, the degree to which I experienced my attention being drawn to this aspect probably puts me more at the sensitive end of the spectrum. It was something that pushed my buttons. Thus it was about attachment and something I have worked on. However, though I’d like to be free of the attachment, I never thought to give up on becoming a better and better judge of people’s intentions.

As I got more and more accurate, and more and more free of becoming attached/captivated, I became more and more able to see the situation. The current situation as what came before and what’s reasonable (not forced) to happen next. Thus, in aikido techniques, the interaction with the partner could happen earlier, time-wise. However, from my perspective it is happening at the right time. “Early” is only relative to the point in time I perceived our interaction as starting as I would have reported one year ago, ten years ago, etc.

If someone is about to attack me in practice, and I can tell they don’t like me or have some problem with me, I try to see it, see how I am with having perceived that, and accept it all. If I don’t like that I’m feeling my partner is being suspicious of me or scared of me or whatever, I don’t think to stop judging  – stop judging because I might not be right or because judging only introduces information that is possibly useless. Not only is it (to deal with attachment and greater self-awarness) part of my area of interest and motivation to do such a practice as aikido, it is also relevant to the execution of technique on an “aiki” level, territory I think I’ve started to delve into recently.

As a human being, it makes sense to me to take into account how a person’s emotional state is when I am try to see all of how a person is. As a human being who is in the learning process, it makes sense to take advantage of my strengths in the process; if I am more adept at noticing certain details, I should continue, not stop, to refine the noticing of those details so that it serves me in my learning. If I notice something because it makes me feel good or bad, so be it. It is not the assessing, judging, or noticing that is counterproductive but the attachment to and captivation by the same.

Interview with Philippe Gouttard

Interview with Philippe Gouttard

… Christian Tissier, who was just back from Japan, came to give a course in Saint-Étienne. There I said to myself “this is what we have to do”. What is funny about it is that the other members of our group did not like what they saw at all. There I realised that perception is really a question of moment. If Mr Tissier had come 10 day before or after, maybe it might have been me who had said “that’s crap” and the others “that’s great!”. Anyway, I was in a good state of mind to receive his teaching and I realised that it was exactly what I wanted to do.

G.E.: Nowadays you speak Japanese fluently. Did this change your understanding of what the Japanese teachers were doing?

P.G.: When I finally understood, I was a bit disappointed by the fact that they spoke very much like we do. I thought they would use poetic words with a lot of metaphors but in fact, not at all. They talked exactly like us “raise your arm, lower your hips, you are a bunch of morons!” (laughs). When I first came to Japan, I was convinced that the masters lived in tree tops, that they did not eat, did not have sex and so on. When I saw that every now and then, they fancied a drink or two, I was really disappointed. I realised that these guys who were virtuosos in aikido were in every other aspect very much like us. They were Japanese men living according to the customs of their own country.

G.E.: Was there a Japanese instructor who had a particular influence upon you?

P.G.: A gentleman like Seigo Yamaguchi helped me a lot because he was a nonconformist and that is exactly what I am trying to do on the mat. He was not in the Aikikai standards. For example, it was forbidden to smoke in the Aikikai but he smoked there, he used to do exactly the class he wanted and sometimes, he wouldn’t even turn up at all! For me, he brought freedom to a peak. This guy that I found ugly was suddenly magnificent when he stepped on the mat. Gradually, as I met teachers and improved in my practice, I came to realise that I wouldn’t mind dying in the arms of somebody like Mr Tissier or Mr Yamaguchi.

G.E.: Does your knowledge in osteopathy help you to teach aikido?

P.G.: All this allowed me to ask myself: instead of thinking of hurting, control and twist wrists, couldn’t we say “we are going to build the body”? Of course in the beginning, we build our own, we become very strong but what is the point if it is only to destroy the other guy? I tried to formulate things a little differently. He is attacking me because he has run out of any other way of expressing himself. I will therefore put him in such a situation of motion and pleasure that I will take any desire to aggress from him; not the will of being powerful, decided or strong; just the urge for destruction.

My own experience with the teachers I like, and furthermore the teachers who blew my mind at one point or another, the experience was disconcerting and unfamiliar, but felt light, open, and pleasurable. Currently I’ve reached a place where I can viably explore how to let the partner’s function actually happen and accordingly how I can help them to “dissolve” in that open way. That open way is something that is not simply overpowering or oppressing the partner (although attachment to one specific way or another isn’t constructive). In an odd way, the partner often seems to expect to experience some degree of fighting or resistance when he/she attacks. By letting the partner succeed, they don’t encounter the fighting experience, and at least something different can arise.

G.E.: This idea of construction is a crucial part of you teaching isn’t it?

P.G.: When we twist a wrist, we don’t only act on the wrist but on the whole articulation and the muscular chain down to the point of balance. This is why we have very few acute injuries in aikido but many more chronically debilitating pains. The body gets used to taking the abuse until the day it makes you say “that’s it, I can’t take it any longer”. Then we start wondering why it went wrong since we’d been so careful all these years and never got injured. It is now that we must be careful and practice intelligently. We should not change the techniques but change the minds instead. We must avoid at all cost incidents due to awkwardness or lack of attention. Also, we must get rid of the notion of wanting to do well and focus on wanting to do better. It is when we expect to do well all the time that we end up with frustration. We have to leave ourselves room for improvement, allow ourselves to make mistakes.

