New beginnings

The Sandcastle Recreation Complex has been closed since early September and we may still be a few weeks away from the opening of the new dojo, so I thought this would be a good time for an interim essay. Thus, I offer some musings on this "vacation" which will soon come to a glorious end.

Being off from regular training has been a very good opportunity to look at how Aikido has actually integrated into my life. In class, and especially in Kenshu, we study principles such as Ma Ai, Cho Shi, and Ai Ki. These are more than martial principles. These are principles of living. Being away from regular training these last weeks, daily life has been the only context in which I have had to study these teachings, and it has surprised me how deeply they have set into my life these last six years.

When I started Aikido, the dojo was celebrating it's third anniversary. I remember thinking how exciting and new it must have been to be part of those first days. Although every student in every class helps to build the history and future of the dojo, there is a deep spirit that emanates from the images and stories of those early days. I can even see some of this when talking to my juniors who have no memories of having to stack up the mats at the end of each class. Now we stand at the edge of a similar new beginning. How will things proceed? How will they change? Who will return? I can't fully describe how excited I am to be there as these questions get answered.

Having seen the new facility, the possibilities for the future seem very open. The journey into that future will be like that of a boat. To move, it requires drive and direction. Sensei has set the direction and has nudged it into the current, but the force that will truly drive it is the spirit that we create when we come together. Given that, I have little worry for the future, since the spirit of the Seikokan has always been it's defining characteristic.

I hope that all those who can, take part in this rebirth. Aikido has had a great impact on our lives, and for those who train at the Seikokan, this new phase promises to be an excellent opportunity for growth, both individually and as a group.

I hope to see you on the mats soon.

This is Not Martial Arts

This essay was born in a "why am I doing this?" moment. It was a period when I was noticing students asking questions about the practicality of what we were doing. This is a different world than the one that gave birth to Aikido and its ancestor arts. That alone makes these questions valid. There is another aspect that emerges in this question. What is the end goal? Looking back now, this was a fitting "post shodan" essay. In my time in various arts, I have seen different motivations. Making it to shodan can throw motivations into sharp relief. A common motivation is to get a black belt. Okay, then what? Well, it's time to look at our training. I have to admit that getting to shodan was important to me. I trained for years in Tae Kwon Do, just to let University interrupt my training just short of that goal. But now, my training feels more like home. It is driven, but does not have that flavour of rushing to get somewhere. It's more like diving than swimming. I would like to see how deep I can get.

The essay...

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The English language is a funny thing. Being the dominant language of international business in the world and of media culture in the West, it tends to suck in words from many other cultures. The more removed from European culture a language is, the more that gets lost in translation.

Japanese terms often do not have a direct and perfect translation in English. Many Japanese terms encompass a philosophical meaning related to their origins that an English translation may only glimpse, or miss altogether. Budo is one such term.

In the North American mind, what we do is martial arts. However, in that mind, martial arts is a sport. There are national champions, Olympic gold medalists and action heroes like Jackie Chan, The Karate Kid, and Steven Segal. But from the perspective of Aikido, this is not what we do. Aikido is not martial arts, it is Budo.

"Bu" is easy enough to translate without confusion. It means martial or war. The term "Do" is what is lost in translation. It is also the term that makes all the difference.

When the Samurai were active and plying their trade in medieval Japan, what they practiced could rightly be called Bujutsu. "Jutsu" translates as "craft", "science", or "art". The term Bujutsu accurately described a daily existence in which the Samurai not only trained to kill, but would be expected to kill or die at some point.

Under the rule of the Tokugawa Shogunate (a Shogun is a military dictator) from 1603 to 1867, Japan knew little internal conflict. As a result, the role of the Samurai changed. Although they remained the warrior class of the nation, they adopted administerial duties which helped to solidify their elevated social rank in a time of peace. The purpose of their martial training also shifted. Training to kill and die in battle was no longer a sustainable motivation given that there were very few outlets along those lines.

