We are all in it together

"Our reason has driven all away.
Alone at last, we end up ruling over a desert."

~ Albert Camus (1913-1960)

In the past week I thought about "alone and together".

We arrive and leave this lifetime alone, and yet, simultaneously, we are part of a vast universal web, a complex matrix, in which we are all interconnected, influencing and ever-creating.

I come to peace with the feeling that we might not be able to fully understand those around us. We can still choose to look for growth and deepening in the relationship, allowing its dynamics to hone our character. I also come to peace with the idea that we may choose to depart, leaving the chance of change, the risk, the work, and be alone.

As each of us carry the light of our own vision, we can acknowledge that the light of others helps us see a greater picture. Love and connectedness, dedication and hard work - are choices, by which we grant ourselves and others the opportunities to exchange, learn, and teach.

Precious and delicate, the sweet connecting lines on the web, weaving us single pearls into one universal masterpiece.

A fleeting cloud

Our lives, a fleeting cloud.
Are we stormy - lighting and thunder?
Just floating about, pretty to look at?
Golden on the edges?
Dense and blocking the light?
Are we giving
rain for things to grow?

Looking for the flair

Recently I was approached by one of my students that told me he liked a particular class I taught that week. I usually stick to basic techniques. I believe they show the best way to development of a strong base for beginners. I usually avoid complicated variations with much flair. Though seem somewhat less exciting - I feel the basics will provide my students with a better soil, that can then sprout into a deeper knowledge and understanding of Aikido. The class my student was referring to was a different one though; one in which I moved away from my habit, and showed more complex and challenging variations. I could see the excitement in my students' eyes: "Yes! something new!".

At this conversation, I mentioned to my student some of O'Sensei's words: "In your training, do not be in a hurry, for it takes a minimum of ten years to master the basics and advance to the first rung. Never think of yourself as an all-knowing, perfected master; you must continue to train daily with your friends and students and progress together in the Art of Peace." More basics, I said to him, is better for us all.

O'Sensei's words kept echoing within me, reminding me to stick to simplicity, rather then to flair and grandiosity. A reminder that a daily and ongoing practice should never end. My teacher is a perfect example to that. Decades of Aikido, and still keeping his daily training. His example is a glowing torch, and to its light I follow.

Here is a demonstration of Ikkyo, the very basic of basics, by the current Doshu, Moriteru Ueshiba.



Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.
~Leonardo DaVinci

Sharing Aikido

I would like to share this National Geographic 45-minutes program about Aikido.

A casual moment

Last week, after Zazen meditation session, I noticed how one of my students was picking up his Zafu and Zabuton (meditation cushions), and casually dropping them down to the floor. I made a remark about it, and compared the cushions to a powerful book we just finished reading — do we just throw it on the table? do we slowly put it down, in appreciation? do we even notice our movements in these casual moments?

At the Dojo there seem to be many actions that we tend to be casual with; tying our belts, sweeping the mat, and even using the restrooms. The more simple and automatic movements they are - the easier it is to loose tension. Checking the Gi before stepping onto the mat, paying attention to how we sweep, and checking after ourselves may look trivial, yet are keeping us aware. These moments have the power to open a door into a different level of awareness. Keeping our attention on our most simple movements can bring us better results in other areas, too.

Let's take a look at how we grab our partner's wrist, for example. Do we take a moment to observe our partner prior to attacking? do we take their stance for granted? how alert we are when we attack? are we cautious, or hesitant? We strive to develop our martial sense, and through keeping alert we can sharpen sensitivity to our peers and the space around us, and improve our response and adaptability to sudden changes.

I agree that we all need casual moments to relax and unwind. These moments are crucial for maintaining a good life balance. On the same token, we choose to walk a path on which the Way is learned, and the Way starts with some very basic actions: shoes off, bow, put Gi on, tie your belt...

In thanksfulness

Almost twenty years ago, a very good friend of mine told me about a new exercise she started; every morning, as she wakes up, she says thanks for she was granted a new day to live. And every night, before she falls asleep, again, she says thanks for the day she had, while reflecting upon its lessons and experiences. Giving simple thanks for life's moments.

I thought it will be a nice thing to do, and so I started doing it as well, not realizing how deep this practice may penetrate. I still enjoy this simple practice after all these years. Being in thankfulness runs a similar line in most of the world's religions. In Judaism, as soon as opening the eyes in the morning, a blessing is recited, thanking God for retuning the soul with compassion. In certain Shinto sects, one is asking in gratitude to be a pure vessel to God's will. In Islam, the majority of scholars are of the view that prostration for thankfulness is considered as a form of prayer. Some Buddhists consider that to be a Buddhist is to recognize, honor, and be thankful for every single experience, whether pleasurable, painful, or neutral.

From Wikipedia:
Although gratitude is something that anyone can experience, some people seem to feel grateful more often than others. People who tend to experience gratitude more frequently than do others also tend to be happier, more helpful and forgiving, and less depressed than their less grateful counterparts (Kashdan, Uswatte, & Julian, 2006; McCullough, Emmons, & Tsang, 2002; Watkins, Woodward, Stone, & Kolts, 2003)

Being in thankfulness helps us appreciate what is, and takes our focus away from what isn't. We may have more love and respect to those around us, especially those who are the closest to our hearts, those who, at times, are taken for granted.

I am in deep gratitude to God, my teachers, my family, friends and students and this life I was granted. May the holidays bring sweetness and unity everywhere.