What I really want to get away from is the idea of perfection. We should obviously tend towards perfection but certainly not let ourselves be put down by mistakes. As soon as we are afraid to make mistakes, we don’t do half of what we are capable of and we make excuses for ourselves. Right know we are talking to each other, we try to speak properly but at some point, we are going to make language mistakes. If somebody passes by at that moment, he is going to say “Look at this moron, he can’t even speak properly”. The thing is we don’t care about it! I much prefer to things according to the way I feel than using perfect but empty sentences. Afterwards, we can always fix things if they have not been expressed properly or understood right instead of always having to be careful. Let’s face it, this is only aikido, it is not like if we were in politics trying to reunify a country. It is exactly like when people want to take pictures. I don’t mind people taking pictures when I am in an awkward position. People who appreciate me will figure out that it was at that particular time of the motion whereas others don’t like me will always find something anyway. By far I prefer things to be natural. See, when a politician screws up, I don’t mind it as long as he recognised his mistake.

Some of these above points are very much along the lines of what I’ve been hearing Endo sensei say. The reconciliation of striving to do something better with letting go (of achieving “better”) is, in a general sense, also about reconciling how to follow one’s wishes and desires (i.e., what one’s ego is telling one to do) and how to achieve freedom, actualization, and happiness. Too often we get sidetracked in strategizing and dissecting.

G.E.: During seminars you indeed show little concern towards the form but pay a lot of attention to the essence of a technique.

P.G.: That is right. In fact I try to give as much freedom as possible to my students, they are always right but all in a different way. We become better by changing of partner, vision, teacher, place etc. Of course we do the same technique over and over again but the point is to understand why it works in some places, not in others. Everybody has the solution within themselves but the difficulty is to take enough time to think it over. A teacher can only give his own solution which is one amongst many others.

To relate this to aikido, shihonage is the same everywhere but sometimes, we see a practitioner doing it and we think that it is rubbish. He is probably not rubbish but he has motions, postures and attitudes that irritate us. It only means that we are not good enough yet to accept that the others might do things differently. Instead of saying that the other guy is crap, we should say that we did not train enough to understand him properly. As a consequence, we will go see somebody else and later, we should go back to see him.

This is speaking to the idea of developing one’s eye. Developing one’s eye is not only about discerning more detail, but about freeing oneself from “the specks of dirt on the lenses” – those workings that can be no one’s but our own which make us overlook some things while over-fixating on others. To develop one’s eye in seeing a baseball thrown by a pitcher is one thing, but to develop one’s eye in seeing another human being in the context of proceeding through life is a whole other ball of wax.

This is basically what I try to do in Japan. Before, I rarely went to practice with the teachers that I did not like. Nowadays, I always go there.

G.E.: Why is that?

P.G.: Precisely to check if I really don’t like them or if I just was not mature enough to understand.

G.E.: Isn’t this degree of liberty unsettling for your students?

P.G: I offer the technique to my students, from that, they do whatever they want with it. Of course I am sad when my students leave me but I would be even more upset if they were staying with me so as not to sadden. In that case, they would be considering me as an old man. If a student of mine tells me “Philippe, for the next year, I won’t be coming to train with you because I want to train with this other guy.”, I won’t mind at all. The thing that would really hurt me is if we did not keep contact. The fact that during his life, a student might want to study with another teacher is perfectly normal; it does not strike me since I did it myself. We will meet each other again, that is aikido, paths that divert and meet each other all the time. The times when we meet each other have to be very strong and precious moments so we don’t feel guilty to have parted from each other. As a teacher, if you give intelligence and practice you also give freedom. Freedom is priceless.

Of course we can’t be free at the beginning; we only can trust our teacher. We go to a dojo, usually randomly and we are told that there is nothing better. With practice, we realize however that the best in us is very similar to the best in somebody elsewhere. That is why I think that grades do not have a technical value but a value as a representation of experience and formation.

Faith (in one’s teacher) – it pops up again.

Take the example of Tokyo or Paris; it is quite normal to have 30-40 people on the mat in a dojo. Now, if a teacher has 10 persons on his mat in Galway, Cork or Tipperary, it is as intense as in Paris. Is aikido better in Paris than in Tipperary? I don’t know. What I do know is that in Paris, people can train 6 times a week, 3 times a day whereas a practitioner in Tipperary might consider himself lucky if he has the possibility to do it twice a week. Now both have the same value because even if the shodan in Paris and Tipperary does not represent the same experience, it rewards the same level of personal investment. Personally, I ask of students and teachers that they train hard, without thinking of whether in Tipperary or Paris it is good or not. Us students, we always feel guilty because we think: “I don’t train in Paris and I have never been to Japan so of course, I can’t understand” but once we finally have been to Paris or Tokyo, we often feel empty unless we meet a teacher or a student who enriched us with knowledge that we could not have grasped at home.

Aikido is accessible to everybody but not everybody can access all of aikido.

G.E.: So we don’t practice the founder’s aikido?

P.G.: … aikido has to evolve in function of our needs.

Nowadays, people who come to see us are well behaved and well educated, they are self disciplined. We must tend towards suffering less during the practice, be less frustrated, less jealous. If we get hit, we must accept it, lose a bit of our self esteem; a bit of the 7th dan that goes away. For example, I try to make people practice in a situation where they don’t have the control anymore. I push the students to do techniques beyond reflection in order to make the body “go for it”. Afterwards, we might say “shit, I shouldn’t have done that” but if we leave the intelligent spirit time to anticipate, we won’t go for it anymore because we know we are going to die.

It is probably greatly, vastly, horrifically, tremendously overlooked how much most students protect themselves from ever having to experience all that which aikido practice could expose them to.

Students must trust their teacher but the teacher must also be tolerant of the reactions of his students. It is always a reciprocal thing, a teacher must always accept when a student of his goes to train with somebody else but the student also has to remember that if he is able to make anything out of what the other teacher is saying, it is because of the knowledge he got from the first one.

G.E.: Is the social aspect important for you?

P.G.: It is very important outside the mat. We can talk, cry, hug all night but the following morning, we must be back on the mat at 9 a.m. and go for it! This is a dictatorship, no feelings, no religion, no politics. Gender is non-existent, a girl on the mat is just a smaller partner and I will make her suffer as much as a bloke so she understands that we all deserve to work as hard. However, I believe that we do more aikido than we think at night when we share a good meal and a good beverage. After that, on the Sunday morning, the big bad guy of the previous day is not as nasty as we thought, he is even rather like us but we just did not understand each other the day before.

