Aikido

As I re-read my last posting, I’m questioning whether what I said about the center being the midpoint along the line connecting nage and uke is correct.  Nage has a center from which his movements are initiated.  I, as uke, have a center which I’m using to remain stable and from which I will reverse a technique should the opportunity arise.  Yet, as a pair, we are moving around the midpoint connecting us.  From that perspective, it is also a center as well.  So what does it really mean to connect with the center? Which center?

heh, I seem to have started down one of those muddy roads where there are no clear answers  It’s a worthy question though.  I mean, when we think about aikido, on or off the mat, we naturally think of ourselves as either nage or uke.  Where we are is where our center is, right?  The answer is yes if we’re standing alone and still.  But aikido is a multi-person moving practice.  My center is not necessarily the center of the moment.  Or is it?

Anyone?

Isn’t it an inch below your belly button? Center.  Hara.  Source of ki.  It’s what you focus on when you meditate.  It’s the point from which all movements should initiate.  It’s where your awareness is supposed to radiate from, touching all corners of the universe.  That’s the center, right?

I’m asking because sometimes I’m not sure myself, particularly when there are more than two people involved.  It’s pretty clear where the center should be when it’s just me.  And when there’s two people - nage and uke - the center is clearly not below my belly button.  It floats between the two aikidoka, dynamically changing throughout the entire waza.  But what about during randori when there are three or more people?  Where’s the center then?

We are told to connect with the center.  But first, we have to identify the center.  That is perhaps the hardest thing to teach a beginner.  I remember being told to do that when I first started.  Way over my head.  Couldn’t even understand the concept.  All I knew was that there was someone I had to grab or strike and that at some point in the technique, I was gonna end up face down (or butt first) on the mat.  Let’s not even discuss what a mess I was as nage. 

Eventually, through ukemi practice, I figured out how to align my center with that of nage’s.  For example, keeping your center facing nage’s as you’re taken down during ikkyo.  At this point in my training, my center =  my belly button.  It’s a very superficial connection, more for looks than anything else.  heh, I must have looked pretty good because I keep getting comments about my beautiful ukemi.  Little did I know that what I was doing wasn’t good ukemi.  It just looked good.  That’s all.

Around 4th kyu, I was introduced to Takeda Sensei’s teachings and his style of ukemi.  All of sudden, lights lit up and I realize how disconnected I was.  It’s not enough to connect visually - i.e., my belly button to nage’s belly button.  It’s not even enough to connect by touch.  You must connect viscerally.  By that, I mean that you must connect in such a way that you can feel nage’s movements even if your eyes are closed and your arms are cut off. 

One of the ways to do that at first is to connect via your point of contact with nage.  It might be the nage’s hand, shoulder, whatever.  Yes, you still have your arms and hands.  Yes, we’re touching.  The idea is to get over the idea of connecting with your eyes, which is what we do instinctively when we’re starting out.  Learn to feel nage’s center through your hands or fingertips.  Feel and move with nage’s movements. 

I had an instructor whose ukemi could best be described as sticky.  He was constantly in contact with me as nage.  Not in that obnoxious I’m not let you get away with anything way, although at first that’s what I thought it was.  No, he was connected to my center and knew at any moment what I was doing (and not doing).  Training with him was very visceral.  Not only was there constant contact but there was also constant pressure.  It was a like he stuck a water hose into my center, pouring ki into me.  If I stopped, I got overwhelmed.  I had to keep moving, blending with his energy. 

It was from him that I learned to be sticky myself.  Touching is not enough.  You must imagine your arm (or whatever body part) is part of a line from your hara to nage’s hara.  The angle of the line may change but the ends remain connected.  And just as important, there must be energy flowing to and fro the line.  Otherwise, it’s just that - a line. 

Now, where is the center?  Certainly, it’s not at either ends of the line.  Simple geometry will tell you that it’s midpoint along the line. 

At some point in your practice, you’ll realize touching - the physical point of contact - isn’t really necessary.  You will move as if you can sense nage’s (or uke’s) movements as energy.   There will no longer be a physical line (i.e., your arm, shoulder, etc).   Now you really have to imagine the line and the center along its midpoint.   Of course, by then, you will have develop your ukemi to a point that that’s a no-brainer.  It’ll be instinctive as breathing.

