One Hundred and Fifty-two

Techniques are the words of Aikido.

My training consists, largely, of practicing techniques over and over. Techniques are structured movements, patterned responses to predetermined attacks. They have identifiable forms that, while differing in small details, are essentially the same across Aikido styles. In and of themselves, techniques are mechanical vehicles for learning and internalizing the concepts that underly Aikido. I learn connection, congruent motion, correct distance, timing, extension of Ki while moving etc.

Randori is the literature of Aikido.

During randori the motions of uke and nage are removed from the structured dance of technique practice and enter into the realm of spontaneity. My uke is free to move unfettered by the constraints that govern technique practice and, likewise, my movement is equally unrestrained.

Early in my training, randori consisted of repeated attack/throw sequences, not far removed from the practice of individual technique; the obvious difference being that the attacks and defensive moves were not predetermined. Of late the formal waza has begun to disappear from my randori; it's being replaced by something else that I can't yet define or adequately describe. My partners still fall, but it's as though the throws are hidden in the motion. The whole exercise becomes an unbroken string of movement punctuated by an occasional slap of a hand on the mat as uke falls.

The following video clip of a 'grabs only' randori illustrates the point.

One Hundred and Fifty-one

The touch of a single snowflake is but a whisper of force. Bring enough snowflakes to bear, however, and trees are felled by them; valleys are cut by them; mountains crumble beneath them. And still, the touch of a single snowflake is but a whisper of force.

The touch of my Ki upon uke during kokyu nage is like a single snowflake; until, that is, it isn't. At the moment our congruent motions reach the limit of his balance and my maximized extension, when he is at his lightest and I am at my heaviest, that single snowflake-like touch of Ki becomes an avalanche.

At moments like that I am fully aware of our connections; to each other, to the group around us, to the wider universe. The deeper reality of Aikido training becomes manifest, and while transient, leaves a little of itself behind each time. And so I continue to grow.

One Hundred and Fifty

As I practice I realize that my movement shapes the space around me. Without physically controlling uke I nevertheless control where she may move in order to continue with her attack. And while she may still have many paths to take in order to reengage with me, her likelihood of success along any one of them is remote.

It’s not really that simple, of course. For uke moves as well and about her center, just as about mine, space is shaped, distorted, defined. And I can find myself caught in currents that threaten to whisk me from my path and move me from confluence to intersection with uke on her terms thereby increasing the probability of a successful attack.

Therefore I seek to occupy the center that is common to our centers, the point at which conflict becomes cooperation; where forces coincide and neutralize one another… where Ki flows freely and I become its conduit.

One Hundred and Forty-nine

All covered in snow,
lots of bare brown branches,
evergreen needles tinged with silver
the light reflects
flecks of gold
emitted by the stubborn leaf
still clinging to its branch.

I let go of my knowledge
so as to make room for learning,
and who can say
where my Aikido path will take me,
for it is created anew
beneath my feet
and lost to the past
once trod upon.

One Hundred and Forty-eight

Well, three hernias need repairing. I've had them for a long time and chose to leave them alone as long as they didn't bother me. Alas they seem to have reneged on our agreement of late so in January it's off to Bay State for me to be patched up like an old inner tube.

When the discomfort hit my first reaction was to stay off the mat as visions of strangulated hernias and emergency surgery filled my waking moments. As I began to adapt and determine what I could and could not do I found that I could continue attending class wearing my instructor hat. Ukemi is out for the time being.

As a result of having to take it easy I'm exploring the subtleties hidden in technique. My technique, pretty soft to begin with, has gotten softer, much softer; to the delight I'm told, of my ukes. I've really had to look hard at correct timing and distance as tools to help me overcome my inability to move with as much freedom as I previously enjoyed.

Gonna be a long few weeks until the operation but this too shall pass. The surgeon, a hernia specialist, is going in laparoscopicly and, according to him at least, how soon I get back to normal activities is strictly up to me, no restrictions.