G.E.: You always work to the limit of physical exhaustion and pain…

P.G: In aikido, we must reach the limit beyond which we should not go. When we practice, if I go beyond the limits of a partner, I abused him but if I don’t reach theses limits, I cheated him. We must always go forward and when we can’t go forward anymore, we just have to choose another forward.

G.E.: Any last word to finish?

P.G.: Give strength to others. If we are strong it is to help others, not to crush them.

Moving Forward in Discussions

This week of 2/15/09 on NPR (search online for “Holder’s ‘Cowards’ Comments Examined“(?)), there was a distinct part of the exchange in which the two people were discussing one of their speeches or essays. One person was critical, saying that he perceived that the writing’s focus on negative aspects of race-related discussions today was negating to all of the progress that has been made in the past few decades, that the focus ignored how different and positive it is for youth today compared to youth of thirty years ago. The author of the writing returned that he fully understood all of the progress that had been made as mentioned by the first person, but that that was not the topic of his writing – what was the topic were things that needed to be faced next. So the first person felt that, by its omission, it was being negated and overlooked. But here we have the author himself telling us he wasn’t doing that. Furthermore, we are given a description of his perspective and background which lend credibility – credibility that we are hearing the truth.

(Admittedly taking his side, here,) how is he supposed to compose a speech/essay that is concise and to the point, without digressing on a related but different tangent only to placate people with certain preconceptions and preoccupations? If we say that his essay has as a primary objective to reach everyone, including those who need placating, perhaps he in fact does need to spend some time on the digression. After all, his composition doesn’t come into this world into a vacuum, but into various contexts, which includes various audiences and respective interpretations. Perhaps, at the very least, a digression expressing what the goal of the composition is and what it consciously avoids would be valuable. On the other hand, we could say it’s the onus of the audience to deal with their own preoccupations and preconceptions. If they take in a composition (or read a book, see a movie, hear something from someone, etc.) and receive something that the creator never intended, shouldn’t they question how much was due to their own “junk”? In fact, isn’t the individual who is making the mis/re-interpretation the best person to have insight of what is happening to lead him to such an interpretation at all? And finally, since this is about communication, the format is relevant. If it is a conversation between two people, the speaker has the opportunity to get a sense of how the listener is receiving the words, and accordingly tweak what is being said. If it is an essay that has been completed, then the author does not have such an opportunity. The author’s skill in “pre-reading” the potential audiences’ reception may become apparent. Also, the audience may need to give the author the benefit of the doubt about what the author is striving to convey, precisely because they do not have the opportunity to hear the author’s clarifications.

In discussions about practitioners of aikido of different aspirations, the “moving forward” often becomes derailed by similar divergences of views and interpretations [1][2]. The people who have the knee jerk reactions of the defensive sort when they hear someone calling them or implying that they are “hobbyists”, evidently associate the idea of doing something as a hobby with doing something with little worth, little meaning, little benefit, little beauty, etc. Even if we consider something most people can probably grasp as a hobby, such as building birdhouses, tending a garden, or restoring old cars – for all of these things we can probably see the person doing it not as a professional yet investing much time, effort, energy, and money, attaining pleasure, peace, meaning, etc. and even bringing joy and benefit to others. How is it that “it’s a hobby” becomes “just a hobby”? Can the person hearing “just” acknowledge that that is what their mind is inclined to attach? Also, can such a person come up with an alternative word that is somehow more placating or satisfying? Would it help to assign a different word to those who are obviously more serious/invested? “Amateur”? “Apprentice”?

Without acknowledging and accounting for the objective of statements, conversations, terminology, and for the perspectives and formats of communication, then the discussions can’t move forward. And moving forward is inevitably going to include encountering some unsavory topics. In the case of race, it could include the topic of how to practically address differently different people’s socioeconomic positions as it related to their history. In the case of aikido, it could be about topics such as how teachers should be expected to treat different students differently, and what kind of discriminating treatment students should expect and tolerate. Recognizing that our discussion isn’t moving forward, assessing why it is so, and settling on some basic common ground are essential pieces of a complicated discussion. Without these pieces, it could be like talking about traveling together to the other side of the planet but not agreeing whether to start eastward or westward; like agreeing to travel some place relaxing or exciting but not agreeing where that is and even presuming the other person is thinking the same thing as oneself; like planning a trip somewhere with someone, with one person intending to stay for a few days and another for months, and packing the car accordingly.

Learning, “Sunao” (again)

Re: Got pwned by boxer =-(

I’ve been getting a kick out of reading George Ledyard’s recent posts on Aikiweb partly because he bothers to post what I feel it’s too much trouble to partly because he manages to express what I will become very tangential about, and partly because he hasn’t posted in some time.

One thing I’m revisiting is “stupid” questions. A lot of questions virtually all of us have at one point or another are likely good and valid questions that simply arise too early relative to our current level of understanding. The correct or fitting answer to the questions would be incomprehensible and unsatisfying to the person asking. Thus the fitting answer wouldn’t necessarily be to the question, as if it were in a vacuum, but to the person asking the question. However it’s easy to confuse the two – at least it is for me.

I think it is incredibly arrogant for our current generation to assume that knowledge that has been handed down in various arts for hundreds of years is now suddenly outdated and irrelevant and that we know better.

The assumptions and the corresponding questions above are coming out of a certain perspective or understanding. It’s not that the questions are arrogant. It’s more that, because the questions are valid, the person asking presumes that the perspective from which the question originated is valid also. That is, the perspective/understanding is overlooked, and this is what is arrogant. The arrogance manifests in reality when an individual moves on to the next step of, “So, based on my understanding and the resulting question, how to change my current approach so that it answers the question? That is, I believe my understanding, that the current approach isn’t cutting it, is accurate. All those other people, I don’t think they’ve asked this important question; or, if they have, they went through the same process I’m going through now in order to answer it, which is to change my current approach.”