The practice at our dojo can be best described as energetic.  By that, I mean that we often practice ukemi that is connected by energy, rather than touch.  It is, I think, one of Sensei’s specialties.  It’s beautiful, particularly when uke is just as skilled as sensing and moving with the energy. That’s not to say we don’t practice ukemi by touch.  Of course, we do.  Especially beginners.  But newbies are exposed to it from the onset.  That’s a good thing I think.   If I wasn’t exposed to Takeda-style ukemi early on, I might still be stuck at the touch phase.  Even if the beginners can’t do it now, at least they can see where they can be down the line. 

Now, let’s throw in the next twist - randori.  With two people, the center is midpoint along the line between nage and uke.  But what if there are two or more ukes?  Is the center just between you and the uke that you are throwing at the moment?  Or is there a bigger center that encompasses every one?  Or - and here’s the big one - are you the center? 

heh, no answer there since I’m still trying to figure that one out

So I was watching class last week because of my knee injury.  It’s interesting to see the many ways people move on the mat, something you don’t get to do while you’re training.  Of particular interest to me is how people take ukemi and how that is often a metaphor for how we trust others off the mat.

I’m a trusting individual.  Some may even describe me as gullible.  More so when I was younger.  Not so much now but you can probably dupe me into buying a bridge if you do good enough of a sales job :)   I never understood why I’m like that given my childhood and relationship with my parents.  If anything, I should be a paranoid schizophrenic.  But I’m not. 

That’s not to say I trust everyone I meet right off the back.  It takes awhile.  But once the trust is there, I’m more likely to open up than not. 

That was not always the case.  I used to trust too much.  Yes, there is such a thing and yes, it’s almost as bad as not trusting at all.  What’s worse is that I expected the same from others, often as soon as I meet them.  What’s really interesting is that you can see that in my ukemi - I would often charge into nage and give up my center as soon as you touch me.  It didn’t matter who nage was.  Luckily, I had very understanding sempais.  I never got hurt.  But I was told more times than I can remember that the faster I go in, the faster I’ll go out. 

That led me to learning one of the most basic tenets of aikido: you must match your speed with that of your partner.  It doesn’t matter if you’re uke or nage.  If the other person is going slow, you go slow.  You could certainly blend when there’s a speed mismatch but that takes skill and lots of practice.  For me, as a beginner, it was something I sorely needed to learn. 

I also learned how opened and vulnerable I was when I charged in like that.  It’s no wonder that I got hurt as often as I did pre-aikido days. 

If you’ve read my previous posting, I have been working on staying connected while hiding my center.  Hiding may not be a good word.  Keeping might be better.  I can still trust and commit 100% but rather than giving up myself completely - to be used by my partner however he/she wants - I’m learning to keep my center or a sense of self  so that I’m not as vulnerable and easily fooled. 

These are my thoughts as I watched others train from my spot on the bench.  I can’t help but imagine how my classmates’ ukemi is a reflection of their ability to trust.  And like me, who knows how aikido will change them.  It certainly has for me.  For that, I thank O’Sensei everyday.

My right knee screamed bloody murder yesterday.  Well, ok, maybe not bloody but it sure wasn’t happy.  We were doing taino-henko when there was this sharp pain right under my kneecap.  I didn’t do anything strenuous.  It was fine during stretches.  Just gave out all of a sudden.  Can’t bend my knee without pain.  I got off the mat and iced it.  Then I went back on the mat and tried to take some ukemi.  Nope … still hurts.  I finally gave up and watched the rest of class. 

After class, one of the yudanshas who’s a massage therapist worked the muscles around the knee.  She thinks it could just be a muscle imbalance where one side is tight, causing the other to compensate and eventually give out.  That’s quite likely since I’ve been experiencing various lower body muscle pains recently.  I really really hope that’s all it is.  Of course it has to happen before my test.  sigh.

I’m gonna get a massage from the same black belt Saturday.  She said she’ll work on my thigh muscles.  I’ll also be seeing an accupunturist Monday. I originally scheduled her to work on my other health issues.  But maybe she can help with the pain.

When it rains, it pours. 