Rather than abandon their martial heritage, the Samurai adopted a new focus for their training. In the absence of external enemies, the Samurai found new enemies inside himself. In continuing to refine the physical practice, the Samurai would address the internal weaknesses of his own character that could compromise his performance. Ego, closed mindedness, laziness and inattention became the new challenge. In refining the internal self, the Samurai were not only ready both physically and mentally to kill and die for his lord, but developed a stronger character as an individual.

This is what we inherit in Aikido. The practicality of the techniques and our physical form are important, but that is only part of the picture of what Budo seeks to preserve and cultivate. There is always a challenge, even if the practitioner does not yet perceive it. We clarify what is inside and, in time, with diligent practice, that clarity will also manifest on the outside. It is not a matter of form then mind, or mind then form. We are driving both forward, and to forget about the internal training that connects them changes our martial way into a violent dance or sport.

If our Aikido is just these techniques and these flips, then yes, we are doing martial arts. But that is not Budo. Aikido is Budo.

Shodan Essay: Mi Kata

Of all the essays I have written, this one felt the most like an "essay". The main reason for this is that it is the only essay my teacher has even asked me to write. At the Seikokan dojo, part of any black belt test is an essay on a principle of budo that has been studied in our Kneshu classes. So this one has a different flavour, but still goes in the same direction.

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Mi Kata is a part of budo philosophy that focuses on the relative nature of one’s own point of view. If our understanding is to grow, our perspective can not remain fixed.

In Aikido, Mi Kata manifests itself in a number of ways. Primarily, Mi Kata reminds me that my own understanding is limited and different from the viewpoint of others. Recognizing the relative nature of my own point of view helps me to avoid becoming arrogant or conceited about what I do understand about Aikido. Remembering that there are other points of view helps to remind me that there is always more to learn and more angles to study.

Focus on Mi Kata also helps when one has trouble with a particular technique or basic movement. A solution, or at least a better understanding of what is happening in the movement, may come from looking at Uke or Shite from a different physical angle, or perhaps from isolating the hand or foot movements in order to better perceive their role.

Mi Kata also becomes evident as we train with a variety of people. The same technique may manifest in different ways when applied to an Uke who is short or tall, light or heavy, pliable or stiff. In studying the relation of these factors to each technique, we can better see what core principles run through them all.

My profession also provides ample opportunity to study Mi Kata. When a new teacher enters the school, they often have a very limited perspective on what they are doing. Many teachers come to the job having been outstanding students themselves. They tend to have enjoyed school and genuinely love the subject material that they studied and now intend to teach. If the first classes on their schedule are advanced, they encounter students who share their enthusiasm for school and the subject matter. I have watched many of these teachers become stressed out and dumbfounded when presented with a basic level class full of students who are often either less interested in school as a whole, or less gifted academically.

A very painful lesson is taught in these situations, and not to the students. The teacher, enthused and eager to teach their subject, eventually comes to the grinding, fundamental realization that they are a teacher of students, not topics. The goal is not to simply explain how World War I started or why Tybalt wanted to kill Romeo. The task is to find out how the students learn best. The goal is not to discover the missing angle of a triangle, but to discover how to engage and interest the student in what they are doing. Mi Kata provides the pathway. By recognizing that there are different ways to both teach and to understand, the teacher can better guide the student.

Mi Kata seems very closely related to Shoshin. In the mind of the beginner, everything is fresh, active and alive. When Mi Kata is present, the mind of the practitioner remains keen and open.

1st Kyu Essay

This essay came at a time when everything was starting to blend together. Shoshin and Zanshin did not seem like two different concepts any more, but rather different angles of one thing. I think that this is why it ended up being one of my shorter essays.

the essay...

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My One Trillion Piece 3-D Puzzle

I really did not know what I would write for this, my 9^th testing essay. I looked back at what I had said before, and much of it seemed the same. I looked at others I had begun, but I found the same thing. I am finding it hard to see something “new”. As usual, the answer came by shifting my angle slightly. Maybe I just need to change what I consider to be “new”.

In the early stages of training, it happened more often than not that the answer to my technical problems was a technical detail that I was not aware of before. “Keep your arms in throughout kamae” or “don’t look down when pinning”. I took this “new” information and tried to absorb it, make it automatic.

