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

A balancing act

Balance comes to play when more than one influence is present. When our life is in balance, we have a sense of well being. Balance isn't static though - it has a dynamic quality. We act to keep and maintain it. Life offers many influences that may add, reduce, move around, excite and discourage - basically changing and getting us off balance.

I recall the end of my first year of apprenticeship with my teacher - I was presented with a new challenge, a new shift was around the corner. At that time, I was a partner in a printing company in Los Angeles. My partner and I agreed on special arrangements that took place due to my ongoing travels to Northern California, to practice Aikido with Shibata Sensei. I was going back and forth every week, Monday through Thursday in Los Angeles, at my business, and then, off to Berkeley, to train. After one year, my business partner was not happy. He wanted out of this deal, and in fact, out of the partnership altogether. I was confused and thought I will have to choose between the business in LA and the practice in Berkeley. I didn't want to give up neither. I asked for the advise of one of my Sempai (senior student), that offered me a solution that I had no capacity of grasping at that time: "Yes", he said, "you will need to buy him out, and then you will get to work much harder in your business, AND also you will need to practice much harder here...". The option of having it all didn't even cross my mind.

Truth is, this is exactly what I ended up doing. It look a balancing act and some creative logistics to keep everything moving along. I learned that it was about making an effort, to keep the life balance, yet also, the readiness to "drop some balls" and actively and continuously working at it. I was lucky enough to be able to balance it for five more years; juggling, watching the flying balls, and seeing some drop - yet having both my practice and my business in my life.

Sometimes, when a student tells me he or she needs to take some time off from the practice, due to some new influence - I ask: "Do you really have to choose? Unfortunately, in most cases, people think they do have to choose. On the other hand, it is a great joy for me, to see how students who have practiced regularly managed to create and maintain the balance in their lives. Through their consistency of practice they widen their capacity, and seem to be able to blend somewhat easier with life changes. The balancing act is a true wonder.

"Be aware of wonder. Live a balanced life - learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some." ~Robert Fulghum

Ukemi | the art of blending

The art of Ukemi is about the ability to to blend with an energy, and respond in a natural and safe manner. The kanji in Japanese literally mean "Receiving Body" (受身). Why is Ukemi so important in our practice? I truly believe there is much to learn from Ukemi, as we may learn from applying techniques. Ukemi is much more than just falling down. It actually starts from the moment we get ready to attack, and continues somewhat after the technique has been completed.

Here are some of the lessons we can find in this deep art:

The lesson of Empty Mind: When we approach to an attack, we generate a spark. This spark will determine how will the flame look like, or, how will the encounter be. If we attack with some agenda, it will easily manifest within the outcome. For example, when we attack with fear, we usually leave our center behind, and use our upper body, we will probably be dragged behind the flow of the technique, and be somewhat disconnected. We should strive to execute a clean attack, without personal attachments, like assumptions, expectations and thoughts. As we attack, we empty our mind and turn our alertness and "body listening" on, and go for an unknown ride.

The lesson of "Giving in" and surrender: Once we started the ride, we should not react, yet respond to where the technique takes us. Quiet inside, we allow our body to follow without resistance, without any ideas and thoughts. We let the body do the work. Our mind usually gets in the way, so we strive to keep it silent.

The lesson of connecting and "Going with the flow": Placing our efforts on connecting to Nage is essential. Either we make sure that our grip is connected with the palms of our hands, tightening by using the two little fingers, or at a higher level, our body is "sticking" with energy that is directed towards us. Keeping the "receptors" of our body wide open and focus on our Nage's movements, will allow an easier way to blending.

The study of techniques: You may ask: what does Ukemi have to do with learning techniques? Well, just like a die creates a mark on the paper it pressed upon, so is Ukemi, being the "other side" of technique. We can learn though our body (rather than intellectually) where is the control point of the technique, where is the pressure, what body positioning and angles will work more efficiently, and much more. Rather than some analyzed idea about how a technique should be executed - we actually feel it, and it imprints in our "muscle memory".

