Nature's school

There is an idiom in Japanese: 花鳥風月 Kachou Fuugetsu. It literally means: Flower, Bird, Wind, Moon. The meaning of it is: Experience the beauty of nature, and in doing so learn about yourself.

O'Sensei wrote: "Study how water flows in a valley stream, smoothly and freely between the rocks. Also learn from holy books and wise people. Everything - even mountains, rivers, plants and trees - should be your teacher."

Many of us prefer to learn from authority figures, such as teachers, coaches, and parents. Nature's wonders are everywhere, and yet we are not aware of most of them. Scientists today are discovering some cutting edge technologies that are found in animals, and mainly in insects — such technologies that may be greatly beneficial to humanity, yet we don't have the knowledge to duplicate them.

In our practice we can learn from everything around us, not just from our teachers. Every moment brings a new lesson, and may provide an opportunity for discovery. Nature is a mirror we can take a look at and see our own reflection. By looking at trees I get interesting ideas about my center, wind teaches me about energy paths, and from my two cats I learn about accuracy in movement. Moment by moment, awake, in this never ending school.

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.

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.