As training progressed, there were fewer “new” nuggets of knowledge. But the old knowledge kept changing in depth and clarity. Like an isolated puzzle piece, each thing I know looks different as other pieces get added around it. As things become more and more “the same”, that similarity is changing the texture of each component.

In educational terminology, this would be called a holistic view of Aikido. This also helps me understand why it is so important to begin and end with Kamae (both literally and figuratively). Our eyes may focus on an individual puzzle piece as we try to figure out where it might fit, but we never know if we have placed it correctly until we set it down and widen our view to see the entire image.

Everyone’s path and challenges are unique. I think my training is going well. I wish I had started younger. I wish I could train more often. I wish, I wish, blah blah blah. Whatever the final picture in my Aikido puzzle may be, it is made up of the exact pieces of my experiences. I can no more regret my failures than I can my successes. I am happy to begin from where I am today.

Journeying many steps,

I turn to see the footprints of the past.

Only this path has led me here.

2nd Kyu Essay

As I get closer to the end of the essays that I have already written, I can see the shifting and ripening of my perspective in Aikido and in my spiritual journey. Most of the challenges I encounter in Aikido have corollaries in my experiences with zazen. What is even more interesting is how understanding changes, from from "I don't get it" to "I get it", but from continuing to work with and refine an existing understanding.

this essay was written in June of 2006...

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Don’t Blink

My teacher once told me that Aikido is a martial art for marathon runners and not for sprinters. By my experience so far, this seems to be true. All the masters of Aikido or any art have worked at their craft for decades, elevating it to a level that goes beyond the ABC – 123 nature of the basic mechanics. I can also see it in my own technique. Although I could “do” Shiho Nage by the end of my second class, that feeling is not how it feels today and it is not how it will feel in 10 years.

Today’s world conditions us to want things instantly, and that can make this type of training difficult. But even if we accept that this training is a continuous process and that it will be many years before we reach a certain level, we can still be trapped. That distant level could become an excuse. It could lead us to act as though the training we do now is less valuable than the training we do when we are Nikyu, Shodan, Sandan, etc. This is ridiculous! What if we taught our children in this manner? What effect would it have if we started each kindergarten lesson by saying “you won’t really understand this for 10, 15, 20 years”? Before long many would stop trying, or feel inadequate

At my first seminar with Robert Mustard Sensei, he spoke about the natural power that comes from relaxing, using our whole body and keeping our center line power. He said “You don’t have to wait 30 years. You can get it next class”. I think I understand what he was saying. I also believe my teacher who said that Aikido is not for sprinters. These ideas do not contradict each other.

If we train as though nothing will happen until we are Shodan or Sandan, then we are neglecting the value of what we are doing now. We must be ravenous for the teachings, desperate to understand now, so that we are awake and receptive to insights that we may have, even if they are accidental. Much of this comes back to Shoshin (Beginner’s Mind). When we first begin, it is easy to keep this hunger, because everything is big and new and exciting. But what is more, beginners are not often deterred when they can’t do it. They want to try again. THIS determination must be deliberately cultivated as training and experience progress.

We enjoy Aikido or we would not be here. We want to get it. We want it to work. When we hit a plateau or are unable to repeat something done right our ego can get bruised. The bigger the ego, the bigger the bruise. “I SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO THIS! AAARRGHH!”. At that moment we are lost. Relax. Focus. Do it again. This is just # 11,264 out of a million repetitions we will do in our lifetime. Just let it come. Watch it closely. Be ready to see something.

3rd Kyu Essay

3rd Kyu was a very important test for me. In addition to doing the first precursor to freestyle, It marked a transition. Reaching brown belt really made me feel like I was in a long period of preparation for Shodan. There was an almost unavoidable sense of being goal oriented, as the Shodan test was such an important milestone in training. However, the period lasting from 3rd Kyu to Shodan is so long, it did become training, just to train. I found myself discovering and rediscovering my purpose in Aikido. This essay was written just as that settling was beginning.

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WHAT AM I DOING?

