Practice-vs-Repetition

I was thinking the other day about my use of these two terms, practice and repetition, and wanted to spend some time thinking about what the actual distinction between the two is that I’m trying to make. I tell my Aikido students that they need to practice the technique and not just repeat what they were doing before, but I realized that there is no inherent difference between these two words. Or there is, but maybe the distinction I’m trying to make isn’t so clear.

I like this definition for the word, practice: “repeated performance or systematic exercise for the purpose of acquiring skill or proficiency.” So the word and the concept of repetition is in this definition, and there is certainly this need of echoing, or of doing a thing over and over again, but I guess the difference to me is the quality of what one is repeating over and over again. The point I made the other night, and the point that I’d like to make here, is that improving over time is very difficult. In the short term it’s pretty easy to improve. There is just so much to learn that as long as a person shows up at a dojo with some regularity, they are going to learn. But over time there is nothing new, the information has kind of been presented in one way or another, and this is when I think the real practice begins. There is a moment when Aikido training needs to go from pure repetition to something more subtle, and this subtle thing is what I’m calling practice.

I’ve seen people who have done Aikido for many years, but that time spent on the mat isn’t really evident in their movement. It’s almost like at some point their bodies stopped changing, their technique stopped changing, and nothing really progressed past a certain point. I realize that this is a pretty critical thing to say, but it is based on my observations over time. They must have repeated technique many, many times, but in that repetition something was missing. Some key ingredient wasn’t there that would lead to some larger change, and I think that element is the difference between these two terms, repetition and practice. It is important to acknowledge that there are specific physical limitations that we bring to our training, and it might be unfair to say that someone isn’t practicing because they haven’t reached some perceived level of mastery. I don’t mean to suggest that this is purely a physical manifestation of the training. Although I do believe that this is a part of it, it isn’t the only part.

There is something in Aikido that is different than any other martial art I’ve ever experienced. There is a nuance to it, a sophistication to it that is unparalleled. I remember the very first Aikido classes I ever took; it must have been in the late eighties or early nineties with my Aunt at the dojo where she was training. I’m not sure how much I got out of the class, but it was wild to watch her hurling people across the room and for me to do some basic Aikido. I’ll be honest, I didn’t get it. I saw it, but it didn’t really make sense to me. Maybe three or four years later I watched an Aikido class with Kanai Sensei and even then I didn’t get it. Whatever it was that was going on in Aikido was lost on me. Several years later I came across Aikido again, and I was determined to figure out what I was missing. I started training at Valley Aikido in Western Massachusetts where a good friend of mine was at the time. It took me a while to kind of get up to speed, but I remember training with some black belts and realizing that there was something there, some quality that I just couldn’t quite put my finger on that was so powerful, so smooth and fluid and so painful in some ways that really inspired me. There was something there, and I could not figure out what it was. There was some quality underneath the kata, underneath the rote learning that was really indescribable and something I couldn’t really see with just my eyes. I think it was that feeling that hooked me to Aikido for so long.

When I tested for shodan I realized quite clearly that I did NOT have that quality to my practice. I knew I was strong, I knew the techniques, but that indescribable feeling wasn’t part of my practice. I had a moment of panic one day on the mat when I asked myself “what if I never get it?” I wondered, what if I trained my whole life and I never quite got that feeling? I really applied myself to my practice at that time in a way that I hadn’t before. I remember feeling like a charlatan at first. I new I didn’t deserve the hakama, and it took me a while to actually wear it. It wasn’t until my teacher finally got annoyed with me that I started wearing a black belt and the hakama. But for me, I think that helped me push a little harder through many years of difficult training because I knew there was this quality out there that I wanted to have in my body. I knew I couldn’t read about it in a book, or understand it cognitively, but it was something that I had to feel in some way.

