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.

Teaching

Some very similar points from very different sources.

Link to jackwada.blogspot.com

One of the most important things about teaching is to have a background in training. Teaching is a form of training, but there are things one must be very clear about. One thing you always watch is whether someone in the class teaches or trains. If you are working with someone newer, do you teach or train? One thing one can do is to summon the instructor over, and let the instructor convey the information. Training is not just working up a sweat and getting a workout. It is a process of relating to the person and yourself, ie connecting, through the art. It is a real art to be able to teach someone new through movement and the body. A lot of instruction can be way too verbal. This is especially difficult when the person you are working with is new and feels that he/she must understand something in order to move. Movement, feeling, awareness are parts of learning that must be introduced from the very onset of your working with someone new(er). If you stop and over verbalize, you may create a pattern in them that they will always stop and analyze and never move or feel. Tojima sensei was probably the most verbal of the teachers in Shingu, but he always related what he said to a process of feeling. The other teachers tended to move so fast that you couldn’t think, which is good, but maybe the concept being practiced might not be clear. The challenge is to get the concept, which maybe a form as well as possibly flow, center, or energy, through the body.The sad fact is that most people would rather do a form, whether that form is rigid, seemingly flowing, or moving, or static, than to feel and be aware. Real training is to feel what is going on, not to cover it up with flash or knowledge or glitz. And real training has nothing to do with something that is dangerous or effective. Real training is to touch the core of your own being and through that make a real connection to your partner. Training that is too extreme, and that can mean anything from being too mental, verbal, locked into a particular approach or style, too rigid, too soft and flowing, tends to be shallow. A purely mental approach will fail. But so will a purely physical approach. If someone has it, and I mean a level of the balance between mind/body, you can feel it. I remember my early days in Shingu it was obvious to me that Anno, Tojima, and Yanase senseis had something the rest of the people training didn’t. And it was more than technique. In fact Anno sensei’s shihonage was very different from Tojima sensei’s, with Yanase sensei’s being even different from the other two. It was something you could feel on the mat, but also something you could feel outside the dojo. These were people you trusted and respected, not just because they had a high number after their name or were addressed as sensei.So training has a lot to do with forging and actualizing a deeper sense of who we are. We cannot teach that which we are separate from at the level of being. Constantly reflecting, absorbing, transforming are what aikido is about. We constantly run into the ego(the shallow mind-based “I”)and must constantly re-direct it into the larger design of things. It is a process instead of a destination.

Link to Yamada sensei interview

Are there things you see in daily practice that prevent students from progressing?
There are people who practice in a way that prevents them from making progress, no matter how many years they practice. They do not care that they are making such basic mistakes as not standing in hanmi or making movements slovenly and negligently, even after becoming black belts. It is acceptable that beginners make mistakes or cannot move properly. However, progress can not be expected if one is doing techniques negligently while thinking one is actually doing them properly. There is the proper stance for each technique. It is essential to get it right. However, many people, for some reason, focus too much on the upper body and then the footwork becomes negligent. Because the partner still falls in aikido, they tend to think they are doing the technique correctly. I detest it when I watch such a performance at examinations.
The techniques should be performed clearly and convincingly so that they work on the person’s partner. Otherwise, practice becomes meaningless. Position and balance should be kept properly. In order to do that, the footwork must be firm. Only then will the technique work within the flow and the balance kept after the
throw, making the overall movement beautiful.

What can teachers do to help the student avoid these mistakes?
Sometimes there also is a problem on the teaching side. There are some teachers who stop the movement of their students and try to teach them small details. The students do not progress if taught this way. It is just fine to leave the discovery process up to the students. So long as the key points are clearly taught, it is not necessary to tell them small details. For example, in case of teaching a blind person how to get from point A to point B, the blind person first needs to be guided to be able to go to point B on their own. On the way, the person may bump into something or may fall down. Moreover, the person also may not be able to walk at the desired pace. In this way, the person gets to be able to follow the passage to the final destination in their own time. The small details can be learned later. If stopped frequently and told, “It is dangerous here, so be careful,” each and every time, the person won’t be able to learn the way to the
destination. Similarly, if stopped and taught small details from the beginning, the practice cannot be fun.

Is there anything else you would like to say about a student’s practice attitude?
One more thing I would like to emphasize is to have a positive attitude toward practice. One does not advance having a doubt about aikido. Progressing by solving questions is one method for sure; however that approach is for people who have already learned a considerable amount of aikido. It is a waste of time if one is thinking, “Will this ikkyo work for real?” while practicing. I believe aikido practice should be done positively and seriously. I do not mean austerely because it is important to enjoy practice. I hope people will practice aikido passionately with joy. Aikido is very profound. I wish people would not be satisfied with their present levels or state – even if they are advanced to some extent – but that they aim for an even higher and happier practice.

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.

Language/Communication

I find myself often return to the analogy of language (or conversation, communication, etc.) when thinking about aikido and people in general. I realized recently that the first time I wrote anything for others to read – it was for the Saku dojo newsletter – it was about the same thing. (I can’t remember specifically what I wrote but I’m sure it was a crude, beta version thing that covered way more topics than it should have in a page.)

Recently I’ve been thinking about style/method/school differences, such as at seminars, and about the teacher/student relationship. I think that both of these situations entail unique factors not likely found in “usual” relationships and communication.

Disclosure and Relationship Development

What could be the purpose of dojo newsletters, or essays or editorials by the instructor?

素直 (Sunao), the Student-Teacher Relationship, and Religious Faith

(This is an ongoing draft – the more I add the less organized it gets. For now. 3/25/07)

Sunao – I did not hear a satisfactory definition of this word during my whole time living in Japan. Every definition I heard was along the lines of, “A person who is sunao does what he is told without objecting or complaining.” Although I had the impression that sunao was a word with a positive connotation – a kind of virtue – the definitions I heard all had the sound of obedience, compliance, or other quality that oppressors or superiors would like to see in those who are of lower standing.