(Eyes on the Road)

My father was a very gentle and compassionate man. His perspective on violence had, by contrast, a character of finality. He had a number of stories about his time overseas in the Navy that illustrated this. He hated the idea of fighting in general, but I also remember him telling me that the only fair fight was the one where your opponent is unconscious and you can just walk away. I am certain that aspects of this influenced my interest in and the pursuit of the martial arts.

When I first saw Aikido, I was entranced by the power. The dynamic throws and the way uke seemed to writhe in pain when pinned. I wanted that power. Up to the point that I wrote this, my training has been focussed almost solely on the mechanics of the techniques. The more techniques that I could do, the more successful I felt. I hope this is changing.

Lemmon Sensei has always taught me that the principles of Aikido are the techniques themselves. As a result I have faithfully tried to develop my basic movements and apply them to my basic techniques. However, Mustard Sensei said something at his last visit to the Seikokan Dojo that helped me better understand the meaning behind Lemmon Sensei’s patient teachings. Mustard Sensei told us that the techniques we were practicing were not real. My first reaction was “Then what am I doing?”

One of the core messages Mustard Sensei was trying to teach us was that the techniques of Aikido are just tools to help us understand something. What? The easy answer is Aiki. The reason we practice the techniques is not to pin or throw and certainly not to hurt. It is to understand how to use our whole body as a coordinated unit. The goal is to establish a strong posture and move it while remaining in a strong position. We can then take uke to a place where their position is weak. As Mustard Sensei says, “We control uke with our posture”.

When we train, focussing on the end result of the technique, the pin or the throw, we are looking in the wrong place. We also tend to put our focus in the wrong place when we are uke. So often we resist shite or rush ahead, cheating him out of the feel. Worse yet, we sometimes fail to trust shite and focus only on protecting ourselves. Again, Mustard Sensei reminded us that “Uke’s job is to help shite understand the technique”. Uke must trust shite and give him their energy. I don’t think I really understood what that meant until this past summer when I had the chance to train with Mustard Sensei’s top student, Farshad. Through Farshad’s efforts as uke I could feel the appropriate positions and movements.

Our traditional understanding of power and martial contact says crush, resist, and destroy. Because of this we focus on the dynamic result of the throw or the pin. Mustard Sensei explained that this attitude is the work of the ego, and that ego blocks our path. If this is the case (and I believe it is) then answer is simple but difficult. My goal for the future is to become much less concerned about the end result of my techniques. Whether uke flies for me or not is not the issue. The relation of posture, distance, position and timing need to be my focus. If I understand my teachers correctly, getting these things right will ultimately bring me the desire result. (focus on the road, not the destination).

Now, if I can just figure out how to relax…

4th Kyu Essay

This essay has it's own preface. What I remember about this one however, is that it came at a time when I was been hit by the similarities of many of the teaching of budo.

the essay

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Stand in the Middle of a Teeter-Totter

Recently I attended a visitation for a young girl who had died in a car accident. Being a parent of two young girls, I found the experience particularly difficult. As I drove away from the funeral home, I became aware of a very strong appreciation for life that I am hit with immediately following such loss. It usually manifests as a deeper commitment to be a good father and husband. In that moment, I experienced a merging of two dualities, life and death. Duality is the great challenge in life. How do we reconcile life and death, strong and weak, hard and soft, or compassion and detachment?

In training, there are countless opportunities to encounter dualities. Hard and soft, or rather, tense and relaxed is a common one. Our goal is most definitely to be relaxed in our practice; but, with so much to be attentive to, this seems impossible. Robert Mustard Sensei noticed this in his past visits to our dojo, calling the lot of us a "bunch of gorillas". Showing some sympathy for this plight, Mustard Sensei also reminded us that without tense, we could never know relaxed. Although it was said in an almost off handed manner, that simple observation is the core teaching for anyone who seeks to study the way seriously.

In training, we will continually move between extremes. In our first attempts at Jiyu waza (freestyle) we will sometimes move too fast, and at other times not fast enough. As our pins develop we find a balance between a weak and ineffective pin and the arm wrenchers that test our training friendships. Most clearly we can see it in weapons practice. There it seems more difficult to get that correct distance. Close enough to breathe reality into the martial nature of the movement, but far enough to prevent injury. This interval is called Ma ai.