I think one of the differences between repetition and practice is just this. It’s just some feeling or sense like we are trying to find an illusive quality in the technique. It’s almost like listening very, very closely to something, or a very keen use of all of the senses to try and find some illusive quality. Always listening as closely as possible, seeing detail after smaller detail after smaller detail; to try and engage completely on the mat and to be what can only be described as “mindful.” I think this is the way, or a way, to find this illusive quality and to engage with Aikido in a way that will reveal the more esoteric elements of the practice. I ask my students to avoid repeating technique, to avoid just doing the same old thing they’ve done before, and to find something new each time. I ask them to look at things very closely, listen, feel and sense for an entire hour, or two or three, however long we are training for. I think if we repeat these qualities, then we are practicing Aikido.

The problem is that we don’t necessarily train this way in the short-term, this makes the long-term training more difficult, and there seem to be several factors that contribute to this. One thing that I’ve seen is that people have a hard time listening to and repeating what it is the teacher is demonstrating. During seminars it seems that many people aren’t really used to a teacher correcting some part of a technique and then trying to apply that correction. What is more common is that a teacher makes a correction, and people continue to do what they’ve always done; it’s almost like their technique is locked into place. I’m sure the technique is good, but there doesn’t seem to be an ability to add in new elements, or take out some others, or just rearrange things a bit a least just for the class. Granted, this is no easy task, but I think that this is the very essence of practice. I remember being at a seminar not too long ago, and the instructor was asking if everyone could practice silently. He stopped the class a few times and explained, and I thought very well, why it’s a good idea to practice in silence. Even after that, even after stopping the class several times to make this point, people were still talking. I think this is an example of how we can get lulled into a repeat, repeat, repeat mindset and can kind of stop practicing after a while.

The term shodan (first degree black belt) traditionally referred to someone who was at the beginning of their training, but in the West we’ve come to identify this with mastery of an art. In Aikido they say that reaching shodan means that you are ready to start practicing. That this “first level” means that you know all there is to know in a cognitive way, and now it’s time to understand what all of that means in a deeper way; maybe a physical or sensory way as opposed to purely cognitive. At least, that’s my interpretation, and this is the nature of practice to me. As we reach this first stage we try to take concepts and apply them in order to create some deeper meaning.

In this country, I think we take black belt to mean something like mastery. This puts quite a bit of pressure on a person who earns a black belt to then be a “master.” I think this can limit our ability to grow if it’s not used the right way. It’s hard to keep learning, it’s hard to admit you don’t know something when you’re supposed to be a master. If this were to push us to improve I’d be all for it, but in my experience this has the opposite effect. Instead of inspiring, this perceived mastery has a tendency to intimidate us and has the potential to create a kind of front, and Aikido façade. We get good enough at a technique and then want to make it work exactly the way we’ve learned to make it work and can kind of lose some flexibility in our thinking. We figure out some element of the technique that makes it function, and since we are now masters of Aikido we have a tough time saying “wow, I’m not sure I know how to do that technique.”

I’m sure there are many other factors that create limits to our training, and these are just a few. What is clear is that we become what we repeat, and the nature of what is repeated is what I’m calling practice. If we repeat nothing then that’s what we get. If we repeat what we learned when we were 3^rd kyu, then that’s what our technique will be like. If we repeat brutality, anger and fear then that’s what we will show up. Calmness, unity, compassion, power, flexibility; these are all words that I’d like to have associated with my Aikido practice and these are the tenets of Aikido that I try to instill in my students. But these things don’t just show up one day without some effort, or without repeating it day after day after day. So we need to add something into this repetition, and what we add in I think is important. Looking, and looking and looking again for something else, for something new, for something that might be hidden beneath the surface; this is what can start to change our technique even after years and years of training.

What I like about Aikido is that there is something to search for. This isn’t a dig at any other martial art, but when you see someone smash their fist through a cement block, or watch someone pick up another human being and drop them on their head, you kind of get it. It’s really fun to watch, and the mastery needed to accomplish these feats is clear, but there is no mystery to it. You can get it immediately. Aikido is just not at all like that. You watch it, at least I did, and you think; “what in the world are these people doing?” But then you try it and you feel something, and there you are tapping like crazy or lying on the ground and you wonder how exactly you got there. And years and years go by and somehow you can still find yourself lying on the ground wondering what exactly happened.

