Woburn Aikido

Practice-vs-Repetition

2011-04-21T08:55:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-01-10T13:13:00.000-08:00

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

2009-08-17T05:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-30T17:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-30T16:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-28T05:21:00.000-07:00

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?

2009-04-23T06:10:00.000-07:00

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.

Pain

2009-04-18T10:12:00.001-07:00

I often ask myself how much pain is good and how much pain is bad. This probably seems like something that's likely instinctual in most people, but as I've studied this subject I do often wonder about it. What leads me to thinking about it is the inevitable pain associated with Aikido. Pain exists on many levels, and somehow Aikido seems to exploit them all. What I've noticed over the years is how unwilling many people are to experience any pain at all. This could be seen as hugely sensible, but I'm not so sure.

What I am sure about is that anything of substance that I've accomplished in my life had pain of some kind associated with it. One could argue that graduating high school or college in a way is just an ability to endure pain. Certainly there are those classes that we love, but in general the amount of work involved is sometimes tedious, the classes themselves can be dull and often it's really just about enduring. Aikido is no different. You keep going, you keep training, and at the end you accomplish something, whatever your personal goal may be.

There is physical pain associated with Aikido training and there is also emotional pain; both of which people tend to run from. Physically I think we get it, but emotional pain is different. Sometimes it's as mundane as a plateau. Everyone who trains in any physical activity reaches moments where they feel they aren't improving. This is frustrating and painful in ways, and I've seen many people quit at this moment. For the life of me I can't understand why. I mean, of course I get it but I wonder what someone hopes to accomplish by quitting. Nothing of substance has ever been accomplished by quitting a thing, yet it seems that it's something we happen to be very, very good at.

Although I've chosen Aikido, I think studying anything, focusing on it, pushing yourself to accomplish some goal and then actually accomplishing it is a hugely important component to life training. This is a skill that helps us in many, many ways and I worry that we've become too conditioned to giving up at the slightest resistance. Is this true? Do we run the minute a thing offers us some push back? I think this is likely putting it too strongly, but this has been my experience.

However, taking on needless pain is called self-abuse, so there must be some line between an acceptable amount of pain that will help us grow, and too much pain that will tear us down. Pain frightens people, so at the slightest touch they recoil, but they haven't come anywhere close to going too far. I don't suggest trying to go too far, that isn't my point, but the first sensation of pain is likely not enough to cause any harm (of course, depending on what we are talking about). But in general, in terms of life pain, my suggestion is to try enduring; patient endurance as Herman Hesse told us in Siddhartha.

Be okay with some pain, push a little bit against personal limitation in order to see what lies beyond that initial limit. Be brave and have faith and confidence in yourself that you'll know when it's time to pull back. Timidity, hesitation, these are the things that limit me and that limit all of us. Again, over exuberance and mindlessness lead us to undue pain, but people who posses these traits are rare.

The point isn't to just be in pain for the sake of it, but to learn to push through personal limitations. Whatever the goal might be, whatever a person wants to accomplish in their life will not be accomplished without some ability to endure. No great success story starts off with, "it was pretty easy, I guess." At least I haven't heard this story and if I did it wouldn't move me in any way. We like underdog stories, we like stories about the little guy rising up to meet and overcome challenges. In writing we say there are three types of conflict, man versus man, man versus nature and man versus society. In any of these types of conflict there is always, without exception, pain. We cannot avoid pain, it is part of our human condition, so it's my opinion that we need to train ourselves in how we manage pain, resolve pain, and in how we understand our own and others pain. We do this, at least in terms of a metaphor, by practicing endurance. By allowing pain to be what it is, and continue on in our lives is one way in which we can improve ourselves and not giving up at each new iteration.

I've been training martial arts fairly actively for almost twenty years now, and I promise you there have been infinite moments where I want to quit. I may still quit, I don't know, but I haven't yet and because of that I feel as if I've accomplished something. Maybe nothing that great, but I've endured, I know I can endure, and this feels like an accomplishment to me. I also leaped out of a marriage after only a few years, so I do realize we all have our times when we can endure and when we can't, but, the point is to recognize pain for what it is and practice not allowing that pain to limit us.

Although I don't think we need to go back to this mind set of thinking that asking for help is weakness, I do think we could use a little bit of fortitude. Once again my quick post has gotten out of control so I'll revisit this at some other point.