Please call me by my true names

Wondering about the human being's true nature, I envision the great range and capacity that is encapsulated within each and every one of us. Influenced by our genetics, upbringing, education, environment and circumstances, we manifest this great array of characteristics into being.

In this poem by Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh I found a clear expression of our humanity:

Call Me by My True Names

Do not say that I'll depart tomorrow
because even today I still arrive.

Look deeply: I arrive in every second
to be a bud on a spring branch,
to be a tiny bird, with wings still fragile,
learning to sing in my new nest,
to be a caterpillar in the heart of a flower,
to be a jewel hiding itself in a stone.

I still arrive, in order to laugh and to cry,
in order to fear and to hope.
The rhythm of my heart is the birth and
death of all that are alive.

I am the mayfly metamorphosing on the surface of the river,
and I am the bird which, when spring comes, arrives in time
to eat the mayfly.

I am the frog swimming happily in the clear pond,
and I am also the grass-snake who, approaching in silence,
feeds itself on the frog.

I am the child in Uganda, all skin and bones,
my legs as thin as bamboo sticks,
and I am the arms merchant, selling deadly weapons to Uganda.

I am the twelve-year-old girl, refugee on a small boat,
who throws herself into the ocean after being raped by a sea pirate,
and I am the pirate, my heart not yet capable of seeing and loving.

I am a member of the politburo, with plenty of power in my hands,
and I am the man who has to pay his "debt of blood" to, my people,
dying slowly in a forced labor camp.

My joy is like spring,
so warm it makes flowers bloom in all walks of life.
My pain if like a river of tears, so full it fills the four oceans.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can hear all my cries and laughs at once,
so I can see that my joy and pain are one.

Please call me by my true names,
so I can wake up,
and so the door of my heart can be left open,
the door of compassion.

What's in your cup?

Thinking again about our ability to learn and expand, I question what we already carry within us, the knowledge that has a potential to reduce our ability to take in and assimilate, just by being there. My teacher asks us to "empty our cup" before entering the Dojo. What are we to empty, one may ask.


Here is a famous Zen story about that:

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor’s cup full, and then kept on pouring. The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

When in learning and study we should remember to actively make room, so we can take in something new. Holding on to what we already know will be in our way of what we are yet to learn. As one approaches a lesson, a class, a Dojo or a school, a moment of emptying the cup, shedding off the day's energies and moods, will clear some new soil, preparing for new seeds to be sewn, allowing fresh knowledge to take root.

Being clean

Every few months we have a Dojo clean up. We then get to tidy up and fix stuff that does not get done during our daily clean up routine. Yesterday, again, we gathered to create a practice space that is clear, bright and uncluttered.
Being clean starts with ourselves and applies to our living space and our environment, our work and our relationships.

The dojo presents an opportunity to teach us about being clean. We first have to keep our bodies clean, and especially our feet. We wear a clean Gi (uniform), keep our fingernails and toenails trimmed short, and make sure our body is free of offensive odors. Some students choose to brush their teeth before class, and some take a shower, especially if they sweat a lot during their workday.

The same attitude is translated to caring for the Dojo; we pick up after ourselves, take a second look before leaving the restrooms, washing our drinking cups, and making sure we are training on a clean mat. We train to have awareness and pay attention.

Our thoughts need to be pure, as well, to allow a clear practice. Our thoughts manifest into our actions, attitudes and behavior patters. There is this great quote that teaches us about this:
“Watch your thoughts, for they become words.
Watch your words, for they become actions.
Watch your actions, for they become habits.
Watch your habits, for they become character.
Watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.”

Cleaning is the action of reducing; less clutter, less mess, less dirt, less stuff. As in Aikido, it is not a one-time deal, it is an ongoing process, a life practice. We get a chance doing this work without negative thoughts or feelings; without bitterness, jealousy, self victimizing and such. This work connects us to ourselves and our practice space in a clean and deep way. As it is in our practice — we are never done. We are forever cleaning.

Lessons I learn from my blind students | Lesson 1

Teaching Aikido to my blind students at Junior Blind of America has been so interesting and revealing. Their agility in learning complex techniques is quite amazing.


In a regular class at the Dojo, a technique is being demonstrated a few times by the instructor, from different angles and different speeds, without any verbal explanation. The students watch the teacher's demonstration, usually trying to concentrate on the participating body parts, each of the times it is being shown. First they look at the whole movement, then, maybe on the footwork, later the arms, the smaller details, and then again - looking at the whole thing. They also look at the Uke, who receives the technique.

When I teach at Junior Blind, each of my sighted students partners with a blind student. I verbally explain a technique as I demonstrate, while the sighted students apply the technique on the blind student. The first impression that my blind students get comes from audio and tactile sense. Mainly they feel how the technique is applied on them; what is the pressure point, which direction is it moving, how to grip, etc.. They get to use their touchy-feely sense, and then, organically response to it. So, when we change roles, they seem to have a "body understanding", which enables them to quickly apply a clear technique.

I am wondering about this clean transmission that my blind students demonstrate. It seems like, as sighted people, our vision and brain work in unison. We collect data and immediately process. Then, we act, trying to produce a good copy of what we saw. It may take us days, weeks, months, and even years to "get it". Maybe what we perceive with our eyes is so processed, translated, turn into conclusions - that we end up with something quite different than what was shown. Rather than seeing with our eyes alone, we see more through our mind. The results of our learning, as sighted people, seem to be more sluggish, busy and hesitant. We trust our vision much more than our other senses, hence creating a separation between reality and our perception of it.

