Iaido practice

I admit that I ended up training in Aikido only because I wanted to study Iaido. The school I started at had Iaido as a secondary practice, so I had to take up Aikido first.
I had no idea about how much I would love Aikido, and how quickly I will embrace it into my life... It took about two months.
Now, I practice both, and it feels as if they complement each other in great harmony.

A serious enjoyment

During most of my life I found it hard to enjoy myself while I had to be serious. Enjoyment was usually unraveling while in a light and carefree setting. Therefore, when I started to practice Aikido in my thirties, I did not incorporate much seriousness into my daily training. It was more like playtime, that I got to have after my workday. I took a couple of years to understand that this practice requires one to face the preciousness of each moment, a life and death feeling, in order to really deepen the training. I kept bumping into my own walls; my habit of making jokes, taking it easy and behaving in a casual manner. As time passed I learned to find the balance between mindful intensity and the feeling of lightness and enjoyment.

One of my students talked with me today about his doubts, arising from the ongoing aches and pains, frustration and the misunderstanding of Dojo etiquette. On one hand, he wants to train harder, faster and with more intensity - while on the other hand he is always concerned about getting hurt, and the discomfort in his body. The practice on the mat is a reflection of life outside the Dojo — life contains pain and frustration, as well as joy and fun moments. As the saying goes “It just wouldn't be a picnic without the ants”. There are lessons within the pain, inconvenience and even injuries. These lessons are usually not gift-wrapped, but they are true gifts.

With that being said, let's remember the sweet enjoyment and appreciation deriving from having this practice in our lives. Experimenting with discovery, learning new skills, and engaging in an intriguing mind-body-spirit activity that helps us evolve and flourish. What a great excitement we have on the mat, yet, this too, is not staying with us forever. We get to experience both sides, and work at the delicate balancing act between them. Being all goofy and chatty has no place during practice, just as much as nerve-wracking tension may not be very beneficial. A healthy balance will ensure a productive practice.

In O'Sensei "Rules for Training Aikido" we find these two rules:
"Aikido decides life and death in a single strike" and "Training should always be conducted in a pleasant and joyful atmosphere". Most of us will note that sometimes we lean towards one side or the other, sometimes too serious, or too light. There are days in which we deal with moods, interactions and occurrences that affect us in one way or another. When we come to the Dojo, we get an opportunity to restore our balance, to center and also to have some fun.

The gift in the pain, the spark in the routine — may sound like paradoxes, yet they do happen and serve us well. Let's practice hard, but let's not forget our smiles.

Beyond words

Deeds speak louder than words, so it seems. I remember seeing some instructors who accompanied the demonstrations with a great deal of verbal explanation. I believe this is the common way of teaching, especially in the West. Students are expecting to have a verbal instruction. Some people who come to observe a class at our Dojo tell me afterward that they expected to see more verbal instruction than was demonstrated during the class. I say that I learned that Aikido practice should not be taught on an intellectual level. The least we try and explain it with words, the better. In my own practice I find that repeating a technique, and experimenting with it, in silence, brings about more clarity than talking about it. There is wisdom in our body that allows knowledge to avoid being filtered by our mind, embeds it with our muscle intelligence, and creates true understanding.

The great Zen master Takuan Sōhō, wrote:

"We must know that it is not enough just to see what the Mind is, we must put into practice all that makes it up in our daily life. We may talk about it glibly, we may write books to explain it, but that is far from being enough. However much we may talk about water and describe it quite intelligently, that does not make it real water. So with fire. Mere talking of it will not make the mouth burn. To know what they are means to experience them in actual concreteness. A book on cooking will not cure our hunger. To feel satisfied we must have actual food. So long as we do not go beyond mere talking, we are not true knowers."

~ Takuan Sōhō (沢庵 宗彭, 1573–1645)

Source: Takuan's Letter to Yagyū Tajima No Kami Munenori
on the Mystery of Prajna Immovable,
as found in Daisetz T. Suzuki's book, Zen and Japanese Culture

Takuan wrote this in a letter to the famous sword master. Here is an interesting story told about Yagyū Munenori (柳生宗矩, 1571-1646):

He was meditating in his garden facing away from the door when his assistant brought him his sword silently and without any declarations. His assistant, being a young and imaginative sort of person, thought to himself how it would be interesting to see if he could attack Munenori from this position. Before he could act on the fantasy, Munenori leapt to his feet and turned around, stunned to discover only his assistant was behind him. He was sure there was some impending danger.

