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.