Good article. 

http://aikidoforbeginners.blogspot.com/2007/07/almost-aikido-or-good-enough-aikido-by.html

Uke can commit to an honest attack with 100% power and offer no help whatsoever to nage and nage can redirect all that power without holding back or helping uke. With uke being sensitive to nage’s intent and nage sensitive to uke’s intent (the intent will change for both during the aikido action), aikido can happen.   

This is when aikido becomes really challenging and fun. 

Well, let’s say my partner throws a half-hearted punch my way. I redirect what energy is the punch toward the ground using whatever form is at hand. There is not enough energy in the punch to take my partner to the ground and the function of the form has been achieved by dispersing the energy so now I just let go. The function of the form has restored harmony and the content of the act is aikido. Now, if I feel it necessary to continue the form to throw or knock my partner down, I have stopped doing aikido with my partner and started doing technique to my partner. To me there is a very big and significant difference here. 

We instinctly want to finish what we started.  “Finish the technique” is what you’re often told.  We interpret this to mean we should always end the technique with a throw, pin, or whatever.  This is form and it’s ok when you’re a beginner.  But at higher level of training, it is important to be aware of the context that the technique is being executed.  Throw or pin because it makes sense.  As Dennis said, once harmony is restored and assuming you’ve covered yourself martially, there’s no need to do more.  Be careful of those aikidoka who, as someone once eloquently phrased it, put the “harm” in harmony. 

We have a visitor who is training at our dojo for couple months.  His dojo follows Takeda Sensei’s teachings.  If there is one word to describe his ukemi, it’d be fun.  All you have to do is touch him and he goes flying, sometimes in a direction you had not intended.

His ukemi made me think about my own.  People have described my ukemi as fun as well although I’m not sure that description applied anymore. 

I was introduced to Takeda Sensei’s teachings quite early on in my training.  My ukemi is definitely influenced by it.  I can only imagine that back then, my ukemi was like the visitor’s - very flowing and sensitive.   I gathered that perhaps that’s why everyone wanted to throw me.

Since nikkyu, however, I’ve been going through major shifts in my ukemi.  At one point, I was very concerned about martialness.  Those who know me may have remembered a time when I refused to be thrown if you didn’t have me.   It wasn’t because I was grounded.  No - it was because I was being obstinate idiot who thought that resisting a technique was the way to maintain my stability.  I got that knocked out of me really quick.

After that misadventure, I refocused back on being soft, yet grounded.  Takeda-style ukemi is still an influence - there is a sempai at our dojo who trained with Takeda Sensei himself.  He throws me whenever he’s around.   I’m constantly being told how stiff I am, even though on the continuum of stiffness, I’m definitely on the pliable end.  But then, there stiffness and there’s stiffness.  What do I mean?  There’s the kind of stiffness in which your whole body is rigid.  Beginners are often like that, mostly because they haven’t yet learned to relax.  The stiffness that my sempai is referring to has to do with connection to my center and that of nage’s.  You can be relaxed but not be connected because at some point along the line, you’re stuck.  For me, that point would be my shoulder.  I suspect that is the case for most people. 

Working on that subtle connection has been a major focus for me lately.  But another heavy influence has been the concept of not giving up my center so easily.  What makes the visitor’s ukemi fun is that he gives his center up almost as soon as you touch him.  You don’t really have to work to throw him.  This is in contrast to someone who knows how to hide his center.  He’s relaxed but damn if you can find it.  If he is thrown, it’s because you truly have found and gotten his center.  This is an advance ukemi concept which I only recently discovered. 

That’s one key to staying grounded and stable while taking ukemi I think.  Not by resisting and being a butthead.  But by being loose and connected to nage’s center while hiding your own center.   This is where tai-chi and push-hands is helping me.  The instinct to give up my center is so hardwired that it takes almost monumental effort not to do it.  Learning to separate the top of your body from the bottom is a necessary skill in push-hands, but it is also one that is prerequisite to the skill of hiding your center.  I think that once I learn to do that, my ukemi will take another dramatic shift.

No, I can’t say I have fun ukemi anymore.  Sometimes I feel that people will stop training with me because of the shifts I’m undergoing.  But then, I shouldn’t be training so people will want to throw me.  Ukemi is a very deep study on connectedness, groundedness, and martialness.  Those three concepts should be the focus of my practice.  I suspect that if I master them, I’ll be fun again.