Some people recognize this and “humbly” go back and work on their understanding eternally. “Questions are bad. Just keep practicing.” As a rigid approach, or tool, this is bad. The questions might be useful and productive if kept in mind while one’s understanding develops. But the motivation to keep, or keep wondering about, the question is valuable.

(Likely when one has an image of “arrogance” and “humble”, they are more of the emotional, or charged type, such as “snobby”, “condescending”, or “quiet”, “self-derecating”. For both of these qualities I am considering the overcertainty/overconfidence in one’s apprehension, not the affect, so to speak. )

It takes some individual innovation, which is definitely catalyzed by exposure to and inspiration from high level practitioners, to come to see a way of doing the same thing but in a different way. Outwardly it is mostly the same, but something is mysteriously different. The shallow, or possibly arrogant, way is to only imitate the outward appearance. But the key to depth is to continue to wonder what is happening inwardly that results in this thing we can see outwardly. Not just see, but feel. Thus, working with receptively a high level person is crucial. By following their trajectory, so to speak, but inevitably being on another trajectory as another being and therefore facing the issue of knowing and accepting my own trajectory, it’s possible to surpass them or go in such a way that the comparison becomes moot.

3) None of the ones I know advocate training in a “fully resistive” training environment. The folks who believe that kata training is dead and lifeless don’t understand kata training. If it is dead, lifeless, done by rote it isn’t proper kata training. Traditionally, the senior person always took the losing role in paired forms. Why? Because it was his job to ASSIST his junior partner in developing his understanding of the movements and principles at work in the kata. It was his job to control the interaction in a way that his partner was forced to access the proper skills. It was not his job to shut him down or to fight with him.

As my level becomes better able to shut a person down, I’m better able to regulate controlling the interaction. If the other person’s learning experience is a part of my agenda, then my aim is to require them “to access the proper skills”, which specifically means requiring them to do the particular movement form, or manifestation of particular principles or dynamics, which includes making it nonsensical to do other forms or principles. At one part of the spectrum, I might make attempts to do other forms/principles impossibly difficult. At another I might leave it possible but awkward; this would be based on the expectation that the other person have some inclination for inquiry, noticing for him/herself that it feels awkward and seek a less awkward way.

6) Aikido is the study of connection. The term “aiki” is best thought of as “joining”. It is the combination of the physical and mental in a way that allows on to move an opponent’s mind so that he moves himself. This requires complete relaxation both physical and mental. It requires letting go of our attachments so that we can step right into the path of a sword cut without fear.

The endeavor to become able to step into the path of a cut is to acquire a skill, which inevitably has mental and physical components. This is probably where one can make the presumption that the mental, and by extension “spiritual”, aspects of the endeavor are self-evident. However, people don’t naturally have a tendency to perceive, savor, and embrace their experience, instead repressing and perceiving just enough to get by. Surely the reasons for this are a whole discussion topic in themselves. Endeavoring to not repress but instead consciously incorporate the mental aspect of acquiring and honing the skill is central.

If you wish to reprogram the body and the mind to fundamentally trust that relaxing and accepting an attack is the response that can make one safe you must provide a safe environment in which to do so. Traditional paired kata training provided a structure within which the practitioners could take things right to the edge in relative safety.

Providing safety and security for others is a theme that relates to a lot of conflict in human history. Virtually always we have a rationale for seeking more security for ourselves, taking priority over giving it to others. It starts to feel like giving it to others takes it away from ourselves. Maybe be human beings inherently have a tendency to feel that there is never enough security. In order for me to trust my practice partners enough to give me space to drop my defenses, I would need not only their word or their intention but I’d need them to follow through consistently. Those with the ability to follow through are probably those who are skilled. People who are skilled are not necessarily inclined to give others space to drop their defenses. So an invaluable asset for me as a newer student is a senior who is able and also actually following through in giving me some coherent, rational, and meaningful space to practice relaxation and exercising specific behaviors and mental patterns.

But one thing is certain, as far as I am concerned… you will not learn these very sophisticated skills training in a competitive manner. Aiki is about developing physical and mental sensitivity. It requires that you shut up the internal dialogue so you can listen to the partner / opponent. If you are tense you are feeling you not the other. That’s true both in the body and in the mind.

…If your practice develops your understanding of how the Mind and Body are unified and that on a fundamental level your are simply not separate from those around you, regardless of whether they see themselves as your friend or enemy, then the art “works”.

If your training merely results in your ability to throw or lock an opponent who doesn’t wish you to do so, then the art hasn’t “worked”, not in the way that the Founder intended anyway.

Wise mistakes

Short quote from “In the Beginning was the Command Line” by Neal Stephenson:

Sometimes their lack of a broad education makes them over-apt to go off on intellectual wild goose chases…

It resonated with me for some reason, as I re-read this essay after some years. The most obvious reason it resonated was because I agreed with it (or I found it agreed with me, or it was agreeable to me, etc.). However there is one very obvious part of it that was different from what I’d been thinking. It was different but still fit. Where I had been thinking “wisdom”, he writes “a broad education”.

My conception of wisdom is some sense of efficiency related to achieving comfort, avoiding trouble, finding peace of mind, accomplishing one’s goals. Experience is one component for sure. Another is receptivity and openness. Yet another is constructive self-doubt and ego. One finds oneself making fewer mistakes, taking into account one’s weaknesses, wasting less time as one becomes wiser. How one oneself experiences this could be a combination of gut feeling as well as some insight (eg knowing why one is apprehending a situation as one does, why one is behaving as one does).