The translation of Ma ai is "proper distance". Ma means distance, and Ai means harmony. This is the same Ai as in Aikido (The way of harmony with energy). Harmony and balance seems to be the core goal of both budo and life. We want it now. That's our problem, fault, whatever.

What we must keep in mind is that we need to know and experience both sides before we can ever have harmony. Fast and slow, hard and soft, or life and death are all part of the same reality. We should not begrudge either, or we will never have Ai.

5th Kyu Essay

One of things I have seen come up over and over in my my study of Aikido are the stories about how different it is to train in Japan compared to North America. Some tales were of the "good old days" where people might have seemed to be more over the top than they tend to be today, but part of me eventually started to ask, "what is so special about over there?"

To answer it one way, they have some of the best teachers in the world, they beat in the very heart of the culture that gave birth to this art.

To answer it another way, they don't have anything special. In the end, I have to do my own breakfalls. The only Aikido I have is the Aikido I do. And although having a teacher that can point you in the right direct is invaluable, it is the individual that has to dive in and do the training. All they have is people. All we have is people. As one of those people, what will you bring to the mat?

The Essay...

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At the Yoshinkan Hombu Dojo in Japan, there lives an interesting group of people called Uchideshi. These live-in students are responsible for the care of the dojo and its instructors in addition to their own heavy training schedule. Soke Gozo Shioda called this living “Shugyo”, a devoted ascetic practice that required the student to be continually aware and attentive to the needs that arise. In the West, this style of training is rarely encountered. The training that some of us do in a week, the Uchideshi do in a morning. It would be great to train more, and we should, but the real challenge is to engage in Shugyo in the life we have. In a nonresidential dojo this would be much harder: harder, not impossible.

The nature of Shugyo is care. It is about taking care of our self, our partners, our instructors and our dojo. This is a training that we have to set about with deliberate effort. Much of society teaches us to only take care of ourselves. There is certain need for that mentality, but it does not entirely work in Aikido. We can't do Aikido by ourselves. Not only do others need to be there, but we need to connect with them. Aikido comes from those connections. When there is a pull, enter. When there is a push, pivot. When there is a need, meet it.

In a nonresidential dojo, there are fewer needs to meet, but they are still there. What can we do? Well, we can sweep the mats, straighten the buki racks, fold Sensei's Hakama, dust, work with a junior, help others train after class, carry Sensei's bag, help lock up, run to our spot, pay close attention, sit still, and be a good Uke, just to name a few. Many of these are practical needs and basic courtesy, but when fully engaged they are Shugyo. Through this type of training we develop a more complete connection to everything around us.

Going through the motions doesn’t do it (someone recently told me that it is possible to die stupid). It’s not about training everyday, its about training now. Take this time and really enter it. Milk it for all that it is worth. Ever moment is full of opportunities for training.

6th Kyu Essay

There were 2 things that inspired this particular essay. First, I had a chance to do some basic introductory Kyudo practice in Toledo during this time. If I recall correctly, the 7 defilements were part of the meditative teachings of the art in the Zen tradition. The other inspiration was

kote gaeshi. What made this technique difficult was the breakfall we used with it. I could do #3 breakfalls, but this technique takes away uke's lead hand. At the time, it fealt like a supreme act of bravery to leap into the air, rotating around that arm. Clearly, I surived.

The essay...

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Heart of Iron

Can we be truly receptive to what this moment offers?

The nature of this practice is such that we will encounter barriers. Early on most of these barriers are physical. Break falls, pivots, Nikajo, hand positions; there is a lot to be attentive to. As we encounter these barriers, many seem impossible. If we continue to train, we soon see that we continually pass through these impassable barriers as though walking down the street. However, if we think that this is purely a physical pursuit, we may be blind to other obstacles. The obstacles that emerge in our minds are often more disastrous because they steal us away from training, from countless opportunities to grow. If we do not deal with these obstacles, an invisible ceiling will eventually block our growth.

