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10th Anniversary Seminar

This past weekend, the Seikokan held a seminar to mark its 10th anniversary.  Actually, there were a lot of things to celebrate.

• This year was Sensei Lemmon's 30th year in Yoshinkan Aikido
• Last week, James N. and Mark C. tested successfully for Yondan.
• Last week David H. became the 10th person to earn Shodan at the Seikokan

The seminar itself was fabulous.  A number of instructors came to share their unique perspectives on the art.

• Jim Jeannette Sensei (7th Dan)
• Robert Mustard Sensei (7th Dan)
• Mark Lemmon Sensei (6th Dan)
• Nic Mills Sensei (5th Dan)
• Ashley Hennessy Sensei (5th Dan)

There were several dojos and other senseis who came to train, and everyone had a good time.

Friday night featured an hour and a half class with Robert Mustard Sensei.  I have reviewed Robert Mustard Sensei Clinics before and I feel like I can never say enough about his Aikido or his teaching.  Mustard Sensei spent some 10 years in Japan at the Honbu dojo and was able to study under Gozo Shioda Sensei, Takeno Sensei and Chida Sensei.  (Although to ask Mustard Sensei, he does not claim himself to be a direct student of Gozo Shioda, who died in 1994).

Mustard Sensei's messages are constant:

• proper posture
• proper timing
• relax
• if you want power, don't use it
• if you want to go fast, go slow

No matter how many times I encounter these teachings, Mustard Sensei is always able to express it in a fresh and living manner.  He is both funny and serious in his teaching and genuinely wants to help you understand something about Aikido.  I would also like to note that the Friday class included Hanshi Albert Mady (10th Dan Isshinryu Karate), who came out in support of the Seikokan Anniversary.

Saturday was the day of multiple perspectives...

Ashley Hennessy Sensei is a student of Amos Parker Sensei (8th Dan) , who in turn was a long time student of Terada Sensei (10th Dan). (Terada Sensei died in 2009)  Hennessy Sensei shared some Yoseikai variations on sankajo, which were characteristic of the art as practiced in Terada Sensei's lineage.  At the conclusion of his class, Hennessy Sensei presented Lemmon Sensei with a certificate issued by the Yoshinkan Honbu, congratulating him on his dojo anniversary and his personal milestone of 30 years in Aikido.  It was a big surprise and greatly appreciated.

Nic Mills Sensei, who considers himself a student of Mustard Sensei, reinforced many of the principles that we heard from Mustard Sensei on Friday night.  Using techniques such as shomen uchi kotegaeshi, Mills Sensei focussed on connection and distance between sh'te and uke, as well as the importance of smooth fluid lines.

Mark Lemmon Sensei used hiji-ate kokyu nage to demonstrate where uke is strong, and where he is not. Dispelling some older misconceptions of the technique which made uke's fear for their limbs, Lemmon Sensei put the emphasis on off-balancing uke, through the shoulder via the elbow and arm.  Even though  Lemmon Sensei has been my direct teacher for seven years, he continues to find new ways to convey familiar principles, allowing his students to deepen their understanding and to never think that they 'know it all'.

Jim Jeannette Sensei, who was not originally scheduled to teach, was persuaded to do so (to the appreciation of all).  Jeannette Sensei is a humble and understated teacher with amazing technique and an ability to convey what is needed to help his students better grasp the principles behind the movements.  Jeannette Sensei focussed largely on the connection between Sh'te and Uke and the superiority of position, movement and relaxation over muscular strength.

The classes concluded with a final lesson from Robert Mustard Sensei, who brought together the points of the day with an emphasis on timing, fluidity and relaxation as the gateways to martial power.

Later that evening, many of the students and instructors attended a party at Rob and Jackie's  house.  Bonds of friendship that were formed on the mat over the past two days were cemented around a kitchen island.  Friends were made, and common threads of spirit will encourage continued connection.

The spirit of giving and receiving that ran through the weekend was very welcome.  With the great level of talent present on the mats for the weekend, there was certainly potential for ego to rule the day.  However, the spirit of open mindedness and the desire to understand other perspectives pervaded.