I had a talk with Sensei last week.  I told her about my health issues and how I was concerned that the stress of testing may aggravate them.  I said that I won’t be able to commit the kind of time and energy that may be expected from a typical shodan-ho.  I fully expected her to say, “Ok, we’ll wait ’till next year.”  Instead, she said I don’t need to do anything differently than I am doing now to prepare for the test.  She said she sees how often I train and wouldn’t have told me to test if I wasn’t already shodan material.

That was good to hear.   I told her I will test.   Of course, being who I am, although part of me is relieved at not having to go through the demanding training process typically endured prior to a shodan demonstration, a big part of me is kicking me to not slack off.  Somehow, I will need to find a way to prepare without training six or seven days a week.  The key I think is how I train when I’m on the mat. 

We are told to be aware at all times on the mat.  In reality, of course, particularly when you’re training with friends, it’s quite easy to lose that awareness.  That’s when accidents occur.  It also sets the tone of your waza.  An ikkyo done with awareness versus one done without is like night and day.  All of sudden, there is so much more space and time to work with.  That’s because you are connected to everything and everyone on the mat.  You’re less likely to run into someone else and more importantly, from a martial standpoint, you’re are less open because no one can sneak up on you.  It’s connection at the macro level.  This differs from connection at the micro level - i.e. between you and uke.  Then again, is it really that different?  Something to think about.

The point I’m trying to make and one I must remember when I’m on the mat is that I can dramatically improve the quality of my training simply by being more aware.  I don’t need to train like a maniac.  But I do need to train with a more connected mindset.  It’s like counting from 1 to 10.  Anyone can do that.  But there are many other ways to count to 10.  I’m not a math wizard but I’m sure someone can come up with some esoteric mathematical equation that results in the numbers 1 to 10, in sequence.  I don’t mean that we should complicate our training by adding complexity.  Rather, we should train more deeply, immersing ourselves instead of skimming along on the surface. 

That’s the key to my preparation I think.  Waza is important during the test.  But if I’m connected, I’ll be ok even if I mess up a technique.  It’ll make recovering from the mistake that much easier and effortless.  Also, by expanding my awareness, I’ll be more relaxed since nothing will really surprise me. 

It feels good to have made a decision and to have a path to travel on toward that date in October.  All I have to do now is walk on that path.

That is the question.  Technically, since this is a blog of a shodan-ho, you’d think the decision was already made.  The truth is that I’m having the hardest time committing mentally to it.  It’s not that I don’t want to be a black belt.  I do.   It’s the process itself. 

Testing means sacrificing almost all of my free time to training.  Those who know me know how much I value my free time.  I just don’t have enough.  I also don’t need the stress.  Let’s face it.  Testing and the preparation that comes before it can be stressful.  I know much of it is self-induced.  But anyone who tells me that they’ve never stressed prior to a test or demonstration is lying.  It is and for me, it requires a significant mental shift to handle it.

Why is this on my mind now?  Sensei has set a date for the test.  Before, it was some time in October.  Now there’s an actual date.   I have to tell her in a week or so whether I will be testing.  She said that if I don’t test this year, I would have to wait another year.  Not some time next year but a whole year.   So I can wait but can I really wait that long?

If I do test, I would be able to get it over with and move on with my training.  That’s really all I want to do - just train.  I know it is a good sign when Sensei say you should test.  But honestly, testing just gets in the way of training.   By that, I mean the experimentation that goes on everyday that you can’t do when you’re focused on test materials.  For example, instead of exploring the many different ways to do ikkyo, I’d be forced to focus on doing ikkyo the correct way.  To be fair, our dojo is not as strict on the correct way but Sensei does want to see good clean basics.  That means until I test, all of my effort will be put into reviewing all of my waza, making sure I dot all the i and cross all the t.   It’s not that I don’t think basics are important.  They are.  It’s just that if given a choice, I’d much rather explore.  That’s the one thing I love about aikido.  No set way.  Fluid and ever-changing.  The fun comes from discovering all of the variations in the waza.