Later on he was still troubled by the event. How could he have mistaken his assistant for impending danger? Was he losing his edge? He spoke of the incident to one of his trusted advisors while his assistant was in the room, and, being a virtuous youth, his assistant admitted that he had "thought" about attacking him earlier, but made no physical movements in accordance with the attack. Therefore, Munenori concluded that he was not in fact losing his edge but had actually achieved a new level of swordsmanship, one where a man can anticipate impending danger even when people are thinking about it. (from Wikipedia)

Love as a practice

While many people here in the US exchanged flowers, chocolates, diamond rings, or small valentine cards yesterday - I kept thinking about "love as a practice".



So I looked for the definition of Love, and here are a couple that I found:

From Merriam-Webster dictionary:
love \ˈləv\ noun

(1): strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties
(2): attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers
(3): affection based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests.

From Wikipedia:
Love is any of a number of emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection and attachment. The word love can refer to a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes, ranging from generic pleasure to intense interpersonal attraction. Love is not a single feeling but an emotion built from two or more feelings. Anything vital to us creates more than one feeling, and we also have feelings about our feelings (and thoughts about our feelings). This diversity of uses and meanings, combined with the complexity of the feelings involved, makes love unusually difficult to consistently define, even compared to other emotional states.

I would like to consider love as a practice; something we act upon, rather than just feel. A practice in which we observe ourselves in our loving state of being, choosing deeds as means to manifest our love. Random acts of kindness, picking trash in the park, sharing a smile with others, watching after our own well being, and always showing affection to our loved ones - are all manifestations.

Many consider "being in love" as powerful. I believe that "being love" has far greater affects on self and community. Start the ripple...

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

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 long haul

"The mind takes perseverance
as something extremely bitter."
~ Sri Chimnoy

Lately, I talked with some of my students about dealing with issues arising in their practice, and in their lives. I listened to stories that revealed their difficulties and challenges. I asked them about their actions and their solutions, if they had any. I showed interest in how they were dealing with the situations. It seems to me that the worst enemy we have is our own mind. It provides us with the doubt that we will never get to the other side. It also makes up excuses as for how we can't, and won't, and shouldn't.

These students often miss classes, or decide to take a break from their practice. I see them struggle within - most of them like Aikido very much, yet many things just get in the way. I would like to explain here about the proper way of non attendance and leave:
The Dojo is not a gym. There should be a relationship between students and their teacher. The traditional conduct will be to inform the teacher when you are not going to show up to classes that you usually attend. In cases you didn't inform your teacher, it is proper to apologize the next time coming to the Dojo. When a student doesn't show up for a while, the teacher usually does not contact the student, in order not to embarrass or to put any pressure. Students who decide to take a leave of absence or to quit, should let the teacher know of their intention. I assure you, that even when a teacher is not happy with this type of announcement, he or she will accept and respect the student's will.

On the other hand, we have to remember that perseverance is our best bet to achieve a long term feeling of wholeness, accomplishment and contentment. It is also a sure path to acquiring a skill. Franklin D. Roosevelt said: " When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on." The big things are not what we stumble on - it is the little stuff. The aches and pains, inconveniences, single encounters that didn't go according to our plan, have the power to activate in our mind a sweet persuasion, saying "quit", "stop", "take a break", "it isn't worth it", "you can't do it", and "maybe later". The mind's ways are slick and smooth. We tend to believe what our mind tells us, after all - it is the voice of logic...

When we feel we reached this point, we should ask ourselves: what is our heart's true conviction. When that is clear, we can then see the outside conditions that influenced us or pushed us away from it. Keeping our vision clear, will help us persevere, in spite of our mind's advice. A deep look inside, and listening to our heart - clears the path, no matter if the weather is stormy, the fog is thick, and our feet are bruised.

A teacher's heart should be open to the students. The Kanji in the word "Sensei" (先生) literally means: "life" and "future" or "one who is ahead". Having been on the path longer - means they have had more opportunities to test their perseverance. Knowing the Way is deep and long, the teacher has compassion for the students and willingness to help - so we can all continue learning together, going for "the long haul".