Now that I’m the chief instructor and other people look to me for an example I see how important it is that I keep looking, keep searching for this illusive and mysterious quality and to encourage my students to do the same. In reality, and I hope I can say this without revealing too much of my ego, I’m quite good at what I do. I’m not sure that I’m anything special, but I’ve worked very hard to be where I am and I think that shows in my technique. However, I see that there is no way that I can stop. I can’t just say, “that’s it. I’m done. I’ve gone as far as I’m going to go.” I guess I could say that, but that isn’t very interesting, is it? So I have to keep looking, keep searching for that feeling, that sense, that thing that is in Aikido but is so hard to reveal, and this is what I think can turn a mundane repetition into an active and lifelong practice.

Why Do We Bow?

I’ve noticed some inconsistencies with my students in terms of bowing, and this led me to think about bowing in general. I asked some of my students to write me a letter explaining to me what bowing means to them. Of course, that then made me take a closer look at what it means to me, and I wanted to share some of those thoughts. I spent more time thinking about a bow to a person, and not really about a bow to inanimate objects, but at some point I’d like to explore that as well.

In some ways bowing is purely a convention. When we signed up someone said bow this way, bow in this direction, etc., and we followed along to be a good student. The bow can become, over time, just another “thing” that we do, and maybe even become an affectation. We wear a certain outfit, we say certain words, and the meaning of much of it can become lost. Just putting our heads on the mat is a meaningless gesture in and of itself, and I think we should be wary of meaningless gestures. It’s my opinion that when we bow we should take a moment to reflect on why we are doing what we are doing. It’s up to us to infuse meaning in the things that we do, and the bow should be just such a thing. In a way, even holding a loved one is meaningless, but it’s the feeling that we convey through that action that has meaning to us. The bow should be infused with meaning as well, and spending some time thinking about it tends to do just that. I’ve been bowing for a number of years, but really only since I started this project with my students has the bow held as much meaning for me as it does now. Because I asked myself “why,” I kind of came up with an answer. Maybe not the best answer, but an answer that works for me, and that has given meaning to an otherwise meaningless gesture.

The bow in some ways allows us to train with each other unrestrained and unfettered. It’s certainly not helpful to practice any martial art completely out of control, but in order to stretch our abilities it is important to have a degree of freedom. The bow allows each person to say, in some way, that even though I’ll attack you with all I have, I mean it with a pure and sincere heart. I never intend to hurt you, my goal is not to be malicious or spiteful, but to give a sincere effort. In a way, the bow allows the attacker to have this kind of clear mind. It’s a chance to empty the mind of anger and aggression, and just attack from a pure heart. It gives each person a chance, a moment in real time to be open and receptive, so we can avoid slipping into competitiveness, malice and anger. It’s a way to recognize that the energized spirit of Aikido training isn’t a malicious one. It gives both partners a chance to say that I understand where you are coming from and there are no hard feelings.

I think a spirited and energized attack is a good one, because this helps my partner practice. A loose attack can be seen as condescending and only half-hearted, and maybe doesn’t really reflect the true nature of an attack. I don’t want to be hurt by someone’s attack, and I don’t want to hurt anyone with mine, but sometimes these things happen. When someone attacks and I don’t move fast enough and get hit, I like to know that the person’s intent was only to give me all they have. The bow, to me, accomplishes that goal. It let’s us say to each other, thank you for giving me your all and I know nothing you did was done with a mean spirit. I like this approach in general. If my partner attacks strongly and I can’t defend myself, well that certainly says something about my practice, doesn’t it? It’s a moment where I can reflect on my own training, my own intention in my practice and hopefully improve in a meaningful way. Certainly, this can be taken too far and be used as a way to suppress people, but if done with the right spirit this can be one of our greatest learning tools. But all of this is contingent on a person’s state of mind, and it is in the right state of mind that I think we need to make our bow.