I can not express enough gratitude to all those involved.  Thanks to all of the instructors who shared their  understanding.  Thanks to all the aikidoka who came to learn from this wonderful format.  A special thanks to Mark Lemmon Sensei for putting it all together and cultivating what was an outstanding experience for all.

Growth and Maturity

My teacher once told me a story about a man who was looking to enroll his two sons at our dojo. They had earned black belts in another art (a striking art) after about 2 years. The father wanted the black belts to carry over. Sensei told him that it did not work that way, and we never saw them again. (Sensei, I apologize if I got any of the details wrong).

There was a mind of gain at work in that father, but it was not a unique one. In the martial arts, people often view a black belt as an end. Get there, and you're done. Even those who hang around a while can become more concerned with rank than with the art itself.

At other dojos I have seen people pushed ahead because they "put in their time". People rush forward as though they need to get somewhere. Maybe they need to get to Shodan so they can have a black belt. Maybe they want to get to Sandan so they can promote people to Shodan. Maybe they just want to get to rank "X" so that they will be more senior than 'so-and-so'.

When I was in Tae Kwon Do in my youth, I really did not care about rank. Training was fun and I got a lot out of it. When I tried to get back into martial arts through karate as an adult, I had a need to gain rank, and regain what I had once achieved. It poisoned the experience and my interest died.

When I found Aikido, I just really liked Aikido. I had a sense of wanting to get to Shodan, since I had stopped just shy of my black belt in Tae Kwon Do. When I was granted my Shodan, I spent a few months of not knowing what to do next.  Having reached my goal, I was left wondering what to "do" next.  My training had been lightly coated with the same mind of gain and loss that had tainted my experience in karate.

I was fortunate to have good teachers in my life, so rather than being discouraged, my mind was redirected to what made Aikido so wonderful in the first place. Training. There is no one to beat, and no one to be beaten by. There is no one to pass, and no one to be passed by. The only opponent that can possibly arise is me.

The mental work that needs to be done with the fear of a jumping breakfall when receiving kotegaeshi is no different than the mental work that needs to be done with that feeling of needing to be a higher rank than 'so and so'.

There is no rank that can make you a worthwhile person. There is no title that will suddenly make you 'count' as a human being. You already do and you already are. It has always been thus.

Next month, if all things go well, my friend David will become the 10th person to earn the rank of Shodan at the Seikokan. It has been a well tred path for David. He is quiet, focussed and attentive to detail. He grasps the concept of spirit and expresses it in a sincere and humble manner. I am certain it will be a good test.

On that same day, Sensei's most senior students will be testing for Yondan. When I began training they were about to test for Ikkyu. I have watched their technique ripen and mature over time. This, ultimately is what we are cultivating in Budo. We refine technique, distance, balance, timing and spirit, the only way they can be: over time.

Spring and Balance

So far, this has been a very busy Spring on many fronts.  The dojo is no exception.  We have a Yondan test approaching for Sensei's 2 most senior students, an very solid adult program (top heavy and good quality), and Seminars out the wazoo.

Kenshu is wrapping up and the slightest sparks of excitement around the culminating presentation are beginning to build.  There is a lot of growth in the air.  Without looking outside or giving any attention to the weather, it feels like spring.

For me personally, this has been a very difficult year.  It has been difficult to stay healthy and work has been as hard and stressful as it has ever been in my life.  There have been many anchors to stability and sanity in these times.  Aikido has been a constant one.

The fall began with preparations for Nidan.  Although my cardiovascular conditioning was not where it was for Shodan, I felt good about the test in general.  It took over a month for the official promotion to come from Japan, but I was pleased with the experience.  From there, more and more things seemed to be competing for my time on training days.  Sickness and injury aside, the girls needed more of my presence this year, and I'd like to think I did a good job of being there for them.  Training time took a definite cut.  But when I was there, the challenges and the spirit of the training were waiting from me.