I am sure this is just the first lesson in a series of teachings I am about to encounter, and I am thankful for this eye opening opportunity.

Sitting on a rock

There is a Japanese proverb: Ishi no ue ni mo sannen (石の上にも三年), literally means: "Three years upon a stone." Not too many people will have the patience to sit on a rock for three years. My teacher, Shibata Sensei, uses this saying, to encourage patience and perseverance in our practice. He says that one will eventually find something, or something will be revealed to those who stick with the practice for a long time.

This expression has been passed down from masters to apprentices for hundreds of years. In order to deeply study a Way or a discipline, one must undergo at least three years of training and study with little or no initial visible reward or sense of tangible progress. Many people in the West do not really understand the value of such sacrifice, and it is only when one comes across a great teacher, one may begin to understand the real worth of such a path.

In our society we are looking to be rewarded, to make progress, and see tangible results quickly. Unfortunately, this usually does not lead to a deep study, especially if we're looking for an immediate gratification. Sometimes people call the Dojo and ask how long it takes to get a black belt. We usually tell them jokingly they can purchase one at the nearby martial arts supply store. On this particular path, it takes a certain level of personal commitment and sacrifice. It takes perseverance, and following with the heart. It takes great love, love that translates into deeds, into practice. This cannot be explained over the phone, and not even in a face to face conversation.

One doesn't necessarily need to sit on a rock in order to get this. One must choose to trust the process, and continue on the path without the need of constant encouragement, or ongoing rewards or praise. Studying deeply and sticking it out will eventually reveal great things.

Trading places

For many years I was driving past homeless people, standing at the freeway off ramp, and just felt sorry for them. From time to time I would give them a dollar or some change, moving on without a second thought. Years past and I watched a documentary called Skid Row. It was filmed, mostly with a hidden camera at Skid Row, where 80,000 homeless people live in downtown Los Angeles. The movie captured the daily life and stories; some which are core shaking. Watching the movie generated many thoughts about how I would feel, if I were to live there, dealing with the poverty and crime, and living in such fragility and vulnerability. Since then I started feeling much more compassion and consideration to the situations and conditions these human beings face, right here, in our city, as well as in many places all around the world.




I guess that in my case I changed my opinion by reflecting, and seeing myself in a similar situation. Being considerate takes us into someone else's realm, puts us into their shoes and helps us feel what they feel, like an imaginary "switcheroo". It is a powerful tool for life, and a great practice to develop a loving and open heart. It may be used in different cases; with a group or an individual, whether it is with someone close to our hearts, or a stranger, an animal or someone's living space. Consideration is an ability to look through someone else's eyes, developing sensitivity and carefulness.

This can be practiced in Aikido daily training. One can be Nage (the person who apply the technique) without much consideration to Uke (the person who is taking the technique). The encounter may go smoothly, and the technique will be performed — yet, the more sensitivity and awareness we practice with our partner will enable us to have better "blending" in our encounter. An Uke, on the other hand, that chooses to be participating actively, with true intention of attack, and that trains with awareness to Nage, becomes a responsible part of the outcome of the encounter - staying connected and looking for openings throughout the technique. So, in our training we can trade places, not just physically, but in our awareness as well. This provides many opportunities to deepen our study about techniques, timing, distance and positioning, while observing from the different sides, and from various angles.

Trading places teaches us about others and our environment, perserves our minds' flexibility and clarity, while keeping our hearts filled of compassion and understanding.

Moments of impermanence

On Monday morning the Sesnon fire started some ten miles away from our home, and was moving quickly Southwest. It was somewhat relieving to find out that it was proceeding the other way. We were advised, just in case, to pack, and also to take our irreplaceable items.

I found myself walking from room to room, looking at our belongings, at our stuff. Furniture, art, clothes, books, music, kitchenware, electronics, and even our little rock collection — all looked like stuff, like replaceable items. I was surprised by two different feelings I experienced simultaneously; a quiet willingness to leave all our stuff behind, and a core-gripping feeling of impermanence. A light connection line ran between the two, as they were complementing each other.
















On Tuesday morning we woke up to the bad news - the fire had changed direction during the night, and now was moving swiftly towards our neighborhood. My daughter, Aria (6) and I went to check on the situation outside, and saw the blaze coming down the hills of our neighboring O'Melveny Park. A couple of hours later, we watched the sixty foot flames threatening to reach the backyards of some houses bordering the park, about seven blocks away from our home.















A police car announced an evacuation, and I took Aria to stay with friends, then returned back home. I walked in and around the house, and felt as if I was watching a movie. It was all part of reality, yet, on the same token, it felt like it might not be.

The fire was contained that afternoon and was stopped right at the neighborhood's edge, thanks to the many helicopter water drops, and the firefighters on the ground. Luckily — no houses were damaged, and no life was taken. Only O'Melveny Park, mostly burnt, is standing there, with its black ashed hills, like a witness, testifying to what had actually happened, and how right now - it is all over.

Soon, there will be new flowers, grasses, green bushes and trees growing there, erasing the signs of this fire — dancing its simple twirl of impermanence.