Manners in a Dojo

2009-04-10T11:30:00.001-07:00

Although most dojos have a list of rule of etiquette for their dojo, I wanted to put up something broader reaching then just a list of do's and don'ts. Certainly, the list of physical acts is vital to how an Aikido dojo works, but there is more to it then just that. There are rules of behavior that we were taught as children, but that somehow we forget as we get older. I realize that this might seem too parochial for most, but to me it underscores much of what we do.

If you go to a dojo for the first time, introduce yourself to the instructor and ask if it's okay to watch a class or to participate. Follow along the best you can, remember to be humble at all times, and then after class be sure to say thank you to the instructor for letting you train.

Although most dojos have a mat fee prearranged, other's don't. However, just because there isn't a mat fee per se, does not me that you shouldn't make a donation or in some way contribute to the dojo. My standard is $20 per day when I train at another dojo, but I realize that it's different for everyone. The point is, that even if they say there is no mat fee, you should still do your best to make a donation to the dojo. This is just polite, this reveals your good intention and your understanding and appreciation for both Aikido and for the dojo. Aikido schools don't always run like a western business, so sometimes we have to think more on a personal level.

Remember that the instructor of the school is a human being, and responds to the same things all human beings respond to. My teacher use to get very upset because every time he came into the dojo no one would say hello to him. Everyone would just hide their eyes and pretend like he wasn't there. I understand that they did this because so many of us held him in such high regard, but to hold someone in such high esteem that you're actually rude to them makes no sense at all. It's great to value your teacher and respect your teacher, but not at the cost of some very basic social conventions. Say hello, say good bye, and say thank you; all fairly reasonable stuff.

When you go into a dojo and the instructor comes out to meet you, be sure to stand up. Standing up, saying hello and introducing your self are social standards that transcend either wester or eastern conventions. Perhaps several hundred years ago it would be more polite to do a kneeling bow, but today that doesn't really work. In the west we tend to shake hands with people we meet for the first time; am I saying something new?

I say much of this because this is what I have experienced at my dojo. To be totally honest with you, social conventions have never been that high on my list of things to do, but now seeing them from the other side I'm starting to see why they are there. It does reveal something about a person's character how they greet you, how they present themselves, and how aware they are of being socially civil. I realize that this makes me wildly old fashioned, but on some level I guess I like social conventions. This certainly isn't only at Aikido schools, but I've noticed this complete lack of civility in regular life.

On a fairly regular basis I hold a door open for someone and they don't say anything at all. I often wonder about this. For me, and maybe I'm too sensitive to these things, if someone pauses even for a second to hold a door open for me I'm hugely grateful and take a moment to say so. I don't scrape their feet, I say thank you, but so many of us don't do this. It's clear that we have stopped teaching our selves, and therefore our children, what it means to behave well. This just one example in many that demonstrate how crude, in a way, we have become. We have let ourselves become uncivilized in many, many ways and this shows up in real time in our daily lives.

I don't mean to suggest that stifling social codes and mores are a great thing either, but why throw the baby out with the bath water? Can't we maintain social conventions without becoming oppressive or repressive? In my dojo there are many rules of behavior and conduct, but in no way do they repress the creative process of Aikido. It is certainly not individualistic in the sense that everyone gets to interpret civility in their own way, but at the same time it isn't communistic in the sense they everyone must express themselves exactly the same way. The dojo is both free and controlled, open and confined, regulated and infinitely interpretable and this, to me, makes a good social system.

The point is, exercise good manners in the dojo.

Kyu Tests

2009-04-05T05:01:00.000-07:00

Yesterday we had kyu tests at Woburn Aikido, and I have to admit that I was hugely impressed by everyone's effort. I've been studying martial arts for a number of years, and I've seen all variety of tests. Unfortunately, what seems to be more common than not is that tests are poor, lack any clarity and do not show a rigorous attention to detail. I would say, hopefully without sounding too proud, that these tests showed all of these important traits.

I'm really not sure how it happened. All I know was that about a month ago after every class I kept hearing bodies falling on the mat. I'd poke my head out of my office and there were my students training away. And then I'd get emails asking to use the dojo on a Sunday (our one day off) in order to practice for tests. I don't remember saying anyone should do this, I don't think I ever suggested that they should come in for extra training, yet there they were practicing away.