I will also get to wear a hakama after I test.  Well, I don’t know about you but I like that I can go to the restroom without a whole lot of ado.  With a hakama, it’ll take me three times as long.  heh, I know.  Silly excuse

Alright, alright.  Lots of excuses that really don’t amount to much.  But I do have one serious consideration that will affect my decision. Lately, I’ve been experiencing various health issues.  Without going into them, they are more nuisance than anything else - e.g. I won’t die.  But they do weigh on me.  I know it’s good training to go through the process of testing while dealing with these issues.  But I rather not if I don’t have to. In a way, it’s almost like my body is reacting badly to something.  I’m sure some psychotherapist can point to a number of things going in my life that could be contributing to them.  Regardless, they are there and testing may negatively impact them, causing them to worsen.  That’s the last thing I need right now.

I will think on it this weekend.  I’m more inclined to test than not.  But it’s still up in the air.  It would be nice to be a yudansha though.  For one thing, I’ll get more ukemi when I’m at seminar or retreat.  That’s probably the only upside to being a black belt.   It used to be that rank was important.  Especially when I was practicing taekwondo.   But not so much in aikido.   It’s just that - a rank.  As I had mentioned in a previous posting, it’s the process that’s important.  I’m not shirking away from it because I don’t think it’s valuable.  It’s just I don’t know if I’m mentally prepared to take it on just now.  That is the issue at hand.

Hopefully, I’ll have an answer soon ….

It’s one thing to talk about gratitude towards your training partner, it’s another thing to actually feel it, especially towards someone who is a butthead.  Take this white belt I was training with at the retreat.  Her waza and ukemi was such as that I had an incredibly difficult time staying connected with her.  I really tried.  After about five minutes, she stopped and said to me “You’re not connected.  I’m gonna train with someone else.”  I was floored!  Say that again?  I’m disconnected? 

I’m ashamed to say it but my lizard brain took over.  I was pissed.  How dare her - a white belt - tell me I’m disconnected!  I chased after her.  Well, chased would be an exaggeration since the mat was full.  Weaved would probably be a better word.  Anyways, I caught up with her and said “You should be careful saying that sort of thing to a sempai.  That was very disrespectful.”  She looked at me and said arrogantly, “No, I’m your sempai.”  I stood there as she walked away and thought “there’s no way she can be my sempai.”  Her waza and ukemi was crap.  She’s no better than a beginner.

Ok, I’ll admit it.  My ego was bruised and I was definitely reacting to the insult, rather than looking at the situation neutrally as a good aikidoka should.  So let’s do that.

First, she could be my sempai in terms of training time.  Here’s where there are differing opinions about what sempai mean.  I’ve heard people say that it’s strictly training time.  It doesn’t matter that I’m a brown belt and she’s a white belt, if she’s been training more than my 5 1/2 years, then she’s my sempai.  I strongly disagree.  It’s no different than in the military I think.  Rank comes first.  Achieving a certain rank means you’ve tested and demonstrated your ability to perform at a particular level of proficiency.  That automatically makes you senior to anyone who is below that rank.  Period.  Training time comes into play only if both people are of the same rank.  Much like the military - time in rank determines senority.  I have two good friends who are also ikkyus.  They have trained longer than I have so they are my sempais.  But once I get my black belt, assuming they haven’t gotten theirs, I become their sempai. 

Along that line of reasoning, this white belt at the retreat was not my sempai.  Simple, right?  Nope.  Many aikido dojos do not award color belts.  An ikkyu may continue to wear a white belt.  So was she my sempai or not?   The answer is not clear if the only determinant is the belt color.

So we move pass the belt and look at her skill level.  Her aikido was crap.  I don’t say crap lightly.  I give everyone their due.  But if she is my sempai as she claimed then I would expect her skill level to be much higher than what she was demonstrating.  I know as the reader, you only have my word but believe me, if you trained with her, you would not believe she’s an ikkyu.

This demonstrates another aikido fact - rank doesn’t equate to skill level.  Actually, it’s a fact in any martial arts.  Back in my taekwondo days, I’ve met black belts who couldn’t move air with their kicks.  They were my friends and I called them sir or m’aam on the mat (all taekwondo black belts are addressed that way or as Mr XXXX  or Ms XXXX) but I always took their instructions with a grain of salt. 