Earlier in my training, I would have been more likely to NOT make the extra time for my family.  Stress at home would result, and I would justify it by telling myself that I was doing something very important in personal development.  OR, I would also be likely to make more time for my family and spend a lot of energy feeling guilty that I was not at Aikido.  Choosing to undertake any personal activity outside of the home while maintaining a healthy family life is a balancing act to be sure.  No one can tell you where that balance should be.  Well, they can (and often do), but it does not mean anything unless the balance works for you and your life.

Spring is here and the fact that things are always changing is fairly evident.  The Kenshu presentation is approaching, and our dojo's own seminar will be part of our 10th anniversary celebration that testifies to Sensei Lemmon's efforts and those of the dojo community.

It is a time of growth and change.  Things come.  Things go.  Things are always different.  That is the balance.

Sharpening the Sword

Each Winter at the Seikokan, we engage in a practice called Kenshu.  Kenshu is a special class that covers the philosphy and advanced weapons that are required for students to advance to black belt ranks and even to become instructors.  The pace is quick and volume of information is high, so the student is forced to sharpen their martial mind.  However, the benefit of Kenshu goes far beyond the knowledge gained.  Kenshu is fundamentally a transformative experience.

Sensei begins each year's Kenshu with a challenge to refine your life.  Typically he says "Find something about your life that you don't like and change it.  Cut it out.  Forever".  It may be something small, or it may be something big, but the message is the same.  The process of Kenshu is not just a one hour class, once a week for four months.  Kenshu envelops your life.  The refining that occurs with jo, bokken, or kanji also occurs as we proceed through the course of our day.

The form of the class is simple enough, but it is very challenging.  Five  minutes before class is to start, everyone lines up in seiza.  Not knowing what will be covered, our weapons are on the mat behind us, ready.  Sensei arrives, bows in and gets right to work.  For the next twenty to thirty-five minutes, Sensei covers a principle relevant to budo.  He draws the kanji, breaks down the pictographic origin and talks about its meaning.  He always makes a point of showing how it applies to both Aikido and everyday life.  All the while, we sit without moving or adjusting anything.

At the conclusion of the lecture we stand up and let the blood return to our feet.  It begins with a warm rush, and is followed by a feeling of pins and needles and blood flow returns to the nerve endings in our feet.

With 30 minutes or less remaining, sensei demonstrates and takes us through advanced weapons techniques that are too involved to study in an all ranks class.  At the conclusion of the hour, we line up, bow out and Sensei leaves.  However, the work is not yet over.  Working together we immediately wash the mats and then begin copying the kanji from the board, making notes on the lecture and recording the sequence of the weapons technique.  There is no review, however an aspect of the collective mind allows us to support each other in this process.

After the first week or two, things seem straight forward enough, but over the span of about 16 weeks, the amount of information amassed is considerable, especially given the fact that there is no review.  At the conclusion of the course there is a test on the weapons techniques.  In actuality, it is inaccurate  to call it a test.  It is a demonstration for Sensei of what we have learned.  There is no passing or failing, but after having been through the process over the previous months, preparations are dead serious.

There is no one part of Kenshu that affects the transformation, but at its conclusion, everyone's technique is stronger and clearer than before.  The mind and the spirit have been sharpened.

O-Soji

Tonight is O-Soji at our dojo.  In the Japanese tradition, O-Soji is very much like spring cleaning, except that we do it as part of an end of year celebration.  We gather together in our dogi's and clean the dojo.  We wash the mats, dust, organize and generally do a "Big Clean up" (o-soji).  Following that effort we have a short but intense class, that in the past has included combinations of, 365 shomen giri with bokken, 365 back breakfalls, and even some hajime training.  The actual content varies, but the intent remains the same;  to burn off what remains of the year's energy.  Following the class there is a party on the mat with food and friends.  Together we celebrate the completion of a another successful training year.

One of the things I really like about O-Soji is that people often come out of the woodwork for this.  We get to see people who don't train on the same schedule as us or who have been away for some time.  It is a wonderful experience.

After O-Soji the dojo is closed until the new year.  We have a chance to rest and gather our intensions and resolutions for the new training year.  Please set some, whether your dojo observes O-Soji or not.  Goals can change, and being able to embrace or release as needed is very important, but intention focusses effort. During the week off, I will be setting my own, which I promise to list publicly.  That is another useful practice in setting intention.  For something like Aikido training goals, share them with someone who cares.  I don't know that that practice should be applied to all intentions, but here it seems useful.