I loved my Aikido teacher with all my heart, and he was a great mentor and teacher to me. But as I get older and I reflect on my training, I see that much of what I learned about Aikido was with my partners and not necessarily from my teacher. I feel as if my teacher put us on the path, and then we struggled to find the way. He never told us the way, he couldn’t reveal it to us even if he wanted to, but it was really through our personal discipline and training that helped us discover whatever there was to discover. Now these people I trained with were some of my closest friends, but in a way we would act as each other’s enemies. We would in some way play that role of aggressor, we would “push each other’s buttons” in a way in order to give a good challenge. Sometimes we would also go easy on each other because we didn’t want to push too hard, but these were never very satisfying classes. But more often than not we felt much more comfortable trying to take each other’s heads off then with anyone else because we knew it wouldn’t be misconstrued and we knew that’s exactly what the other person wanted. I knew that when I was absolutely pounded into the mat it wasn’t done out of malice or out of some need to dominate me, but really out of love. Even when things went wrong and someone got hurt, no one took it personally. We knew that there was inherent risk involved, and although we all did our best to limit that risk, it is inescapable. The bow, in a way, acts to absolve us of these mistakes and frees us up to train freely. The bow should have this same feeling in it that close friends would have when training together. A dedicated attack meant to re-create an aggressive attack, followed by a strong throw meant to incapacitate another person, and all done out of loving kindness, or at the very least out of a genuine desire to see the other improve.

Certainly, this kind of mental state doesn’t exist across the board, and many people bow and still act with malice. I’ve trained with people who I actively didn’t like and, in some way, wanted to hurt them to “teach them a lesson.” I bowed, but with some years to reflect on that, I see that the bow was totally empty. I’ve practiced with people who I knew meant to try and hurt me, but they bowed too. We bowed but there was no underlying understanding of comradery, love, or of mutual help; really just of ego and malice. This does happen too, and maybe in some ways can’t be avoided, but when we bow, I think we should try and take a minute to limit this very human instinct or at the very least to be aware of it. When we bow we can say to ourselves that we are here to help, here to serve this person, and even if they try and harm us that isn’t our intention to hurt them. No easy task, and one I have failed at many times, but to me this is one of the purposes of the bow. It’s easy to bow to a friend, but that’s not exactly real spiritual growth. Bowing to someone who you would prefer to harm, to humble yourself to someone who you know wants to harm you is a path for spiritual growth. It is in this moment of giving ourselves up, of giving in and letting go of our ego where we can begin to realize the spiritual path inherent in our Aikido training. I think we can practice this letting go each time we bow.

I do think that the bow is about showing respect, but maybe not just between senpai and kohai. It’s also about respecting this relationship between uke and nage; the attacker and the defender. There is a distinct imbalance of power in this relationship. Whenever there is an imbalance of power, those who have it need to respect this imbalance, and I imagine those who don’t should be aware of their position. The great thing about Aikido is that the balance forever shifts. Power and control shift, for the most part, between partners, so it’s harder maintain an imbalance. But with increased skill and experience it becomes easier to take advantage of this imbalance. An experienced Aikidoka can hold back their ukemi, and then really let loose when they are nage. When the experience is more equal, both parties have a natural respect for the other person. In a way, it’s an implied “I know you can take advantage of me so I won’t take advantage of you” kind of thing. But when it shifts to, “I CAN take advantage of you and you can’t take advantage of me” is when we need to look at the bow. I think we can take a minute when we say onegaeshimasu to be cognizant of this relationship dynamic. I frankly think that this is one of the hardest things to do for someone who has a big ego like me. But this is the practice, and it’s a worthwhile one. I’ve held back my ukemi countless times from a partner who wasn’t as experienced as I was. As a teacher I see this same habit in my students and I see how arrogant it truly is. I didn’t see it that way at the time, but I see it that way now. It’s a hard balance to maintain because of the nature of Aikido, and this is a larger topic then what I want to address here, but purely as a spiritual practice, an experienced Aikidoka should have the humility to take ukemi from someone much less experienced then they are. Or maybe better put, practicing having the humility to take ukemi from a less experienced person is a worthwhile practice. When we say onegaeshimasu and bow to our partners we can reflect on where we are in this complicated dynamic and not let ourselves be swept away by our egos.