What truly impressed me was how confident everyone was in their techniques. I can be a demanding teacher, and at times I turn the heat up on my students to see how they respond. Not once, not even for a second did any of them get rattled. There I was yelling that they weren't doing technique right, and they just kept plugging along, doing what they practiced, and executing good, clean technique. This to me shows how diligently they practiced for their tests.

There have been many tests that I've seen over the years that completely and entirely fall apart when one small thing goes wrong. It has the feeling like a carefully constructed model where each piece is precariously balanced on the next. One small rattle, one slight bump and the whole thing falls apart. This is not how to prepare for a test. It shouldn't feel like a balancing act, or like an act at all. The techniques should be practiced and analyzed in a way where they become a part of the student. Certainly, over time they improve and change, but they become the foundation for everything else. So when building this model, give it a shake from time to time during the building process and see what falls off. Put more glue, attach it in a better way and then give it another good shake. My job as a teacher and as a tester is to shake this model to see how well built it is.

What worries me is that teachers stop shaking the model (I hope this metaphor is working) because it upsets people to see this thing fall apart. Of course by test day the instructor should already know how strong the model is so when they give it a good shake is doesn't in fact fall apart, but it doesn't fall apart because he or she has been testing it all along, shaking it for months and letting things fall off as they will. So teachers don't want to upset their students and this I understand, but a test, THE test is just the last stop in a series of tests that should be happening.

Also, I hear people say to me that "it's only 5th kyu;" 5th kyu is our very first test that people take after a few months of training. This I realize, but as a foundation for everything that is to come, I cannot, in good conscience, let their foundations crumble. So I do agree that the expectations and standards for 5th kyu should be different than those for shodan (black belt), but there still absolutely and unequivocally need to be some goal to work toward.

I'm very proud of my students and the effort that they put toward their tests. I believe that if they hope to gain the tremendous benefits that are to be had through a diligent study of Aikido and martial arts in general then they are on the right path. I'm happy to have been a part of this process, and I hope I can continue to guide them, to assist them, and to rattle their models for many tests to come.

Testing

2009-03-28T09:47:00.000-07:00

Next week we are having kyu tests at the dojo, and it's incredible to see how enthusiastic all the students are. It's difficult to convey how impressed I am as I sit here writing this blog and I hear them preparing in the next room. As this dojo slowly grows I can't help worrying about how many students I have, how I will pay the bills, and how will I pass on this great thing that I have learned. Sometimes it brings me down, I feel sorry for myself with worry, and I think that I'm not doing a very good job. But as I sit here and listen to them train, I hear their happy voices, I hear them trying to understand these techniques and it feels as if something must be right. I still worry about the bills, I still worry about how to grow the dojo, but it's these moments where I can't help feeling like we are on the right track. Time will certainly tell, but for right now I'm pretty happy in my ignorance of the future.

Super Hero

2009-03-27T21:46:00.000-07:00

I have a student, and she's like a super hero.

I watch how she grows, I watch how she learns

and I then I grow, and then I learn.

I have a student who's like a super hero

If I asked her to leap a tall building, I think she could do it.

I watch her train and I watch her learn.

I have a student, and I have a teacher.

I didn't know a teacher learned from a student.

But I have a student that's a super hero,

And I learn something new every day.

A Fine Line

2009-03-27T16:48:00.000-07:00

The analogy I thought of the other day was that the etiquette in the dojo should feel like a very firm hug. Sometimes it can feel lax, like no one is really thinking about it, and this, as far as the analogy goes, feels like one of those halfway hugs. The kind where the person sticks their rear-end as far away as possible, and just barely puts their arms around you lacking the warmth and the comfort that's inherent in a hug.

Then there are other dojos where the etiquette feels more like a choke hold. Certainly people are thinking about the etiquette, but the etiquette becomes a kind of affectation that can be oppressive. This is like a hug that feels as if someone is trying to prove something, show how strong they are, and you feel your ribs creak during the process. Maybe this is too intimate for me and makes the hug feel either aggressive or creepy; not what I imagine the nature of a hug to be.