One presumption I may have been making was to consider wisdom outside of the context of education level, so that it would apply to someone with folk or street smarts.

What comes to mind now are people who succumb to mystification of one kind or another and spend a lot of time pursuing that myth, look at things from within that myth, while simultaneously viewing themselves as knowing and inquiring “enough” or even more than average.

Three contexts in which this is apparent are aikido, psychology, and international/multicultural being.

In aikido, one may have a teacher who is truly skilled or just impressive or convincing. That is, the teacher doesn’t act as a catalyst, directly or not, for the student to venture out from their comfort zone and experience things “outside”. “Outside” could be practice in a certain manner in the same place with the same people. It could also mean in unfamiliar places, or with unfamiliar premises, emphases, frameworks, beliefs, and values. Despite staying within comfort and familiarity, one can certainly find things to work on and challenges, to all of which one can say, “I’m doing my best!” But a) how to tell if those things and challenges are in fact worthwhile or going to lead you to what you wish to arrive at, and b) how to tell if the way you’ve been going about it thus far has covered all the possibilities. The most powerful limitation of possibility is not knowing you are limited. If you’ve gone to the ends of the earth according to the map you’ve been living by, then of course why would it occur to you to venture further or look out elsewhere? How could you possibly see the map differently when it already makes sense? It tells you the edge of the earth looks like so, you go there and see that it does, the map tells you that there are stars and moons out there and here’s how to get to them isn’t that challenging, and you find that yes, it is challenging isn’t it? That is, here are the techniques, here is what’s important to consider when doing them, here’s how to do them well or better, yes it’s challenging, off you go now, practice practice practice!

If I originally see things in terms of angles and off-balancing directions, what process might I go through when I practice aikido with folks who are more concerned with energy and flow? I might be able to conceptualize whether they’re doing the same thing I’m doing at all. I may also be able to see how it can be so. Based on the broader education of these two paradigms, when I encounter an aikido that has as its premise partners’ reactions to openings for strikes that aren’t necessarily taken by the other partner, then I may more quickly see what they’re trying to accomplish with what they do, how they do it, and further down the line how it relates to what I was doing originally.

Psychology… That one’s way to big and many – I’ll leave it alone.

Culture. That one is close to psychology but again it comes back to how to see oneself, recognize the lens through which one sees and experiences. How can you know your own culture to any conscious level without seeing how other cultures are. I’m sure many people living abroad would say something along the lines of, “The longer I live away from the US, the better I come to know this culture, the more and more I know in my bones I am an American”. It’s really difficult to know that one doesn’t know without contrasting experiences. The questions precipitated by contact with other cultures (“Why do they eat like that? Why do they show respect like this? Why do they not care about time like us? Don’t they want privacy like you and me? etc.”) will make it much easier to organize and make into bite-size chunks the things one subsequently notices, sort of at least, about one’s own culture. So there’s the experience and exposure. And the education probably does a great deal as far as training one to verbalize, ask certain questions, follow certain lines of inquire, and possibly even have tools to see the tools with.

Article by Sugano sensei

Link to Sugano sensei article

What Is Aikido And What Does Training Mean To Us

Progress

When it comes to progress, I think we may have to ask how progress relates to aikido. In a sense consciousness to achieve or to progress is the essence of sports. In the world of sports, one is considered to have achieved his or her goal when that person becomes a champion.

However, aikido exists outside such a frame of progress. There is no clear attainment point in aikido no matter how many years one practices. In other martial arts, the results of practice are clear by the number of people one threw in a lesson. Aikido has no such clear results. One must meet the demands of self learning. It can be hard to continue aikido unless one has a desire to constantly learn.

I believe such a desire entails exercising a capacity to revisit and evolve. For example, at first, one may have the desire to be strong. What form this desire takes depends on the current state of the individual. At first, it may entail learning the technical curriculum, grasping the philosophy and its implications, and knowing to some extent the history of the art. By learning the technical curriculum, one faces certain demands. Then one’s goal may evolve to focus on the patience, self-awareness, humility, and perseverance to realize the precision of the technical curriculum. Next, by encountering all the complications and confounding situations that prevent precision that don’t necessarily lie inside oneself, one may focus on one’s relation, attitude, apprehension, and reactions with respect to other people. If one desires to be among other people in a way that one would define as “strong”, then one would face the realization of being weak or lacking in various contexts. One’s weakness in the various contexts could not be overcome the way it would, apparently, as in the context of an aikido practice where one may do so in the physical dimension. Revisiting and re-forming one’s goals is closely related to constantly learning.

The teaching method, too, is an important subject. In the case of sports, there are matches, so there is a clear result. Since one’s progress is apparent, the teaching method has always been studied and evaluated. Meanwhile, in aikido, the basic teaching method whereby students repeat the throws and techniques shown by their teacher and then repeats them has not changed from old days too much. It is important that the teacher tries to make the training meaningful for the students, and it should be done with an intention to help the students develop their ability. No development or the progress will be made only by showing one’s strength and preeminence.

The teacher’s purview is only the development of aikido ability. It isn’t to counsel you to become a better husband or type up reports faster at work. Thus, despite every student coming in with their individual histories and current issues which they may somehow relate to their aikido practice, the aikido teacher doesn’t directly meddle with any of it. Thus it can only be the student’s responsibility to improve or otherwise affect their life outside of their aikido practice. Of course to some extent the teacher could have a part in inspiring the student to connect their aikido practice with life off the mat.

Progress also depends on how the students would like to practice. One might simply enjoy training as recreation. For those people who would like to train seriously, it will be more interesting and helpful for the development of their abilities if they have the right kind of teaching and opportunities.

In Belgium, I teach classes called “inner school” in response to the solicitation of students’ desire to learn further. I initially limited the classes to only 40 students with black belts.  I call it a school program, rather than a seminar. It takes place in a training camp form. There also was a request in the Netherlands, so I started the school over there, too. Even though there are only few of these schools, there are people who wish to attend programs like this with great interest. I believe that more places and more opportunities should be given to such people.