In Buddhist meditation they teach us to open up to pain of all kinds. When we feel pain or suffering we tend to, as humans, recoil and tighten up. Meditation practice asks us to open up to that pain, to accept and receive that pain, to relax into it so we can fully see it for what it is. I’ve heard some teachers talk about bowing into the pain. When either physical or emotional pain arises, they ask us to look at that pain, bow to it, be friendly to it and thank it for being present at that moment. Bow to the pain and ask it what it has to teach us in a friendly way. I like this idea very much in relation to Aikido training. Pain in this case might just mean the tension that naturally arises between two people, and we can practice bowing into that, and asking what it has to teach us about ourselves. Practicing this kind of receptiveness to difficulties is a good practice in general and one that works well with Aikido training.

So the bow means many things, and can really mean anything we want it to mean, and these are just a few ways that bowing resonates with me. It is an agreement between two people to give their all, to try their hardest to get the most out of the other person, while at the same time agreeing to respect this relationship of uke and nage. It is a way to humble ourselves and agree to be in a weak position regardless of seniority or size. It is like a contract between two people that can allow for total freedom and total absolution at the same time.

When we bow, we should be doing it for some reason, for some purpose that doesn’t simply satisfy the rules and etiquette of a martial arts school. There should be some of us in that bow and it should communicate something to another person. What I think it wants to communicate is humility, compassion and sincerity of heart. It wants to communicate a sense of self-respect and self-pride that allows us to be humbled in font of others without feeling that it lessens us in any way, but in fact makes us greater. It can be a moment of clear reflection of mind and purpose that makes it clear exactly why we exist at that specific moment. It can be infused with love, with wonder and amazement at this remarkable specie that we are a member of and this great art we find ourselves training in. Whatever it means to any of us, it’s my belief that it should have some meaning. Take some time to think about it, take some time to mull, to meditate, to ponder, whatever word works for you and see what kind of meaning there is in it for you. I hope I have conveyed what meaning there is in it for me.

Being Polite

I know this isn't exactly a new topic, but I am wondering about the lack of general politeness that I've been witnessing. Granted, it could just be that I'm getting older and somehow that "when I was younger" mentality is slowly creeping in, but whether or not people were more polite or not when I was younger I'm sure that they are not polite now. 

What I mean by politeness is really just being aware that there are other people in the universe. I noticed it walking down an isle at a supermarket and some person and I crossed paths so I said excuse me. I was with a friend who looked back at the person and said something like "people are so rude." Frankly, I didn't even notice. I realized at that moment that this happens all the time. It is rare, very rare indeed when some other person will say excuse me in these moments when more than one person is trying to occupy the same space. Maybe it's because of the city that I live in, maybe it's because the town I live, and I'm hoping that somewhere in the world this concepts is still alive and well. I hope somewhere in this country people are still teaching their children this basic and fundamental social convention.

Most of the shops that I go into, the young clerk has an almost  complete disregard for these kinds of social manners. They neither look the customer in the eye, nor do they say anything when they give back change. No thank you, no have a nice day, nothing at all.  I remember working in a supermarket in high school, and part of my training was being polite to customer. And some of these people were downright mean, but it was our job to be nice, say thank you, and go about our business. Now it seems like a skit from Mad TV with Shaquiqui working the register. It's like the customer needs to come in and be polite to the clerk. It's as if these stores have so many customers to choose from that they frankly couldn't care about keeping any individual. This is something that I would like to see change. It isn't that I need anyone sychophantically catering to my every need, but I really don't mind a chipper, well meaning and enthusiastic person taking my money and giving me my change. 

I certainly have my theory on how and why this phenomenon is occurring, but I'll save that for some other long and confusing blog. For now I'd just like to look at this very strange happening where we no longer seem to be concerned with anything other than our own little world. 