A visit from the Peace Dojo

This last Monday we had the pleasure of hosting two Aikido practitioners from the Peace Dojo, in Awassa, Ethiopia. Tesfaye Tekelu and Meshu Tamrat are the co-founders of the Awassa Youth Campus and children Center, a small, grass roots, non-governmental organization. The organization houses the One Love AIDS Education Circus and Theatre Company. They serve hundreds of vulnerable children and perform for thousands around Ethiopia. They also have the first Aikido Dojo in the country, the Peace Dojo.















Tesfaye and Meshu are touring the USA in efforts to raise awareness and funds, and we are so happy our Dojo was one of the many stops in their tour.

Here is a video about the Awassa Youth Campus:



It was a pure joy practicing with you, Tesfaye and Meshu. We wish you a successful and safe journey, and we hope your shining spirits will keep spreading the peaceful message of Aikido around Africa, and all around the world.

To learn more about the Owassa Project organization, check out their blog and web site.

Three years

North Valley Aikikai celebrated its three years anniversary on Sunday. It seems like the number 3 has great symbolic meaning in all religions and mystic ways; it symbolized the trinity of body-mind-spirit, life-substance-intelligence, force-matter-consciousness, creation-preservation-resolution. The family: father, mother and child, the three dimensions, the three postulates: the thinker, the thought and the thing, and the past, present and future. The number 3 is a number of optimism, movement and expansion.


Here are some pictures from our party, which was a pure joy of celebrating with Dojo members, adults and children, the students' families, guests and many friends:















Eli demonstrating with the children









Adults
demonstration


















































Wine, dine and prayers for many more years of celebrating community.


Photographs by Roger Hoffmann

The fire of anger

In the past few years I get less angry for some reason. In my teens and twenties I used to get angry quite often, yet it seems to have muted down with the years. So many times the fire of anger will burn everything inside, and erupt in full force with destructive words and actions. So many times, I got very angered, lost control, and then couldn't take back, or correct, the results of my deeds or communication.
As the years pass I notice that the frequency, as well as the process of dealing with anger had changed quite a bit; in most cases I choose to keep my anger inside, and not allow an external manifestation, in form of natural reaction to my feeling. I often have violent, degrading and vicious thoughts and my mind starts running evil scenarios through my head. From this moment to my response there is a delay stretch, that seemed to have lengthen with time. I allow myself to really feel the anger, yet, in some way, to nurture it.

In this video, the Zen teacher, Thicht Nhat Hanh, (interviewed by Ram Das) describes the way of handling anger "as a mother holding her baby". This profound way of the fragility and delicacy we are to treat our internal fire with, may bring a fresh breeze into the heated moments.



A few days ago I was washed by anger in the midst of a happy occasion. A couple of my students arrived late to the Dojo's third anniversary party, and therefore were not able to participate in a demonstration that was presented by all the students and instructors of the Dojo. I was angry. Externalizing my feelings would have brought the party to its end. I chose to allow myself some time with it. Bringing some compassion and softness into the surface helped me turn this energy into good laughs and a quiet lesson for my students.

Photograph by Roger Hoffmann

Outreach to blindness

Our Aikido school has been active with its outreach programs for the past two years. We mainly concentrated on our Outreach for Education, which included visits to middle and elementary schools; consisting of live demonstrations, as well as verbal material that intertwines with the current curriculum (like: ancient Japan, martial arts or world culture), and words of empowerment. We talk about following the heart, the pursuit of dreams and the practice of perseverance.

A few months ago, my husband, Eli, and I discussed the possibility of teaching Aikido to people with disabilities. He suggested we start teaching Aikido to the blind. His idea was that they could learn something that perhaps they had believed impossible. And by doing so, could gain confidence and improve the balance in their lives. Some of Aikido is based on various grabbing attacks and responses to those attacks. A blind person is able to utilize the contact of an encounter into an application of techniques. A great example is shown in this video of Steve Fyffe Sensei from Great Britain, demonstrating Randori with three attackers. Steve Fyffe Sensei has been blind from birth, and holds the rank of 4th Dan in Aikido.














We contacted several local organizations, and established the program with Junior Blind of America, one of L.A.'s largest non-profit schools for the blind. The program was set to a six month commitment, and started mid September, with a group of twelve blind adults. We started with basic movements and techniques, as well as falls (Ukemi).














Currently the program is in need of more mats, as the group grew bigger than originally anticipated. We would like to provide around a dozen mats for the program. We will welcome any individual, company, group or school that will be able to lend us mats, donate mats, or provide funds to purchase mats. Please contact us at info@northvalleyaikikai.org
We will greatly appreciate any help to this program.

Working with the students of Junior Blind has been truly a heart opening experience, for me and my students. We all feel the true human connection, whether we are disabled or not, blind, visually impaired or sighted. We all have great enthusiasm about this learning of Aikido, and for the new relationships that are being formed through this program.

“It is possible to give without loving, but it is impossible to love without giving.”

~ Richard Braunstein

Just is

The ever-changing world is around us, despite our perception of it — it just is. Often we are amazed by something that occurs right in front of our eyes, simply staring back at our amazement - just being there.

Today was my first day at the Dojo, after four days trip to the breathtaking Lake Tahoe in Northern California. As I was filling more water into the Dojo's small fountain, I saw this baby sunflower that sprouted in between the rocks. I was standing there for some time, staring at it in wonder - just perfect...


The key to the mystery is that we also have some canary birds at the Dojo, as well as their food, which includes sunflower seeds. They tend to be somewhat messy, and seeds get spread around the Dojo. One of them found transformation...

Sunflower baby,
showing green.
Teaching life.