One of the traditions associated with O-Soji is that of ending and beginning well.  We make sure to be at O-Soji because it is the last class fo the year.  We also make a great effort to attend the first class of the year.  In between, we do our best.

I hope this year has been good for you.  I hope it challenged you.  I hope you grew.  I hope, when the moment comes, that you are ready to let it go and embrace the new year.

Gambate!

Stages

This past weekend I tested for the rank of Nidan (second degree black belt) in Yoshinkan Aikido.  I did well, but it will be a few weeks before the official word returns from Japan.  As I continue to absorb the experience and what it means, I find myself reflecting on, and coming to better understanding the structure of the Yoshinkan ranking system. 

Although most dojos in North America use a system of coloured belts prior to the black belt, in Japan there are only 3 colours:  white, brown and black.  As one story goes, the belt (or obi) was the one part of the uniform that was not supposed to be washed.  In arts of the Way (those ending in "do") uniforms are traditionally white, as are the belts that came with it.  Naturally, over time the obi would darken with sweat and dirt, until it was essentially a "black belt". 

In Japanese Yoshinkan Dojos, students wear a white belt from 10th kyu through to 4th kyu.  In this stage, the beginner is learning many new things.  Effort is deliberate and mechanical.  Focus is on the placement of hands and feet and how to engage uke.  There are a lot of new things to learn at this stage.

From 3rd kyu to 1st kyu, the student wears a brown belt.  At this stage they have seen just about everything once, and have a solid, although basic grasp of form for both shite and uke.  Although each rank and test has its own complete set of challenges, there is a sense that the brown belt is in preparation for their Shodan test.  Things that are known get refined.  Effort becomes less mechanical as the Aikidoka begins to understand their connection to uke through feeling and experience.

The test for Shodan can be described as a demonstration that the individual has reached this point.  They have all the ingredients that the master spends a lifetime refining.  Here we could say that there is a shift from student to apprentice, or if it is a better analogy, from apprenctice to journeyman. 

Once Shodan is acheived, the belt can't get any darker.  However, those who have experienced these arts understand that this is not the mark of the end.  From Shodan onward, there is refinement.  A simple enough word, but it points to an on going development.  The student not only knows, but has experienced that there are different levels of knowing.

• fine mechanical details
• patience
• the importance of steeping and fementing both knowledge and experience
• manifesting both fluidity and form
• the awareness of how the art is both received and passed on 
• manifesting both the compassionate and martial minds

These are some of the major points of practice for me these days.  And if I truly have reached the standard for Nidan in Yoshinkan Aikido, I recognize that I feel as far from Sandan now as I felt from Shodan on the day I began to study this art.

Nidan Preparations

On November 6 (3 weeks from now) I will be testing for the rank of Nidan in Yoshinkan Aikido.  Although the next few weeks will involved some very focused and important training, as I clarify the finer points of some more advanced techniques, I feel confident that I will go into the test well prepared.  I should, considering I have preparing for this test for six and a half years.

I began training in Yoshinkan Aikdio on April 3rd, 2004, under Mark Lemmon Sensei who is still my teacher.  I can even remember the first technique that I learned:  Katate Mochi Nikajo Osae Ni.  Along the way there have been many challenges and barriers through which I had to pass.  Learning break falls, my kyu tests, Kenshu, and my Shodan test were all pinnacle achievements at the moment they occurred.  In the larger picture however, all of these gates, including my pending Nidan test are just part of a long unfolding study of a particular tradition and martial practice.

What is striking about this test however, is that I do not feel the same level of anxiety that accompanied previous tests.  There is definitely an intensity to the matter, but there has been a shift in my perception of the situation that I can not quite put into words.  What I can identify as an influence in this feeling is my approach to training and test practice, and this is no small part of how I feel as I approach my Nidan test.