I’m not trying to be arrogant.  My aikido is work in progress and I would not describe it as good.  But I don’t act like it is.  And I sure as hell don’t throw it at someone’s face, claiming to be more than I’m really am.  Perhaps that what’s peeved me more than anything else.  It’s one thing her aikido wasn’t good.  That’s ok.  That’s why we train.  But she acted like it was and she made me feel like mine wasn’t.  I train all the time with people whose skill level don’t match their ranks.  I never say a disparaging word.  If he/she is my kohai, such a word would only lessen her as an aikidoka and as a person.  It’ll leave that person with a bad taste, not only with me but with aikido itself.  If he/she is my sempai - well, that’s just disrespectful.

Taking one step further back, an aikidoka’s skill level shouldn’t be a factor regardless.  You can learn from everyone.  If this white belt had continued to train with me, perhaps we would have found a way to connect better.  As it was, she disconnected completely which is ironic since she claimed I was the one disconnected.  It’d be funny if it weren’t for the fact that this sort of stuff happens all the time on mats everywhere.

Personally, I should have just left it alone.  But my lizard brain took over.  I spoke to Sensei about it afterwards.  I was surprised to hear that has happened to her as well.  And she’s been training for nearly three decades.  She told me to just let it wash over me.  Just like when uke attacks - you let the energy wash down your back and into the earth.  Easier said than done but I’m sure this will happen again.  Something to keep mind when it does.

As for gratitude … I sure as hell didn’t feel it on that day.  But now, in hindsight, I am grateful for this white belt in showing how insidious my lizard brain can be.  I swear I will rein it in one day.  I am also grateful for all those aikidoka who, unlike this white belt, continue to train with me - and with each other - no matter the circumstances. 

Anno Sensei started the retreat with everyone in a circle holding hands.  I know, I know.  It was a bit touchy-feely.  But the point he was trying to make - as far as I tell anyways - is that unity must not only exist in your waza (e.g. being one with your partner, blending seamlessly), but also with other people and the world.  It is a heady concept.  I can honestly say my practice thus far has been pretty much focused on developing myself.  If in doing so I enrich others, that’s icing on the cake.  

In constrast, rather than as an afterthought, Anno Sensei wanted us to train with the thought of others and their well-being first and foremost.  He mentioned the word “gratitude” quite often.  Gratitude for everyone we’d be training with.  And of course, we should extend that gratitude off the mat as well, to everyone in our lives. 

It is a different perspective only because it is not natural (at least for me) to adopt such an open attitude upon stepping onto the mat.  It is a good reminder that although aikido is a martial art, it is one tempered with compassion and understanding.  All of it starts with your attitude.  If you step on the mat intent on throwing uke hard because it makes you feel powerful or because of some selfish reasons, then you’re really not practicing aikido.  That is the extreme of course.  If you’re like me, more likely, you step on the mat mostly so you can improve your aikido.  Uke is a tool, not necessarily a partner.  It sounds callous but human beings are self-centered by nature.  By necessity perhaps given the evolutionary pressure to survive in a harsh world. 

I believe what Anno Sensei was trying to tell us is that by focusing on unity and gratitude toward others, we can work on overcoming this automatic self-centeredness.  By thinking of others, we discard our “self”, thereby allowing us to become one with uke and by extension, the rest of the universe.

Powerful stuff.  It requires an evolution (there’s that word again) in our world-view.  Was he influenced by what has been going on in the world?  Perhaps.  It is a good theme nevertheless, one he emphasized throughout the retreat. 

On a side note: I might have mentioned that when I was practicing taekwondo, I met an instructor who was a 6th dan and had been training for many decades. Back then, I was naive and thought that any martial artists who have reached such skill level must be also very enlighted.  After all, aren’t all martial teachers like Miyagi in The Karate Kid?  Alas, that was not the case.  This instructor was an angry and very competitive person.  It bursted my bubble and ultimately led me to aikido.  

Still, even after starting aikido, I never regained the idealistic view that practicing martial arts could lead to any sort of spiritual enlightment.  More spiritual perhaps, but enlightment?  Well, I’m glad to say that I’m wrong.  Anno Sensei is very much like Miyagi in that he inspires all of us to be better than who we are.  What’s encouraging is that he didn’t become who he is by meditating underneath a tree.  He did so by practicing aikido.  Fifty years of consistent, mindful practice.  If that doesn’t give us all hope, I don’t know what will.