Neither of these kinds of hugs convey what a hug wants to convey. A true feeling of warmth, of caring and of kindness without being overly intimate. The etiquette at the dojo should feel firm, full and complete giving students comfort and security, without becoming self-serving, abusive or invasive. The etiquette at the dojo should surround the students, fill every nook and cranny of the dojo without ever becoming overbearing, just like a good hug.

Becoming Clean

2009-03-21T06:00:00.000-07:00

I was thinking last night how many things students hope to get out of Aikido. It seems as if those people who come into a dojo with all kinds of expectations are the first ones to quit. I imagine that the more expectations one has the more likely it is that they will be disappointed. They become disappointed because they don't know how to achieve their goals and their goals are often unrealistic for the kind of person that they are. What I mean is that if my goal is to out play Kobe Bryant in a game of one-on-one, although an admirable goal, I need to first asses what kind of basketball player I am. Considering I'm short, never played basketball on a team, and I have bad knees I'd imagine my chances of reaching this goal are limited. That doesn't mean that it isn't a good goal, is just means that I should be aware of reality. The point of this writing is to help people understand what it is they should expect from their Aikido training so their expectations can match with reality.

What strikes me as odd are the kinds of expectations people have of Aikido and of martial arts in general. What I tend to hear most from new students, the ones who come in with lots of expectations, is that they want to lose forty or fifty pounds, or they want to become "one with the universe." I imagine Aikido could help on the path to either of these lofty goals, but what would appear obvious is that Aikido alone will not do. The goals are fantastic, losing weight through physical exercise is a great thing, but then reality needs to come in. We know that physical exercise along with a healthy diet help in weight loss but if you're taking in 4000 calories a day and burning off 200 through exercise, weight loss is impossible. The point is that an accurate assessment of one's reality is vital.

The analogy I thought of last night was that the dojo is like a cleansing bath. If approached diligently and with constant effort, Aikido and the Aikido dojo can serve as a means to scrub clean students from the muck and mire associated with daily life. Zazen, Insight Meditation and other forms of buddhist meditation I see the same way and all of these pursuit tend toward the same goal. So when a new student comes to me and says that they want to lose forty pounds or they want to feel the spirituality inherent in Aikido I think that they are in the right place. But what I find interesting is that these students, almost exclusively those with impossibly high expectations often do little to help affect a change. It would appear that showing up at the dojo, paying the small amount a dojo charges for its fees, and putting on a clean white gi is enough. Of course, this couldn't be further from the truth.

So to get back to the cleansing bath metaphor, these students come in for a class and because of the years spent immersed in the world they are covered with this muck and mire that cannot be washed off in one quick rinse as it were. Imagine rolling around in oil and dirt, and sticky syrups and trash and then, for an instant, letting water fall on your face. The years of misuse of the body can't be changed, cannot be washed clean with one superficial rinse. So the new student goes home and says to himself that this Aikido stuff doesn't work, this teacher can't teach. They see they are still covered in the slime of humanity and walk away from Aikido. Or maybe they stay for a little while, and after a few months of training their skin just starts to show underneath the infinite layers of sludge that have collected, and the first thing they do with this clean feeling is jump right back into the cesspool from which they came. And they look at their bodies and say to themselves that this Aikido stuff doesn't work, this teacher can't teach, I'm still covered in slime.

The perception seems to be that Aikido, that meditation and that teachers are somehow magical and that it is they, it is this combination of elements that will scrub students clean of their lives. Of course this is a silly thing to think. No teacher I have ever had was magical. They were amazing and inspirational and infinitely talented but this was through their diligent effort toward a goal and not in some gift. What I learned from my teachers is that this constant effort, this clear view of a path and a dedication toward that path is what will help make us feel clean and new and alive.

This is not magic. Hard work is not magic, but somehow this has become the perception. We tend to look at healing in this country, spiritual or physical, as a process by which we have no involvement. We have become pill takers, and the very idea of a pill removes us from the illness. Of course I am in no way undermining modern science or the great advancements we've made in pharmacology, I might just take an ibuprofin later, but this pill takes away my connection with the pain. The pain is mine, caused by me and relating exclusively to me. When I take a pill it becomes someone else's problem. If I'm still in pain I can say to myself this ibuprofin stuff doesn't work. When perhaps what would be better for me in a larger context is to try and understand my pain, where does it come from, what am I doing to cause myself pain; this is what I mean by being involved in an illness.