Levels of Understanding

In aikido, one learns by experiencing through the body. This alone would only result into physical experience, even after 10 years of practice. If one continues practicing for many years, of course, the body becomes strong. However, the level of understanding can still be doubtful.

Everything is learned physically as a result of experience, but to display what has been learned, some verbal expression and other methods become necessary. Hence, one should find opportunities and try to learn various things outside of aikido.

Osensei realized it in the Omoto religion. I don’t think one could fully understand the discipline of aikido without something like that. Learning by the physical experiences certainly is important, but I think it is also important to experience something new besides aikido to stimulate one’s thought and brain.

It is necessary to study basics things without being disturbed by one’s own mood and the feelings. The lesson method of aikido is left to the decision of each instructor, and this is a good thing about aikido. If strictly codified, the independence which is the merit of aikido is lost. Of course, balance is important, but I think it is better that one has a good level of skills, specifically posture, the sense of maai, directionality, the principle of the sword line, gaze and so on. It is often seen in enbu (martial art performance) that people just stand straight before a partner waiting for the attack. This is because there is no awareness of the sword line at all. Osensei frequently talked about gravitation training. Gravitation training is for learning how to lead and go together with the partner’s movement. One can learn this using katatetori.

Such basics can be learned through body movements. In other words, the principle of aikido skills will be understood through the apprehension of body movements. Small details of each technique are different, depending on the individuals, but there is always a sense of maai and directionality in any technique. Therefore, as long as there is an understanding of the principle of the skills, it can be applied to all movements. That understanding is indispensable to progress to a further stage.

Tuned out

Our  current historical environment can facilitate or even nurture a sense of safety and sufficiency (“What’s the big deal? It’s enough. I can get by”) while being tuned out or as say, “watching TV.” An excerpt from Anathem by Neal Stephenson:

As we were walking back down to the lake’s edge, Quin – who had been silent for a while – cleared his throat. “You mentioned that there were certain things you have to leave behind when you enter this new Magisterium [a kind of community],” he reminded me. “Does that include religion?”

One measure of how much things had changed was that this didn’t make me in the least bit nervous. “I’m glad you brought that up,” I said. “I noticed that Artisan Flec came with you.” 

[...] “Yeah. Anyway, I just want to say, if his presence here is not appropriate…” 

“The rule of thumb we’ve been using is that Deolaters [believers in gods] are welcome as long as they’re not certain they’re right,” I said. “As soon as you’re sure you’re right, there’s no point in your being here.” 

“Flec’s not sure of anything now,” Quin assured me. Then, after a minute: “Can you even have an Ark [a religious place/org.], if you’re not sure you’re right? Isn’t it just a social club, in that case?” 

[...] “Flec should hike up to Arsibalt’s Dowment,” I suggested. “It is going to be a center for working on that kind of thing.” 

Quin made a wry grin. “I’m not sure if Flec wants to work on it.”

“He just wants to be told?”

“Yes. Or at least, that’s what he’s used to – what he’s comfortable with.”

“I have a few Laterran friends now,” I said, “and one of them, the other say, was telling me about a philosopher named Emerson who had some useful upsights about the difference between poets and mystics. I’m thinking that it’s just as applicable in our cosmos as it is in his.”

“I’ll bite. What’s that difference?”

“The mystic nails a symbol to one meaning that was true for a moment but soon becomes false. The poet, on the other hand, sees that truth while it’s true but understands that symbols are always in flux and that their meanings are fleeting.” [...] “Anyway, my point is that guys like Flec have a weakness, almost a kind of addiction, for the mystical, as opposed to the poetic, way of using their minds. And there’s an optimistic side of me that says such a person could break that addiction, be retrained to think like a poet, and accept the fluxional nature of symbols and meaning.” 

“Okay, but what’s the pessimistic side telling you?”

“That the poet’s way is a feature of the brain, a specific organ or faculty, that you either have or you don’t. And that those who have it are doomed to be at war forever with those who don’t.”  

How much to cater to the mystic who comes into such a place, since they face the transition to becoming a poet regardless, and maybe deserves the benefit of the doubt, that he’s bothering to come in because being a mystic isn’t feeling sufficient? I wonder if most dojos let the mystic continue to be that way and even encourage him so.

Two CAA Essays

Gōdan Essay

Chuck Hauk
Aikido of Eugene
April 2007

“I’m sick and tired of her scamming us and I’m gonna’ evict her!” one of my co-workers said, angrily, about one of our residents.  I’ve worked in social services for over thirty years and for the last fifteen years I’ve worked at a Public Housing Authority.  I deal with low-income folks on a daily basis.  Many of them are under-educated, are just getting by day-by-day economically, are involved in negative relationships, have poor coping skills, and are often angry about their lot in life.  Some of them “scam” social service systems as a way of life, trying to maximize the benefits they receive in a time of decreasing budgets and limited options.  My co-worker’s frustration was showing that day; she was angry that one particular Public Housing resident was hiding household income, allowing unauthorized persons to stay with her in her subsidized rental unit and, in general, flaunting her almost continual violation of the rules.  The worker was going to evict the resident – which she was legally entitled to do — and she had worked herself into a feeling of righteous indignation as a prelude to doing that.

I sat down in her office and asked her if she had taken a look at the life this resident was living.  “You know, she’s living in a small, crowded three-bedroom rental unit with three kids.  Her 17-year-old has been arrested a couple of times and is facing time in jail.  We know that her mother, with whom she doesn’t get along, has moved in with her, without getting authorization and without reporting her income to us, which means she’ll owe us back rent for the unreported income.  Her last boyfriend, who was also living there without authorization, has left her pregnant.  She now has a new boyfriend, who is also living there without authorization.  She’s having a tough pregnancy, physically, and she wasn’t able to pay her rent last month and is now facing losing her subsidized housing and being put out on the street.”