When I was a junior student at the dojo, I wanted desperately to do well.  As I watched my seniors go through the tests that were ahead of me, I noticed that there were common difficulties encountered by the majority of students at each level.  From this I made a conscious decision to study their difficulties and attempt to make them into my strengths.  This did not come from a sense of  wanting to out do my classmates, but from wanting to perfect my art.

To my juniors I offer the major points that I have found useful in terms of testing...

• Do not wait until the dojo is in a test practice period to start learning the techniques you need to know.  Look at your next test right way and ask a teacher or senior to help you before and after class.  If Sensei asks for technique requests in class, speak up.
• Work and think in Japanese from the start.  Although we translate technique names into English to help teach junior students and help explain certain concepts, all names are just labels that describe a certain way of moving and connecting with Uke.  As quickly as possible, you want to get to the point when you can hear the word kotegaeshi and before you can think reverse hand you can touch or envision the movements and connections associated with that technique.  In short, when the time comes for your tests to be in Japanese, you want to language to be as second nature as bowing.  (Heck, many dojos don`t even bother translating into English).
• Work on something outside of class time every week.  There are buki waza and toshu waza that we don`t get around to very often, so it may take some additional effort to keep them active in your practice.
• As you advance, look for opportunities to be someone else Uke when you are not eligible to test.  When you engage in the process of testing, even when it is for someone else, you grow.
• Show up for test practice.  It is not uncommon to see people reduce their training in test practice when they are not eligible for the upcoming test.  This is very unfortunate.  We engage in test practice for two weeks, every two months.  This means that we spend one quarter of our training year in test practice.  This time is significant.  This is the time to turn up the heat on our own training. 

There is much to be done over the next few weeks.  It is of no greater or lesser importance than the work of the new student preparing for their 9th kyu test.  They too are preparing for Nidan.  They just might not see it yet.

Energy and Joy

In Aikido, we pay a lot of attention to energy, or Ki.  Aikido translates as "the way of harmony with Ki".  In the physical art, this principle is easy to see.  The external force of Ki is evident in an attack.  With time and training, the internal Ki is also evident.  In connecting with our partner in training, we can develop the sensitivity to capture their mind, feeling or intention.  It is nothing particularly mystical, but it is sometimes expressed in those words.  

Just as each person has Ki, so too does the collective that they are a part of.  They contribute their energy, mind and spirit to their family, workplace, team and dojo.  As the Seikokan dojo continues to grow and develop under Sensei Lemmon's teaching, its Ki grows and changes as well.

The Ki of a dojo can be felt in the intensity of warm ups.  It can be felt in the silent gaze of those who come to watch us test.  In the group practice of senior students, it flows like a raging river.  In the group practice of new students, it flows with the patience and gentility of a stream in the woods.

This weekend, I will be attending the Shodan test of a kind friend and training partner.  It has been very exciting, not only to watch him in his preparations, but to see the Ki of the dojo ramp up in anticipation of this event.  There is great hope and joy being directed towards my friend, and it is a wonderful thing to see.  Sensei Lemmon has always said that it is important to come out and show support for those who are testing.  Although the struggle has been his, the effect that the process has had on the entire dojo community is evident.  There is a lot of joy and energy.

Gambateh Rob-san.

Forged in Fire

There are many challenging moments in a human life.  Dealing with death, conflict, parenting, and driving tests are a familiar few.  It seems that we never know just what we are capable of until we encounter some form of crisis or challenge.  In the culture of the Aikido Dojo, test practice provides this type of challenge.  When the opportunity to test arises, there is an interesting mixture of excitement and fear for those who greet that challenge.  Often, individuals resonate with one feeling more than the other, but a certain amount of fear and excitement is natural, in fact, they often blend together.

In this time we put our effort into the fine detail of our art, with a laser-like focus.  The heat is turned up on our training.  There is an enormous amount of growth that occurs at this time.

At our dojo, we have a test every two months.  At the beginning of training, students have the possibility of testing every time the period comes up.  As they advance in rank, the required time mandates that they wait longer.  This marks a beautiful new stage in training.  Where early on, the student makes great gains by ingesting large volumes of information and developing basic proficiency in a number of skills, there comes a time when time is most needed for growth.  Ripening can not be rushed, and although the extra waiting may not be appreciated by the eager junior student, it is absolutely critical for continued growth and development.