The weakness within the strength

A few days ago, at our Aikido adults class, something caught my eye. At one point, it was very clear that almost every one of the students were using their main strength; the physically strong were very forceful, the strong-willed were stubborn, the agile were moving way too fast, and the heady were thinking a lot. I thought it was interesting to see how we choose to use what we feel we are good at, as much and frequent as possible.

I noticed that none of this was working very well. Almost all the students were overdoing it and faced difficulty in their practice; there was a lack of connection, sloppiness, or just a poor application of techniques.

What we consider ourselves to be good at may be misleading. Is our strength really a strength, or is it also a weakness? Obviously, we need to use some judgment about when, with whom, and to what extent we utilize our natural tendencies. Let's take the agile person, for example: if he is going too fast, working with a slower partner, there will be lack of connection. An agile person, who is slowing down and working on controlling his speed, is actually practicing "out of the box". Working only within the talent's limits keeps us in our comfort zone. Trusting our strengths alone may be a curse. Navigating into what we consider to be "a weakness" may unravel some great discoveries about who we really are.

We should acknowledge the strengths we were blessed with, yet remember that other blessings may be found on the other side as well.

Balance in practice

Our practice may shape our life, and our life sometimes dictates how we practice.

Some Aikido students, usually younger, who are Uchi Deshi (内弟子:うちでし, live in apprentices), often practice 3-5 hours daily. On my visit to Hombu Dojo (Aikido World Headquarters) in Tokyo, I saw a big group of older people showing up, every morning of the week, to the 6:30 am class with Dōshu (道主, Master of the Way). I met students who used to practice everyday, and due to life changes, only get to practice once a week. I know of many people who choose to train once, twice, or three times a week. So, what is the right amount for practice?

Many teachers, including my teacher, say that Aikido should be a daily practice. Some students say they feel burnt out when practicing daily. Each practitioner walks his/her own path. In O'Sensei's rules of practice, he says: "In daily practice first begin by moving your body and then progress to more intensive practice. Never force anything unnaturally or unreasonably. If this rule is followed, then even elderly people will not hurt themselves and they can train in a pleasant and joyful atmosphere." So, the balance is not just found in the "how much" but in "how" as well.

Practice is "a way of life", and should be an integral part of one's usual routine, whether one chooses to train daily or otherwise, consistency should be kept. This way the practice will ingrain as a discipline. Both the time and the effort invested will determine the rhythm of the study. Our attitude, as well as our "hunger to learn", or lack thereof, may quicken or slow down the pace. On the mat, we practice in accord to our physical condition and ability. We push ourselves, yet we have to remember we are here to polish our spirit as well.

The secret of making the best out of our training may be found in balancing the "how" and "how much", as well as making sure that the practice is harmonizing with the rest of the pieces of our life's mobile.

, Dōs

Finding the balance

About a month ago, I wrote a post about the act of dynamic balancing. I believe that before we start maintaining balance, we actually need to create a balance. Creating a life balance entails making choices about the ingredients we will use in our moment-to-moment balancing.

A good place to start is an examination of the different areas of life. Then, we can start allocating the portions that each area fulfills. Here is a suggested list:

• Career/Work - For most of us, this is our means of living, whether we love it or not, the fruits of this work sustain us. Since it has the most immediate and tangible results, we sometimes are tempted to give it the biggest portion.
  
• Friends & family - Our family and friends can be a great source of comfort and connection, as well being supportive through difficult times. We should be careful not to take them for granted.
  
• Community - The larger scale of giving and sharing comes to play here, whether helping someone across the street, or doing some volunteering work.
  
• Self development - This is where we invest in ourselves. The investment may be on an intellectual level, creative side, through hobbies, practices and study. This is the area that is dedicated to our internal self growth.
• Health - In this area we pay attention to what we eat, drink and take in, through our five senses. We become aware to what creates the most positive settings for our mental and physical health, and what should be given up, when it not in contribution to our well being.
  
• Spirituality - On the more subtle levels, this is where our vision and our outlook stems from. Whether the framework is praying in a congregation, or a solo meditation - we find our inner power and connection in these spaces.
  
• Doing nothing - Lastly, each of us needs time alone, as I mentioned in my last post about Aloneness. This is when we recharge and connect with ourselves, and our purpose. Spending time alone helps us re-enter the world feeling refreshed and connected. This is our "Off time", or the way the Italians call it: "Il Dolce Far Niente" ("sweetness of doing nothing"). This is truly an art, and here are a couples of ways to do it: First, finding a place to relax in. Disconnecting all distractions (cell, computer, PDA and such). Eyes closed. Breathing. Or, simply enjoying a cup of hot chocolate, tasting fresh bread, or sipping soup on a Winter day. If outside in nature, just looking around, listening, smelling and touching. Feeling the wind, the sun, or the rain drops.
  

Now take a close look at each thing on the list, and consider: How does this give my life value? How important is it to me? Is it in line with my life priorities and values? How would it affect my life if I dropped out? Does this further my life goals? Does it make me happy?
This is a partial list for some people, for others it contains too many areas. Choose for yourself; what time will be dedicated to each domain, and go ahead and commit to it. Trying it for a few weeks will provide a good idea of how much balancing is needed in order to keep a commitment to your life of choice. After a while, make your tweaks and adjustments - and as you do the balancing act, remember: Consistency is your friend...

Aloneness

I love people. I love my family, my children . . . but inside myself is a place where I live all alone and that's where you renew your springs that never dry up.