Given the physical nature of the martial arts, it is natural to try to see all obstacles as physical puzzles. However, it is here that the meditative nature of the martial arts tends to emerge. This is made very clear in the study of Kyudo (archery). This practice is sometimes practiced, even by experienced practitioners, at less than one bow’s length from the target. So if the shooter can’t miss, then the question must be asked, what is being accomplished? Primarily, the archer is studying him or her self. Within the practice they identify seven defilements (reactions) which unsettle the mind. These are: excessive happiness, anger, anxiety, thinking, depression, fear, and surprise.

In Aikido, it is obvious how fear, anxiety, and anger twist our mind away from the moment of training. Holding back from a difficult break fall or wasting our time in worry about working with a difficult technique (or person) steal our attention away from the moment of training. Less obvious, but still reasonable to the average student, is how depression or thinking block our way. When we are depressed about something inside or outside the dojo, not only are we distracted, but we feel completely helpless to resolve the situation. If we over think our practice, we may become obsessed with mechanics and lose the importance of feeling in understanding a technique. Perhaps in thinking too much we are thinking ahead to the next test and end up unable to focus on the training of the moment. These poisons are fairly clear, but how can happiness or surprise limit our development?

We are clearly happy with this practice, or we would not be here. However, what we eventually come to see is that this practice is fluid, and constantly developing. IF we are over elated by some success, we can become stuck in that moment, missing the chance to flow forward. When we are surprised we again step out of the flow. As Sh’te or Uke surprise can cause us to freeze in the middle of a technique or new situation.

These obstacles to the mind are difficult to deal with. Our fear, anger or happiness seem logical and justified. But however we rationalize these reactions, they continue to steal away the moment. In falling into these traps, we allow our mind to be moved. We generate this problem ourselves, and thus it is truly a gateless gate.

How then should we enter this training? We should definitely pay attention to what we are doing. But beyond that, we should be attentive to our state of mind and how we react during training. We should not criticize ourselves when we our mind falters. Doing this is just another form of the distraction. We should simply notice that our mind is off, and bring it back on track. Through this type of training, our own immovable mind will develop and refine just as our technique does. If the mind goes off center, the body will follow. When the mind is limited, so are the possibilities of reacting spontaneously to the moment. When the mind is in the center, tethered, the body and spirit can flow around it like a hurricane. Great flourishes of activity, anchored in the center.

7th Kyu Essay: Taking the Wheel.

Many of my early essays grew out of something that I specifically noticed in the dojo, and then extrapolated to everyday life. This one went the other way. It came up at a time where I was becoming very frustrate with how work kept making me angry. A variety of sources were quickly put forth by the universe to remind me that anger, and all my reactions originate from within.

Here is what came up.

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Taking the Wheel

There is a great contradiction in our society and in our lives. While many people seek power and control over the world around them, they are victims within their own lives. It is very easy to see the desire for power and control. People may want wealth, status, or just to be the alpha male/female in their own circles. In one form or another they seek to control the people and situations in the universe outside their body. Ultimately, they fail. However, this failure does not deter them from trying again and again to control and direct the universe.

Meanwhile, as they rush about trying to control others, they are achieving the opposite. They allow others control their lives moment to moment. They have created a world for themselves in which everything that happens to them (usually the bad stuff) is the result of another person’s actions. They cannot escape this deluded cycle. In our society as a whole, this way of thinking is an accepted norm. “He made me angry” or “They screwed up my entire day” are familiar phrases in our lives. In these events however, there are two things happening; the actions of that other person and our reaction. So how can we stop this? We certainly can not stop the other person from doing angering things. There are far too many other people and too many potentially angering actions (do we really think we can make everyone act the way we want them too?). There is only one place left to find the answer and that is within ourselves.

We have done a lot of work in our society to condition ourselves as victims. We refuse to take responsibility for our lives (“He made me angry”). In fact we cherish the anger. We rationalize that since that person did some horrible thing to us, we are entitled to be angry. We completely miss the source of the anger. We completely ignore the damage the anger does to us because we have convinced ourselves the anger should be there.

If we realize that the anger comes from our own hearts and minds, and not from outside, then we can take responsibility for it. Did that guy still do the horrible thing? Yes. What then is different? By taking responsibility for our thoughts, reactions and anger, we empower our lives. We can, at that point, act to improve or resolve the problem. We don’t change the dumb thing our buddy did, but rather the problem our mind turned it into. When we blame others, we become helpless to do anything about the situation because we see the problem as being outside of ourselves. We know deep down that we cannot control those things outside of ourselves.