“You don’t have to make this personally,” I told her.  “You can lay out the consequences for her behavior without making her the ‘bad guy.’ It’s not personal.  She’s not out to get you.”  Then I suggested that my co-worker try something different.  “Whenever you see a resident in this type of situation – before you get angry — think about her life and then think about yours.  You have a husband who loves you and four beautiful, healthy, smart daughters; you own your own home, where you love to garden in your large backyard; you and your husband have good jobs and are able to pay your bills; you have dependable cars; you have your health and family and friends who care for you.  What do you have to be angry at her about?”

I suggested that she take a few minutes and consider the incredible obstacles facing this particular resident and compare that to her own life, before getting into a personal argument with the resident.  I reminded her that she still needed to enforce the rules but suggested that she could probably do that from a compassionate point of view – a point of view that might even result in the resident straightening up and following the rules, instead of “digging her heels in” and, ultimately, being forced to leave Public Housing.

To her credit, my co-worker listened to what I had to say and actively considered it.  She ended up, after all that, having to evict the resident but she did it in a compassionate, caring way that resulted in the resident thanking her for the way she’d been treated.  A few months later I was pleasantly surprised when the co-worker pulled me aside and told me that she hadn’t been able to forget what I had suggested and that, in several subsequent situations, she had taken the time to sit back and look at the other person’s life in comparison to hers.  She said taking the time to do this had changed the way she approached these types of conflicts; that she made it less and less personal; and that she was actually able to do a better job because she had a better overall perspective.  In a few cases, she had been able to evoke a change of behavior on the part of the residents, rather than having to push them into an eviction.

***

The above anecdote resonated with me because it seemed to clearly exemplify the author’s sense (whether developed through aikido or not) of how one can view one’s own attitude as having consequence, how one can have ownership and control over one’s attitude and maintain certain functions (e.g., performing one’s duty of enforcing the housing rules). Even more, it showed how one can “naturally” know and sense these ways we affect and participate in interactions with others. I say “naturally” only to mean that it is done without effort and thinking, and feels like, “Of course. Is there any other way to do it?”

In the beginning, these other ways – other ways to act, to perceive, to feel – are not-usual. We already have a “usual”. We learn how to move physically in other ways through a practice like aikido. Since there is no real separation between physical and mental, learning and coming to feel “natural” with the “other” ways of acting are followed or accompanied by other ways of perceiving, feeling, and experiencing. Furthermore, if we can conceive that our mind “moves” – that is, it follows certain habitual patterns, can be tense or relaxed, etc. just like our body – then we can actually be aware that our perceiving, feeling, and experiencing are “other” ways we are exercising or practicing also. Unfortunately, many people may discount the necessity to develop and nurture such awareness, perhaps with the reasoning that it is happening regardless or that the “skill”, not what it feels like to do the skill, is what is important, or that it is a flowery distraction or add-on. Of course going on through life without noticing may feel fine and dandy. But doing your practice in a way that nurtures your continuing ignorance will only make your world smaller and smaller.

The question one may find interesting or not is, if I were really advanced at aikido or simply had developed into a “big” person, what would be going through my mind, how would it feel, to avoid conflict? How would it be even if there were no overt conflict to avoid? At best, I’m sure it wouldn’t feel the same as it would be to be a person who is normal, or aggressive, employing some kind of de-escalating technique.

***

My biggest disappointment in almost 30 years of Aikido training is the realization that getting “better” at Aikido does not, necessarily, make you a “better” person.  There are plenty of Aikido students out there who are very good at Aikido techniques who don’t have the first inkling about taking Aikido principles off the mat and into their lives.  Why do we train in Aikido?  If we’re training just to become more proficient at throwing people, controlling people, “defending” ourselves against people, I’d suggest we’re missing the real purpose of this “dō” – this “way.”

I once heard an instructor say that he was disappointed that he didn’t hear the word “compassion” used more often on the mat.  His words had a strong impact on me.  I initially began my training in Aikido because it appeared to me to be a methodical, physical way of training that would result in my being more “aware.”  What I soon realized is that just training on the mat would not be enough.  The principles of Aikido have to be practiced off the mat for real change to occur.  There has to be a conscious effort to continually practice what we’re learning, in all situations – on and off the mat.  Look around you at the next seminar and watch your seniors.  Which ones do you want to emulate? In addition to their technical skills on the mat, which instructors also conduct themselves off the mat in a way that you admire – that you want to emulate?  Which instructors show integrity, caring, compassion, respect, humor, discipline, and intelligence in their day-to-day interactions with others?  I would suggest those are the instructors you should want as your role models.

As I approached my Shōdan years ago, I was fortunate to have a very technically-gifted instructor, who had been a student of a well-known Shihan.  The Shihan was quoted as saying that my instructor had been his “best student” and his “worst student,” having learned virtually everything the Shihan had to offer on the mat and virtually nothing of what the Shihan had to offer for off the mat.  This also had an impact on me.  I didn’t see the behavior in my instructor off the mat that I wanted to emulate, in spite of wonderfully powerful Aikido technique on the mat.  I took my leave of this instructor and moved on.

Why are you training?  Aikido is a martial arts “way” – it is a discipline whose real purpose is self-development, self-awareness.  The question of whether or not Aikido is an “effective” martial art is almost irrelevant.  If you are not confronting the true enemy – yourself – I would suggest you’re not truly benefiting from this beautiful art and discipline.  Almost thirty years later, I still deal with fear each time I get on the mat.  Am I really training hard enough?  Am I strong enough?  Disciplined enough?  Good enough?  Can I deal with real conflict, with strong, committed attacks that push me?  And off the mat, I still deal with similar questions.  Am I compassionate enough?  Am I working hard enough?  Am I doing the best I can?  Am I strong enough?  Disciplined enough?  Good enough?  Can I deal with real conflict, with strong, committed attacks that push me?