In one way, the test is a test.  Failing is an option, and a very real one if there has not been enough practice and development.  When the student is successful, the test becomes more of a demonstration of what has already been achieved or realized.  At the higher ranks, there is also a very real sense of growing into a rank after a successful test and promotion.

This can also be a time to cultivate the sempai / kohai relationship.  When our own test is not imminent, test practice allows us to help our juniors.  Having to check and explain a technique is a valuable tool for refining our own understanding.  However, sometimes test practice is a time when the ranks of the dojo thin.  Those who are not eligible for the upcoming test sometimes fade into the woodwork.  Taking care of the business of our lives is very important.  If we fail to take care of work and family, our training can become a stress on our lives, or even an impossibility.  When I observe this drop in attendance however, my concern is that we are prioritizing regular keiko over test practice.  Holding either type of training in priority over the other fails to recognize the distinct value found in each.

At our dojo, we spend approximately one quarter of the year in test practice.  This type of training should not be trivialized.  May the bumps on the road you travel make you a better driver.

All in the family

Both of my daughters have recently started taking Aikido.  It is a lot of fun to do this with them.  However, as an assistant in the class, I find that we all have a better experience when I stay way from them during the actual class.  There is something difficult about having Daddy as a teacher.  They respond to me as Daddy, rather than as a teacher.

Soon they will be testing for their first belt.  I look forward to posting a family picture in which everyone holds a rank.  (my wife is 8th kyu).

Work Where You Are

We spend a lot of our lives trying to get somewhere. We imagine that there is some end to the to-do list. This seems like a simple mistake, but it is a costly one. When I started Aikido training, Shodan was at the end of the list. When I reached Shodan, there was Nidan; the new end of the list. When I started Zen practice, I had a huge list of things that had to happen before my practice became authentic: sit 20 minutes, sit every day, do retreats, have a meditation room.

Both situations contain the same fundamental error. Teaching Aikido to beginners and children, I am coming to see that every stage of practice is complete on its own (something that was easier to see in Zen practice). Each stage has its own challenges and difficulties. Doing that first roll is no less daunting for the white belt than doing that first freestyle is for the senior student. Each level requires its own set of skills, but the deeper solution always goes back to the same place. Posture, balance, and timing. It's one of the things I really like about Aikido, is that we all train together, encountering these challenges right where we are.

The development of my Zen practice has had a similar character, but it has been harder to see at times. The more rooted the practice becomes in my life, the easier it is to see the practice outside of the meditation room. With that expansion, a universe of challenges arises. All the bumps that I encounter in the day are seen as things about myself that I am sticking to. This makes for some brutally honest work. In the end, it too sends me back to the basics; Zazen.

Analogies are tricky things. They may seem brilliant at the time, but they are inherently limited. If I have to offer an analogy in place of the to-do list, it would be doing laundry. It does not end. The washing is complete and perfect, just like the drying, folding and putting away. How we approach it will determine if it is a chore or the natural, beautiful function of our daily lives.

Osu & Gassho

Fit the container

Recently, I have had an opportunity to take on some teaching responsibilities in my dojo. It has been a great practice, and I am still trying to figure out what "Sensei Rob's" style of teaching is like. However, what I am really enjoying is the practice of being a teacher and a student.

When I worked with the army cadets in my town, it was always interesting to watch the young bys and girls start to take on leadership roles. The very often reinvented themselves as a "leader", and in the process lost some of the skills and adaptivity that made them good followers. This is what is coming up for me in my practice these days.

Being able to switch from leader to followr or from teacher to student and back is not just a nifty parlour trick. It says a lot about where our mind is at. In fact, there is no switch. What I have come to find is that it simply a maturity that is free of ego and ready to enter the situation without pause. Characteristic of mind tells a good teacher it is time to move on to the next thing, is the smae charateristic that tells the student to grab Sensei's hakama and fold it. It is an action without gap.

Water takes on the shape of the container it is in. It fills the space and moment in the most appropriate way.

Do we?

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.