Cut through the conditioning. Cut through the rationalizations. Cut through the victimized perception. Realize the power that we have to act within our own lives and minds. Stop making our happiness dependent on the conditions of the external universe. Seek out your own mind and work from there.

8th Kyu Essay

When I began Aikido, I was trying in earnest to see the connection between the physical training of the art and the many interactions in my daily life. I tried to understand each person I met in the same way I was trying to understand my connection to my training partner.

During the essay, I make the statement that there must be more settings to our compassion than on and off. I see it differently now. My current understanding has compassion in a permanent "on" state. However, the source of that resonance is different for me now. I am not sure I can explain it at this time. Anyway, this is what came out.

The Essay...

originally submitted in August of 2004

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Compassion

Is sympathy the same as compassion? Does it mean having a bleeding heart? With all the horrible things that happen each day, compassion means being aware that the people we encounter are affected by AIDS, rape, poverty, violence, hunger, hatred and all the various carriers of misery. It means being ready and accepting of those you meet in life that have been affected somehow by these many miseries.

In this day, our society is greatly desensitized to suffering. We have a reactive compassion. This is why it takes terrorist bombings in our own hemisphere, murders in our own town or disease in our own family to touch that sense of compassion. We react. Sometimes we pour ourselves into that situation, seeking to heal those wounds. Sometimes we stand helpless in the middle of our own fear and frustration. Then, as time

widens our distance from the event, and the vivid experience fades into memory, we

eventually return to the numb awareness of our daily lives. In this way, in many ways, we are not truly in touch with compassion.

Compassion is not a light switch. There are more settings than ON and OFF. What if we could maintain that contact with compassion? Not just when Uke is pulling, but when he is pushing. If we can engage this life; if we can engage this universe, then we can touch everywhere. When the universe pushes, we pivot and direct our energy into the universe. When it pulls, we can move in kind. When we stand off from the universe, the push rushes towards us and hits us like a freight train.

As you close with this universe, all becomes one in you. It does not require everyone on the planet to do the same. You transform the world from the ground on which you stand. This liberates us within the misery of the universe. Bombs will still explode, diseases will still weaken us, and babies will still die.

So what changes? The way in which we react is what changes.

How will we respond to this marvelous life? Will we blend with the flow of life, or will we let it hit us like a freight train? How will we engage the universe around us? Hopefully, we can learn to engage it with a continuous, ceaseless compassion.

Push, pivot. Pull, blend.

No gaps.

9th Kyu Essay: Shoshin

In the Spring of 2004, I met Mark Lemmon Sensei (Rokudan) when I joined the Sikokan Aikido dojo. I had studied Tae Kwon Do for many years in my youth and was looking for something different to act as body practice in my Zen training. At the same time I met Jay Rinsen Weik when I traveled to Toledo to visit the Toledo Zen Center. When I arrived I found that the TZC was located in the dojo of Shobo Aikido of Ohio (Weik Sensei is a Yondan in Shobu Aikido).

I realized at that time that I was in a very interesting a potentially fruitful situation. I threw myself headlong into my Aikido training with Lemmon Sensei, and would travel to Toledo to take part in the activities of the zendo and the dojo when I could.

As my 9th kyu test approached, I was at stage in which I was awash in new information, and techniques. I also had a sense that the freshness was something that needed to be cultivated, even though it seemed to come so naturally at this stage. Lemmon Sensei spoke to this concept as we began the period of test practice. (which lasts 2 weeks before every test) Looking back now, I have truly enjoyed the manner in which the principles of Zen and Budo overlapped and played with each other.

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the essay...
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Shoshin: The Beginner’s Mind


(originally printed in) April 2004


In taking on this wonderful practice, we cannot help but feel overwhelmed at first. With a seemingly endless stream of techniques and points of etiquette, not to mention Senesei’s efforts to convey the history and philosophy of Aikido, there is much to be attentive to.