To avoid this kind of separate existence where there is my life that I live, and then there is me we try to connect these two things through our training. That my life, my goals, my fear and my pain are about me and only me is connecting these parts is part of our struggle. If I hope to find peace with these things then the answer must lie within me, and this is what teachers try to help us see. They try to help a student find the answer for themselves; this is not magic. The answer, at least my answer is through this process of Aikido and meditation. Through this effort the dojo scrubs people clean of the stresses of life, of the slime of pain and helps them to feel clean and free. One rinse won't do. Paying dues and buying a gi won't do. If one hopes to gain the infinite benefits of their training they must immerse themselves fully into it. They must scrub their bodies, get covered with soap, soak in hot water and let the dirt of life slowly drift away. Once clean then we maintain this feeling by regular training and not by then immersing ourselves in the very thing that made us feel dirty in the first place.

Of course I am talking about spiritual cleanliness and not physical but it is no different. If we fill our heads with negativity for years and years and then spend one hour trying to be at peace this will not work. Sitting quietly for ten minutes will do little to restore the spirit's natural health. This would appear obvious to me, it would appear obvious that if we hope to become clean then we must dedicate ourselves in some way. It's remarkable how many people are unwilling to do this or therefore unable to accomplish their goals.

When I say dedicated training I want to be clear that this is not the kind of hyper masculine version of dedication that we see on TV. This isn't the kind of dedication that makes us servile and weak, but that instead empowers us beyond imagining. I don't ask my students to become monks, I ask them to let Aikido principles become the central theme of their lives, but not their lives per se. It isn't the kind of cultish dedication that demands everything from you, but a dedication in purpose and intent. We can live a life that looks on the outside like a regular, "modern" life, but that doesn't mean that our spirits need to become weak and filthy. We pursue family, career, friendships and passions but we do it with a clarity of purpose, with an understanding of self and a sense of peace and belonging that we get through our diligent efforts. This is not magic, this is not fantasy but the results of effort.

So when students come to me and say that they want to lose weight or they want to becoming spiritually whole I sometimes worry for them. I worry that with this expectation comes a kind of separation that will keep them from achieving anything. They have a goal but seem to lack an understanding of how to achieve that goal, and when I tell them they are unsatisfied. They don't want to hear that through diligent training they can find some peace, that by directing their lives toward exercise and healthy eating they can lose weight. They want me to wave my magic wand and make them all better. I of course don't have this power, and even if I did I wouldn't use it. When they quit I can't help feeling some resentment toward them. I look at the scars I have that represent the hours of training and I resent how little some people are willing to put in. They want everything but are unwilling to go through anything. They want the loftiest possible goals, but can't seem to take the first step toward it and then blame Aikido, blame me for not getting them where they want to be.

So I sit on my couch thinking how great it would be to beat Kobe in a game of basketball and I don't do anything but sit and dream. Maybe one day I go to a basketball school, take a class, see how terrible I am at basketball and then quit. I blame the coaches, I blame the entire sport for my failing having never accomplishing anything, never getting anywhere, just reinforcing the destructive habits that limit my thinking and limit my life. My advice to students is that if you want to play basketball go and play basketball, don't worry too much about any goals beyond that. If someday you play Kobe then good luck to you, but in the mean time dedicate yourself to the path; play everyday.

Weapons

2009-03-17T17:31:00.000-07:00

Last night we trained bokken for weapons class. It was a big class for us and nearly everyone on the mat was a beginner. What was so interesting is to see how many different ways people have of doing the exact same thing. Although I only taught it one way, each person had a different interpretation of what they saw. This led me to think about my own teaching and my own journey as a student.

I taught the most basic cut last night and as I looked around the room it was amazing to see how differently each person did the technique. With body art it's more difficult to see, each nuance or idiosyncrasy isn't as pronounced, but with weapon's work, especially bokken, all these little body anomalies start to appear. You ask someone to stand up straight, and eight people will stand up straight eight different ways. Then you ask them to hold this somewhat strange looking object, and swing it in a very prescribed way and you get as many different versions of it as you have people on the mat. Certainly this isn't a criticism, just an observation.

What we try to teach in weapons is that each part of a strike should be completely natural. What that means is that the body should move in a way that allows the weapon to move as it is intended without any interference. The more human qualities that are added into the movement the less that weapon is able to function as it was intended. So in a way it's like stripping away all the things that a person brings onto the mat and allowing the weapon to entirely take over. But at first the body leads and the weapon follows, and later the weapon leads and the body follows.