~Pearl S. Buck

My daughter, Aria (6), is an only child. She gets to play alone quite often. This play time is called "Quiet Time" - either in her room or in the backyard, she plays alone, quietly and joyfully. When I asked her to describe what Quiet Time is, she said: "Quiet Time is a time I get really creative. When I am alone I feel joy inside my heart. I can get deeper into it, especially when I concentrate, I can invent new stories, and go into my magical worlds. Quiet time is very nice, I feel the lioness inside me, and I think about great things. In my quiet time outside, in the yard, I look for things I've never seen before..."

In the peacefulness of the state of aloneness we are fully connected to the "bigger picture", or God, or nature. We feel secure, thankful and content. On the other hand - in our society it is common to find that the TV in always on, whether we watch it or not, the radio is always on while we drive, and we surround ourselves with noise, news, and an ongoing stream of information. We must be entertained by sounds, sights, stories and dramas. We keep running away from being by ourselves. The fear of our unraveling ego, or facing our true self, is causing us to escape from "looking in the mirror".

The Indian mystic, Osho, said "the first thing is to acknowledge aloneness. Aloneness is our true nature; we can never, ever, not be alone. We come into this world alone, we leave the world alone. And in between these two, we are alone – but we frantically hide from it, run from it, pretend it isn’t true."

The knowing rooted in aloneness allows us to get closer to ourselves, appreciate what we have, and helps us connect better to nature, our loved ones, and our surroundings. Having some time of solitude brings a great appreciation to the life we live. Choosing moments of aloneness, whether taking a walk, in Seiza on the mat, or in meditation, is truly beneficial. Watching the clouds, humming a little tune, smelling flowers, or enjoying a private dance at home, can easily fill the daily dose of aloneness in our commitment to ourselves.

More on Mushin: double attention

Part of capturing the flowing feeling of Mushin (no-mindedness, or empty mind) is having double attention. Instead of being fixated on what is outside of ourselves, we keep mindful - through our mindfulness we are not detached from what is around us. We take integral part in our reality, the hear-now. We focus on what is around us, as well as on our own physical, mental and emotional experience.

In this short video, James Traitz, author of Don't Stop Your Mind, encapsulates the practice methods and the experience of Mushin.



Self remembering is a excellent way for a daily practice. Beside generating awareness, it brings about many other important lessons, such as humility, compassion, and clarity. We learn our part in the ever-changing cosmic web, on which we are all interconnected. It is a way to deeply examine our behavior and habits, and watch when we are "on automatic". This is a tool that sharpens our ability to create change, fills us with courage, and helps us to face our fears. The practice being fully present in the moment enables us to live a fuller, more enjoyable life.

Mushin: mind-of-no-mind

Mushin (無心) or "No mindedness" is a mental state into which very highly trained martial artists are said to enter during combat. The term is shortened from mushin no shin (無心の心), a Zen expression meaning mind of no mind. That is, a mind not fixed or occupied by thought or emotion and thus open to everything. (from Wikipedia)

This state may be attained after many thousands and thousands hours of practice, until the forms are fully embodied and become a second nature, at which point they may be performed flawlessly and fluently, without conscious thought.

The legendary Zen master Takuan Sōhō said:

The mind must always be in the state of 'flowing,' for when it stops anywhere that means the flow is interrupted and it is this interruption that is injurious to the well-being of the mind. In the case of the swordsman, it means death. When the swordsman stands against his opponent, he is not to think of the opponent, nor of himself, nor of his enemy's sword movements. He just stands there with his sword which, forgetful of all technique, is ready only to follow the dictates of the subconscious. The man has effaced himself as the wielder of the sword. When he strikes, it is not the man but the sword in the hand of the man's subconscious that strikes.

In this movie, the famous Karate teacher, talks about a a similar attitude used in daily life. As Master Kanazawa puts it, with an attitude of 'flowing' we may achieve happiness and balance. Allowing life to flow with the least amount of disagreements and conflicts. Acting from a place of humbleness will bring more contentment, peace and abundance into our lives. Striving to walk our path as centered and concentrated as possible, we continue our practice, whatever it may be. By doing so, we create a positive influence, not only in our own lives, but on everything around us, naturally rippling away...

The place beyond

We just got back from the Bay area, where spent the last days of our Summer vacation, with family, friends and in training with our teacher, Shibata Sensei. In the hours spent on the mat in Berkeley, I tapped into a familiar place, a place that is beyond fatigue and exhaustion. During my years of apprenticeship I often used to visit this place while pushing the envelope; the body all achy and fatigued, the mind becoming silent - a place of great emptiness. At the end of my last class, I became quite weary. Just then I was granted about fifteen minutes to revisit this space. It is a space of surrender and letting go - not out of choice, but one that develops organically when one continues to put out effort. There is no energy to waste on anything extra like, thinking or being self-conscience. By concentrating on the present moment alone, one may find a very fulfilling place.

Within these rare moments lies the truth about a larger capacity we can stretch to, despite our limiting beliefs. In the book "Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience", Mihaly Csiksczentmihalyi writes: "The knowledge - or wisdom - one needs for emancipating consciousness is not cumulative. It is not a cognitive skill and as well as intelligence requires commitment of emotions and will. It is not enough to know how to do it, one must do it consistently and it is a painfully slow process to modify our own habits and desires."