From this we develop a natural aspiration to learn, not only because of our new fascination with this art, but because of the ease and confidence that comes from knowing. When we come to our second, fourth, or tenth class, we find that we are more familiar with the routine and the basics of what we are doing. This feels good. However there is an edge in this good feeling that threatens to cut our throat.

In speaking of authentic practice, Zen Master Dogen (13th Century Japan) warned that it is harder to be careful as we progress in our training. This is true whether it is Zen training, Aikido training, parenting or any aspect of living. When things become familiar, we get habituated into the repetition of the day. We allow ourselves to fall asleep in what we do, treating each day or each class just like the next. We can become sloppy, not just in our technique, but in our lives.

When we begin to slip into blind repetition, we must make deliberate effort to develop Shoshin, or “beginner’s mind”. Although we begin in this state, we lose it when skill and familiarity inflates the ego. Shoshin is a state of mind that must be cultivated ceaselessly. This means continually raising that keen awareness and attention to detail that is so natural when we take on this practice with an unknowing mind.

We might bother to ask ourselves why this happens. Is each day just like the next? Is it just our mind that sees the repetition? If we recognize that each moment contains the entire universe, then what can be repeated? In this we recognize the unique and precious nature of this moment, whether it is happening in the Dojo, at the dinner table, in church or at our workplace. Shoshin becomes the watchful guardian of a life that is lived, unhindered, in the present moment.

I would end with acknowledging that a fundamental connection exists between Shoshin (beginner’s mind) and Zanshin (finishing mind). In terms of Aikido practice however, I would not presume to understand the connection at this time.

I offer this with sincerity,

Rob Bondy

p.s. I would not dare to claim that this short exposition grew entirely from my own introspection. This is an exposition of what I have learned from three key sources;

1. My study of Aikido under Mark Lemmon Sensei.
2. The Dharma talk entitled “Being Authentic” by Geoffrey Shugen Arnold Sensei, a monk at Zen Mountain Monastery.
3. (and finally) my own direct experience.

Origins of Aiki Essays

In order to streamline the blog, I am editing the original welcome and explanation of AikiEssays that appears at the top of the page. It is being reposted here, so that I can can keep a record of it.

Welcome

In the spring of 2004, two wonderful things happened in my life. I started training in Yoshinkan Aikido with Mark Lemmon, and I started visiting the Toledo Zen Center with Jay Rinsen Weik. My Aikido training began as a way to enrich my Zen practice. Although Yoshinkan Aikido does not embrace the spiritual aspects of Aikikai that are rooted in the kototama, it is deeply rooted in the principles of Japanese budo. As such, my training was very much focussed on journey of the human spirit. In this way, my experiences in Yoshikan Aikdio were exercises in the spiritual.

As I was beginning my journey in Aikido, Lemmon Sensei's two senior students were beginning to prepare for their Shodan test. Among their many preparations, they had to write a short essay on their understanding of a principle of budo, studied in special kenshu classes. I was intrigued by the concept of having to express one's own personal understanding of budo in an art that many see as a purely physical exercise. When I prepared for my first test, I decided to write my own essay on a topic that seemed very present in my training at that time; shoshin, or beginners mind.

My Sensei and I never discussed the essays that I submitted, but he always accepted them happily, and even published current ones on the dojo website. As time went on, my tests were fewer and further between. (There are 9 test before the Shodan test in this style of Aikido). Eventually, I began writing essays about experiences that arose between testing periods and posting them on the bulletin board outside of the dojo. Again, these were unsolicited but welcome, and some made them onto the dojo website.

I am beginning this blog to share with others the essays that I have written, and will continue to write on the experiences that come into focus during training and then flow out of the dojo, into the rest of my life.

I am just an ordinary person, sharing his imperfect view of a beautiful existence. I hope that at least one essay will provide at least one moment of thought and reflection for one person.

Over the next several months, I will publish the essays that I submitted for each test from 9th Kyu through Shodan, as well as some of my others. I hope you like them. I would love to hear your experiences as well.

This entire process has been an exercise in expression; utilizing expression as a catalyst for deepening my own understanding.

Osu & Gasho.