One Hundred and Forty-Seven

One question I’ll never ask regarding Aikido: “Is that all there is?” The Aikido onion is very large and the time required to explore each layer in depth precludes ever getting to the point where no layers are left to scrutinize.

Aikido is about growth and if I let myself become stuck at one point along the path my growth will cease and I’ll end up simply just “doing” Aikido. Having experienced the richness of the Aikido experience, becoming stranded along the way would be the death knell of my practice.

One Hundred and Forty-six

To train when the sun shines
To train when it doesn’t.

When it’s bitterly cold
and the mat feels like stone
or
hot and sticky,
the air almost too thick to breathe;
then too.

When I hurt
or
feel eighteen again;
simply get on the mat and train.

When others question
my method,
I train with a smile,
knowing as I do
that training is showing up,
suiting up
and moving.

Training
I progress slowly,
it’s cumulative
each little bit I learn adds to
what I know,
increasing the volume
of what I don’t
thereby,
affording me more opportunities to learn.

To train…
simple.

One Hundred and Forty-five

O Sensei, as quoted by John Stevens in The Art of Peace:

“The techniques of the Art of Peace are neither fast nor slow, nor are the inside or outside. They transcend space and time.”

Despite the fact that it’s practiced in a group setting, that there’s a strong sense of community associated with a healthy successful dojo, that everyone seems to be more or less on the same road; the journey of Aikido is, at its core, a solitary undertaking. Aikido is a process that has awakened something inside of me and the more I practice and learn the stronger this thing becomes.

The thing, I believe, is an intimate awareness of my connection with the universe. Not a ‘string tied to the wrist’ type of connection; more like a visceral awareness that the connection renders the boundary between me and the rest of It transparent. There is nowhere that I end and the rest of existence takes over. My practice extinguishes dualities and strengthens my union with the Ki of the universe (Aiki) by enabling me to experience the power of the singularity of existence first hand, up close and personal.

One Hundred and Forty-four

My Aikido is most effective when I do the least. The reader is well advised not to misinterpret my use of the word effective. I’m not referring to so called “street effectiveness”; rather I’m pointing to effectiveness of technique within the Aikido paradigm, that is, mat training. My strength on the mat largely comes from my partner who has been so kind as to supply me with the gift of his energy in the form of his motion and intent. Without that gift I should have to impose my will on him in such a way as to get him to do what I want him to do; possible, I’ll admit, as long as I can dominate him physically.

Aikido training, however, has shown me that there is another way. If I welcome my partner and add his energy to my own so that we move in concert rather than conflict, I am able to execute technique seemingly effortlessly. Looks fake, I know, but you have to be on the receiving end in order to appreciate how un-fake it really is.

Students have a rough time with this idea; especially students in their physical prime for whom the future is something distant. For them if uke can’t feel the throw, it can’t have been effective and uke must be taking a dive. Having been there myself I fully understand. It wasn’t until I reached my late forty’s that I began to fully appreciate the raw power of non-confrontation. That realization though slow in dawning marked a lasting turning point in my road.

One Hundred and Forty-three

Fear causes a loss of connection. Loss of connection is the root cause of conflict. Combat happens when conflict cannot be resolved by nonviolent methods. Combat restores connection, albeit in a very harsh and destructive manner.

The Aikido of Ueshiba is a martial way that mitigates the harshness and destructiveness of combat by providing me the opportunity to select the appropriate level of violence to apply in a given situation. No violence at all to absolute lethality and everything in between; as an Aikido practitioner the full spectrum is at my disposal.

How to re-establish connection, to neutralize the fear that separates me from the other, using the least amount of violence, is a core component of my Aikido training. I do this, not by rehearsing ever more varied scenarios, but by allowing my training to have its way in effecting change within me. My training strengthens my body, calms my mind, purifies my spirit and integrates all three allowing me to attain my strongest possible state of being.