In many types of physical and mental practices, people describe their top experiences as "being in the zone", "in the flow", or "being at one with things". It is a mental state attained by a person fully immersed in the activity. Practitioners of the varied schools of Zen Buddhism apply this concept to aid their mastery of various art forms such as in the realms of visual arts or martial arts. The concept of moving through our limiting thoughts while uncovering new capabilities may be practiced in many areas of life. In a recent study done on athletes, it was found that the end point of exercise occurs when the subject can no longer continue the activity due to pain, weakness, or boredom. Shortly following the exercise, however, most subjects report that they could have worked longer.

The place beyond awaits those who are willing to penetrate through their self limiting beliefs into the other side, choosing to swim through the waves of pain and fatigue, monotony and sweat, and into the Zone.

image:
Katsushika Hokusai
The Great Wave off Kanagawa
c. 1829–32 color woodcut, 25.7 × 37.8 cm

Mountains and plateaus

When I observe beginners in practice I am amazed by how wide open they are to learning. The discoveries they make are exciting. Their enthusiasm glows in their eyes. The amount of change they undergo in the first few months is immense; studying about their body and mental tendencies, about movement and interaction, and about the application of what's learned on the mat into their daily life. Many of the things they do, like rolling, are completely new (and at times, scary) and may be done for the first time in their lives.

This first period of time is like infancy - indeed, a clean slate, a beginner's mind. We absorb and try everything for the first time. We change rapidly. We feel we can climb any hill and move any mountain with the power of our exploration. The next few years will be much like childhood - experiencing this world of new knowledge, and trying out everything with much curiosity. The path is colorful, and the landscape keeps changing.

Yet as time passes by, we find out that big discoveries are coming less frequent and we enter a new stage of work. We feel more comfortable. It seems harder to have "fresh eyes" and we become somewhat conditioned. We walk the gray plateaus, and the deeper we study, the longer the stretches. We have doubts and second thoughts, and we ask ourselves whether we want to keep going. We advance slowly and we sometime feel we regress. Now and then we experience a breakthrough. We come to the understanding that walking this path is not about entertainment. There is a lot of work to be done and much to be practiced. We get to experience the path with its subtle layers. No longer studying the techniques but refining them, not learning whole movements but working on subtle shifts of angles and positioning, examining our timing in every encounter. Yet in the face of hard work, we discover our own capacity to move on and enjoy our growth.

By recognizing the depth and richness this path offers - one will reach maturity. From infancy to adulthood, perseverance is right beside us. We develop our skills, sharpen our techniques and build our internal strength. Step by step, we keep walking, roaming the great plateaus.

Drum sound rises on the air, its throb, my heart.
A voice inside the beat says,
"I know you're tired, but come. This is the way."
~Rumi

Time to smell the roses

Being in a rush and feeling hurried has been part of daily life for most of us. Is it created by the abundance, or maybe the clutter we have in our life? Maybe it is the hunger for more stuff, new activities and greater stimulation? Do we really get to choose about taking the time to smell the roses? How important is it anyway?

Ten years ago I had quite a few things going on, all at the same time, yet, looking at my life nowadays, it seems like I have even more on my plate - running a business, practicing and teaching Aikido everyday, as well as having a family and a home to take care of. I've noticed that it is not always necessary for me to make a special time slot for relaxation, meditation or a quiet walk. In most cases I just have to allow myself a little more time, a few more minutes; then, I slow down and see what is around me, and simply have the time to enjoy it. Whether I water the garden, or walk my daughter to school - it is nice to have the time to look around and appreciate; listen to a hawk calling, examine a snail from up close with my child, or feel the warm rays of sun on my skin.

This little extra time helps us - allows us to be more present and aware, as well to handle unexpected situations better. This is something we see in the Dojo as well. One student arrives around fifteen or twenty minutes before class starts, changes at ease, goes onto the mat, stretches or practices rolls, maybe helps other students, sits quietly, or in meditation, until it is time for class to begin. The other, enters three minutes before the beginning of class, changes in a hurry and steps onto the mat at the very last minute, just as soon as the teacher does.

On the surface, there seems to be no difference between the two. They both arrived on time to class, and got to practice. On an internal level - the first student, allowed himself to be prepared for class. He is ready, both physically and mentally and will not need much of an adjustment time. The other, was basically "thrown into" the class, and will take some of the class time to center, focus, and to come out of the rushed mode he is in (sometimes without success). I have to admit I've been in both scenarios. We often hear the term "Martial sense" and I believe that readiness is one of its facets. Whether we are outside, smelling the roses, or getting ready for class - we choose whether to be in this space of awareness or not.

Being ready and present in the moment is our choice.
The time to smell the roses is usually in our hands.

The work

For many of us, work is something we do to make a living, a job, a profession or some activity. It is also our daily routines of housework, paperwork, or homework. We tend to connect it with "a duty", something that needs to get done. In most connotations, work is not always easy to start, yet we are happy when it's done. Many times we get frustrated and impatient with work, it seems like it never gets accomplished. There are always more dishes to be washed, the paperwork tends to pile up, and the leaves keep falling into the yard. So, we get to do the work again, and again, and again. How can we change this ongoing cycle of our attitude towards work?