The lesson of humility though falling and getting up: We are falling and getting up, time after time, all the time. Falling resonates as a non-victorious act, yet we have an opportunity to conquer this psychological affect with embodiment of Ukemi. We also learn to deal with self judgment, as we get up from each Ukemi fresh and ready for the next encounter, rather than dwell on the previous one. Each encounter is a new opportunity, and is unique - it will not be repeated ever again in the very same way. As the Japanese saying go: 一期一会 "Ichigo Ichie", One encounter - only once in a lifetime. A moment cannot be exactly duplicated. After we take a fall, we keep our awareness in the way we get up, with attention to Nage. "It ain't over until it's over". We use Zanshin (残心), being alert and aware, just in case there is another encounter coming right after.

Ukemi is a great way to closely observe ourselves, especially since our role is to blend with someone or something outside of us. Taking Ukemi has a wonderful application to all areas of our life - so please, do try it at home... and at the office, and on the road - the results are very satisfying!

Beginners' gift

At our beginners class tonight I noticed that one of the students felt somewhat "off", and was struggling throughout the class. At the end of class I asked him about his experience. He said it was unlike what he had felt so far, in the few weeks since he started. Being an enthusiastic student, this was his first time feeling he was not doing as well as he could. I told him this is yet another state of being, that he may encounter in his practice. I asked him to be ready for all sorts of "weather changes" as he continues, just like it is in life - good days, bad days - yet we keep on going.

All those "firsts" remind us how it felt, when we just started. Being in the unknown, trying to figure it out, getting confused, feeling clumsy and getting to know new muscles and joints in our body. We also used to have this "fresh" feeling, or what is sometimes called "Shoshin" (初心) in Japanese, Beginner's Mind. This refers to having an attitude of openness, eagerness, and lack of preconceptions when studying a subject. This is the state of mind we want to keep as we advance in our practice, see everything with our eyes alone, and not through the filters of our mind. The ability to tap into this state is a gift.

Another gift that the beginners provide is the practice of compassion. Every time we get to train with a beginner, we can go back to the days we started, and recall the confusion, excitement, fear and new-ness. Doing that, being in their shoes, opens our hearts to be in service, to empower and encourage, and to accept the pure gift of the beginner.

Student | Teacher

"The dream begins with a teacher who believes in you, who tugs and pushes and leads you to the next plateau, sometimes poking you with a sharp stick called "truth"."
~ Dan Rather

Last night we had our first "Introductory to Aikido" class at our Dojo. The class was open to the public, and was meant to allow people who never practiced to see what Aikido is about, and how does it feel being in a Dojo, and on the mat. There were four guests that joined us.

Having a few people on the mat that are not my students, revealed some new feeling; I could really sense the relationships that are already established with my students. It also brought a strong presence of my relationship with my teacher, Shibata Sensei. This relationship, made of trust, inspiration and great care, has been life defining for me. Not always I understand him, yet I know I want to, and wish I could. "Maybe in another ten years...", I say to myself. Not always I do as expected, I make mistakes. Yet I know he will make sure I learn from them. This connection is not very verbal, but very much renewing and stirring. I am in deep thankfulness to have that in my life.

I see my students as people whom I have much to learn from. The Dojo as a school in which everyone, including myself, are studying. Aikido is a life practice, and as such, we must respect the commitment and openness of all who are attending classes; giving from their time to improve and evolve, and in doing so - sharing their energy with everyone else who is there. We have to respect our Uke who gives us a platform on which we can study techniques, and to Nage, who gives us the opportunity to learn how to blend. We also have to respect Sensei, for always being there for us, every day.

Have you ever heard the Chinese proverb: "Teachers open the door, but you must enter by yourself."? The teacher cannot teach and make the student learn. It is the student, who has to actively watch, train and embody. Shibata Sensei used to tell us we have to "steal" - that was our job, and he couldn't do it for us. I learned from my teacher much about Aikido and Japanese culture, but most of all I learned from him about the Japanese Heart.

Having a student-teacher relationship is a blessing. It is a constant reminder to remain thirsty, to seek and look deeper and deeper, while we keep our hearts wide open.