I’ve made progress, but I still have a long way to go.  Let me leave you with my own, personal kōan, which you are free to use:

How insufferable would I be without my Aikido Training?

In gasshō…

Living Aikido
By Diana Hedstrom
July 2006 (pdf)

John Ruskin said, “The test of a truly great man or woman is their humility. I do not mean by humility, doubt of their own power. But really great people have a curious feeling that the greatness is not in them, but through them. And they see something divine in every other person and are endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful.” During my eight years of Aikido training I have had the privilege and honor of training under and with men and women who have, by living Aikido, demonstrated true humility and provided me with examples to strive to emulate.

As a 5th kyu, I attended my first out-of-state retreat at the California Aikido Association’s Summer Camp in California. I knew that the retreat would be attended, in large part, by yudansha; I wasn’t even sure if there would be mudansha present other than those from Aikido North. My brother Joe, a student of Aikido North, encouraged me to attend and to challenge myself by training with other Aikidoka attending the seminar. I finally agreed, surreptitiously thinking that I would train with the other Aikido North students who would surely take pity on me. The first day on the mat a yudansha bowed into me, smiling. I did the best tenkan blend I knew how; I was focused so intently on performing that I broke into a sweat from the mental and physical exertion. Immediately following that class, the same woman came up to me and politely asked how long I had been training. I’m sure that it was quite obvious to this yudansha that I was a novice. She then asked if I would like to work on some basic moves between classes. I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Not only did she work with me during class but she was willing to meet me on her “breaks” between classes, to spend her valuable training time with a 5th kyu. On that day, Yuki Hara, then a 5th Dan, empowered me with the belief that as a middle aged woman I could learn Aikido. She understood that to many older women there is a tendency to have a negative self-image – to doubt our ability to accomplish all that we are capable of doing. Yuki Sensei proved to me that women could be accomplished in Aikido; she also demonstrated one of the basic tenets of humility, selfless service. Not only did she take me under her care, she did so with the spirit of love and compassion not out of a sense of duty or a desire for recognition. Since that day, Yuki Senei has remained, as my female mentor,  “…endlessly, foolishly, incredibly merciful” and has exemplified for me the true nature of Aikido.

Koshiyama Sensei, my teacher, also epitomizes humility. Reverend Donna Byrns once said, “Humility gives the power to perceive situations, to discern causes of obstacles and difficulties, and to remain silent. When one does express an opinion, it is non- critically with an open mind and with recognition of specialties, strengths, and
sensitivities of the self and others.” Koshiyama Sensei personifies this tenet. As a mudansha there were times that I discussed my “concerns” about the dojo with Sensei, confident in the righteousness of my position. Many times I was dismayed when my feelings or beliefs weren’t validated by Sensei. Oftentimes he would merely sit quietly and smile; occasionally he would interject another point of view. While he was always willing and available to discuss my “concerns,” I left these discussions bewildered. I am ashamed to admit, for a number of years I couldn’t understand why he didn’t validate and support my point of view. As time passed, however, I began to reflect on some of my “concerns” and realized that my “concerns” were based on my deficiencies. Sensei could have directly answered my questions or given me specific direction, but he patiently waited for me to have my epiphany. He realized that self-reflection was critical to my growth as an Aikidoka and that by giving me direction or correcting my “wrong thinking,” my misconceptions, he would be inhibiting my growth. He accepted me with all of my misconceptions and patiently waited for signs of maturation.

Both Koshiyama Sensei and Yuki Hara Sensei have provided me with a safe, nurturing and unconditionally positive environment for growth. I have nothing worth offering them in return, nor do they expect anything from me and yet I owe them a debt of incalculable magnitude. By personifying Aikido, they have helped to shape me into the person I am today and have provided me with examples of the type of person I would like to become. Whenever I see an opportunity to assist an Aikidoka or to do service for our dojo, I am happy to volunteer so that in some small way I can emulate them and contribute back to the art of Aikido.

I liked this essay for how it touched on humility and role models. The instructor’s patience is the same kind that I’ve experienced myself and, like the author, realized I had received only years later.

Spirituality

Recently I’ve had two people interested in aikido ask me about aikido and its “spiritual” and “internal” aspects, and overheard one interesting aikido class which included some talk of similar matters. By yet another coincidence, there was this blog entry on the very same subject, which I immediately translated with gratitude (and relief) that someone else made the effort to verbalize about a subject, that likely after some years becomes internalized and hard to talk about.

Common sense and reactivity

We seem to experience greater discomfort and agitation, or we are likelier to hit a “nerve” of our own, when facing the need to explain what we think is common sense. This thought/observation in itself is nothing new to me, but I’ve recently encountered several unrelated opportunities related to this phenomenon which I take to mean potential opportunities to challenge myself and my current state, which is to avoid such explanations and to view the other person as unable to get it or be otherwise lacking in some way.

Cheating

I was watching a ted.com video of Michael Moschen, and at one point he was talking about finding balance while he balanced a broom in the palm of his hand (the brush-end pointing up). While doing this he used the word, “cheating”, and gripped and steadied the broom with his fingers (which got a few laughs), then went on to say, “making up the rules so that you can’t cheat” e.g., by moving the broom up on to his forearm, shoulder, etc.

How to teach

From agasan’s blog | and gnarly Google translated page here: (my highlights in bold)

When my teacher, Kuroiwa Yoshio sensei, was teaching at Hombu, he was once dispatched to teach at a certain dojo in the Tokyo area. The head of the dojo was also a kenjutsu practitioner, and was better known in that field. At one time Kisshomaru sensei was also going there, but overall it seems that that dojo head was a difficult person and all of the instructors who had been dispatched from Hombu to go there did not do so for long.