As I stood on the mat looking out at my students I wanted to laugh and tell them how funny they looked. Certainly not in a mean way, but I wish they could see themselves through my eyes. Even though I try to show them in the clearest way that I can, they will never see what I see and I will never see what they see. If I could see my self through their eyes I'd be a much improved teacher, and if they could see themselves through mine they would be improved students. But all we can do is look at what we are doing and then see what the outcome is. They do suburi and look at my reaction; that's how a student improves. I look at my students, and they reflect what I'm doing; this is how a teacher learns.

So everyone on the mat was standing in some funny posture, some way their body was taking over and not letting the weapon move, and I realized that my teaching is probably just like that. I'm not sure I can articulate just what I mean, but my teaching is probably like bad posture, too much muscle and improper angles. Through practice their cuts improve, and through practice my teaching improves. I'd imagine if you asked eight different teachers to stand up straight you'd get eight different interpretations of what that meant. But through practice, just like in bokken, I think that we try and eliminate, or at least minimize our own concepts of what's right and wrong and try to find out what's natural.

At first the student tries to force the bokken to do what he or she wants it to do, and I see my teaching just like that. I try and impose my will on my students; I tell them do it just like this, or just like that. But the weapon cuts with less efficiency the harder a student tries to swing it, and I'd imagine the harder a teacher tries to force his students to learn the less able they will become. But with no body the sword doesn't move, and with no teacher the student doesn't learn. So like the weapon's student learns to let the weapon cut, I think the teacher needs to learn how to let the student learn. Each person is like a new weapon, in a way, and in order for it to work properly or work efficiently it must be moved the right way. This is how I see my job and the job of a teacher in general. I need to see how a student learns and then I can teach them. The students lead the teacher in this way and not the other way around.

Level of Training

2009-03-12T16:55:00.001-07:00

It's difficult to know how important it is to maintain a standard level of practice at the dojo. When I was training it was hugely important to me to maintain a high level of training both in terms of numbers of hours per week, as well as the kind of training I was doing on the mat. There were certainly those nights where I chose a partner that I knew I wouldn't have to work to hard with, but in general I sought out those people who I knew would challenge me and push me.

So now I have my own school and I wonder how much of this personal expectation I can have for my students. When I was coming up there were one, two, maybe three people who had the same level of commitment to their practice as I did, and I came from a huge school. Now I own this very small dojo north of Boston and I wonder if it's feasible or rational to think that my students will be able to train in the same way as I did.

My students train hard, there is no doubt about this, but they train in a different way. They train as you would a hobby or a sport; something you do to pass the time. They train two days a week, maybe three days and to them this is enough. But my personal expectation is so much higher that I struggle to find a good and healthy balance for all of us. I do have some students who are doing phenomenal work and I'm deeply impressed with their level of commitment to the dojo and to their training, but most people aren't like this and I worry that I squeeze out too many students because my expectations are so high.

Of course, I want to have high expectations because this is what makes a good dojo and good Aikido. If we are all just playing at it then there will be nothing left. But this balance between having high expectations in order to improve the overall quality of Aikido, while at the same time realizing that people are busy, have full lives and families and jobs is difficult at times to find. Half of me wants to just let people live their lives and give whatever it is they can give, and half of me thinks that if they're not training then they should go do something else. I don't want to have a room full of people chit chatting and pretending to study a martial art, and I don't want to have two people on the mat because no one else can match my standard. Two very strong students, or twenty weak ones? Ten kind of strong ones, and ten pretty weak ones? Does it work like this. Is it really a sliding scale once you let the standard drop?

What I find is that I try to do both. I try to let people live their lives but also let them know as clearly as possible that there is a standard. But what I'm learning is that this isn't so easy for me. I crash down on people who aren't matching the standard, and at times they quit. Maybe as I get better at this I'll find a way to maintain my students while maintaining a high standard. But as of now I tend to push people out of the dojo, figuratively speaking, who either can't or are unwilling to maintain my standard and this keeps my dojo quite small. Small but strong; hopefully this is the right way.

Visitors

2009-03-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

Blending and Entering

2009-03-12T13:17:00.000-07:00