The Love of Students

How do you yell at someone that you love? I do it to my son all the time, but somehow that feels more natural. But when I yell at my students I worry that they don't know that I love them. My son knows, my son is a child and knows a parent's love completely and without doubt. But an adult doesn't love like a child loves, and they confuse anger and yelling for a lack of love. I love my son unconditionally so when I yell at him I'm never filled with doubt. I know it isn't my ego involved, but just a genuine and pure love. But when I yell at my students my heart doesn't feel so free. I worry that it's my ego and not my pure heart that's directing me. But I love my students, and I need to see them grow, so I yell at them and correct them and I worry that they don't know that I love them. 

An Interesting Problem

Maybe problem is the wrong word. Tonight a picture fell off the wall at the dojo, and it's plate glass shattered all over the entryway hall. The wind was howling through the dojo tonight, and just as we were bowing out we heard this smash.  After class I went out and started cleaning up the mess, and somehow I made it through the entire process without being asked once if I needed help.  Of course I don't mind cleaning up broken glass, I built the dojo I can certainly clean it up, but as I was cleaning up I was remembering my teacher, and how I would have never been able to just back idly as he cleaned something up. I was proud for all of a second as I told myself that they've never been trained to "scrape." I've never encouraged them in this way and in a way it's a good thing. But I couldn't help feeling a little empty knowing that they had no idea this was impolite to let their teacher clean this mess up.  And then as I thought about it further I felt even emptier knowing that I had to tell them what to do. I knew that the dojo had to change, and that I was the unfortunate facilitator of that change. 

Change

I wonder why change is so disruptive and so invigorating at the same time. I was thinking last night that change is like stirring a giant pot of stew. You look into the pot and it looks a certain way, but then when you mix it up you see all different kinds of things that you hadn't seen for a while. If you continuously stir then the thing won't cook, but if you leave it too long then it burns. 

I seem to have a tendency to let it sit for too long, and for some reason I get very hesitant to stir. Once I do I see the burnt bits that sat for too long and also all the amazing things that I put in the stew in the first place. I'm both exhilarated to be cooking, and disappointed that I let it sit for so long. I tell my self that this time it will be different, this time I'll be attentive to the stew, but somehow it slips out of my consciousness. I smell it burning but I don't do anything about it. I see it burning and I don't do anything about it until finally something stirs me into action. Then I'm invigorated by the change and angry that I wasn't more attentive and I vow that this time I'll be more attentive, and thus begins the cycle anew. I'd like to keep my stew in my mind and stir it when it needs to be stirred. I'd like to be able to attend to things in their right time. 

Earth Day?

So this is kind of an unrelated post, but I wanted to write something about it. Yesterday was Earthday, a day that we presumably are aware of how we treat the earth, and this is something that I am all for. However, one of my college students came into class yesterday with a flyer and speeches about how we should take care of the earth. All of which I agree with, but then she proceeded to mock and terrorize one of her classmates. This of course is their relationship, and they are still immersed in a kind of pecking order and hierarchy where it's okay to ridicule those lower than you. So I lectured them, and then I thought I'd talk here, about something kind of ironic in Earthday.  

What I find ironic is that we are horrible to each other, we are cruel and rude and have no compassion for other humans, but we want to spend a full day taking care of the earth. What I thought would be better is if we have Peopleday. A day dedicated to how we treat each others. A full day where we don't push in front of others, where we don't try and make a buck off someone, where we go out of our way to help some other person. Granted, I agree the earth should be cared for by us, but I also think that we need to care for each other and in many ways I think this is even more important. 

Now here is my lecture, I'll try and make it brief.  Caring for others is a reflection of how we care for ourselves. If we practicing loving ourselves, then we find it easier to love people around us. If we love ourselves then we don't seek to destroy the world, we see the value of the earth, we see the value of others because we so highly value ourselves. So really what I'd like to see, and I had no idea I was such a hippie, is something called Selfloveday. Okay, that even made me a little sick, but I like the idea. If we love ourselves then we love the thing which sustains us, the earth. 

So although I'm all for the environment, I can't help seeing it as a reflection of ourselves. We pump ourselves full of toxins and chemicals because we don't value ourselves in any way. When we can start valuing ourselves then we don't have to worry about the earth, because we will recognize important it is to us. Selfloveday, I think I like it.