In Zen monasteries there is a practice called Samu (作務 ) - Work Practice. This is work, usually physical (like cooking, yard work, and cleaning), done in a mindful and aware manner. The different tasks are carried out in silence. Simply stated, Samu is a form of meditation done while working. It is an opportunity to concentrate on the work itself, enjoy the simplicity in it, or face the challenge it brings. Just working, being in the moment and minding the part of the task we are at. Immersing the dishes into the warm water, soaping and looking at the magical reflections of color in the bubbles, rinsing and feeling how the water is washing away the soap and food scraps and leaving the dishes clean. The towel soaks the water drops and dries the dishes. We were concentrated on each moment, rather than on a passing thought, or "this is boring", or " when is this going to end?". We feel in peace with the work, in appreciation for what is present in our lives (like clean water, for example) and thankfulness, for being capable to do work in our life.

Another type of work, that brings much joy, is community work and volunteering. Giving our efforts and time for a purpose of supporting and empowering others creates fulfillment - by helping others, we first empty ourselves, and then fill up again, for a new cycle or giving. This also provides us with a clear perspective and appreciation to the life we have. The fact we are able to be in service, is yet another awakening to what we were granted with, and to our own capacity of giving. While being in service we focus on things outside of us; the people we help, the environment we conserve, or the animals we care for. We do not expect a praise, a medal or not even a "Thank you". We do not do this work for ourselves.

At our Dojo, we sweep the mat after practice, and wash it. It is a form of Samu, cleansing our own space of practice and ourselves. This practice of taking care of the Dojo is taught to all new students and seems to be taken well. Some students choose to take on tasks without being asked for, and sometimes without being noticed. Students take out the trash, clean the bathrooms and dust around the Dojo before or after class.
As one enters the Dojo, a sacred practice space, one should keep mindful, notice what needs to get done and do it, quietly and without expectations for a praise, nor with resentful thoughts about the others who didn't do this task. We do it to deepen our own practice. We also do it for others, and for the community as a whole. Cleaning, tidying up, and offering help to other students, bring a true sense of wholeness, as work is a blessing we get to have and share.

Uncovering purity

In many of the world's spiritual practices we find rituals of purification. The rituals including washing our bodies, or parts of it, in water or clean sand, as well as the sweating out of toxins. In chemistry we find purification processes, such as, extraction and evaporation, in which a substance is being reduced to become purer.



After creating one of his masterpieces, Michelangelo said: "I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free". The pure form already exists in the block, and the sculptor chips off all that is not. A similar process exists in the creation of the Japanese sword, the Katana (刀). There are a few processes that gave these swords their reputation of being some of the best swords ever made; folding and smelting, burns off many impurities of the steel, and polishing, which brings the sword to its final shape and sharpness, as well as places the mirror-like finish on a blade.




There seems to be a process of reduction, ridding of and clearing out as purity is uncovered, whether it is a substance, a spiritual evolution, or a work of art.

In our practice we undergo an ongoing forging process. Over time we lose and shave off many things we accumulated throughout our lives. We wash away, and sweat out many tendencies and habits. We become sharper, more concentrated, and eventually more pure.
Every time we train, we strive to keep a positive attitude, and act in a productive and compassionate way. We are shown our "extra stuff", and learn to let go of it. By our physical efforts we create a stronger body, and by sweating we get rid of toxins residing in our system. We concentrate and our mental efforts bear a brighter outlook and perception.

My teacher often reminds us to keep polishing ourselves, day in and day out, in order for us to really shine. This is the essence of our training, little by little, uncovering purity.
"Foster and polish
The warrior spirit
While serving in the world;
Illuminate the path
According to your inner light."
~ O'Sensei, Morihei Ueshiba

The way of the small

A dear friend of mine showed me this book by Michael Gellert, a Jungian analyst who was formerly Director of Training at the C. J. Jung Institute of Los Angeles and a humanities professor at Vanier College, Montreal. It is called The Way of the Small. The idea behind it intrigued me greatly. Why less is truly more? Do we evolve by reducing, rather by accumulating? This approach seems to be in complete opposite to our society's mainstream.
"As you make your way in the world, approaching its diversity and complexity by way of the small and striving to be small yourself, remember: the world scorns the small. Plainly, its chief operating principle is contrary to it. The way of the small is a small principle in a world of large ambition and inflation".

When grandiosity is the mark of the times in the political schemes of governments, individuals living in big houses way beyond their means, and children who constantly want more of what the consumer society puts in front of their eager eyes, Gellert believes there is another way:"When we live small, we live with limits and according to our means, in a way that is not inflated either economically or psychologically. This helps us to find success and happiness not only materially, but spiritually. It also helps us cope with such diminishing ordeals as failure, illness, the loss of a loved one, and aging. Living small raises the monotony of daily life to a godly level and reveals God in the little and difficult things. It makes everyday life sacred."

The experience of enjoying life's small things, as well as simplicity's deep calming effect, had taken a greater and greater impact within my own life. I am amazed by this way's power to bring more peace of mind and joy. I am amazed by how much deeper one can follow this principal, as one chooses to pro-actively acknowledge what's extra, reduce and let go. The road is still so very long... so we get to simplify, simplify, simplify.

Gellert outlines essential principles for living small. Here are a few of them:
• Less is more, simpler is better.
• Know how to persevere and when to quit.
• Celebrate the right details.
• Know when to go with the flow and when against.
• Learn to love vulnerability.
• Face adversity with humor.
• Sacrifice yourself to the jaws of defeat.
• Deal with your own shadow.
• Anticipate death's small portal.

The Way of the Small
Why less is truly more

Michael Gellert
Nicholas-Hays, Inc. 11/07
ISBN: 9780892541294