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.