<?xml version="1.0" encoding="ISO-8859-1"?>

<!--
	Downloaded: 05-18-2013 03:30 PM
	From AikiWeb Aikido Forums, http://www.aikiweb.com/forums
	Userid: 8353
	User Name: holly_jean
-->

<blogEntries>
<blogEntry id="2649">
	<title><![CDATA[compassion]]></title>
	<body><![CDATA[Recently, after some time in dojo-less places (like small pueblos in Bolivia and the desert near the Texas-Mexico border)... I've had the opportunity to train with Alejandro sensei in Boise, Idaho.  Other dojos might win the prize for amount of aerobic exercise or number of black-belts, but this dojo has more heart and less ego than many places I've seen.  How is this atmosphere cultivated?  It's a subtle art, creating the atmosphere of a dojo, I think... I don't know all the tricks of it, but the most obvious thing is that there's a lot of talking on the mat (which is not something I'm opposed to, in general).  One topic that comes up a lot is compassion -- how to be compassionate to your enemies, to dole out compassion or flick it from the end of your weapon, say...  Alejandro says that he doesn't think of killing people, but of cutting negative energy.
At the same time I recall, too-vaguely, a class somewhere with Saotome Sensei.  It was one of these moments where he is asking, "Who is your enemy?" and everybody is uncomfortably quiet because nobody knows how to answer.  He said, That is a demon.  You have to kill it.  This is not a game.
It reminded me of the time in DC that Saotome Sensei said that the sword is not a cooking knife, unless it's a chopping knife for humans.  This kind of shock.  It is serious work, deadly work; how to bring that realization into a friendly, comfortable space?  You want a dojo with heart, but not too comfortable...
Perhaps there are two strands of thinking, complimentary strands that seem paradoxical but are not.  We need the strand of compassion because it is true, deep-truth.  We also need this gravity, because there is also truth to the gravity; there are in fact demons to be killed, metaphorically or otherwise, and this too is part of the work.  As usual, it's about balance... remembering that compassion is soft and totally hardcore at the same time.]]></body>
	<date>05-28-2006</date>
</blogEntry>

<blogEntry id="2309">
	<title><![CDATA[distance and pedagogy]]></title>
	<body><![CDATA[Today at Aikido Shobukan in Washington D.C., Eugene Lee Sensei was talking about distance-- from a yokomen attack, the different techniques you might use at different distances.  I appreciated this because it forced us to analyze the situation and adapt to it.  I think that quality is really important to cultivate, and you don't get it in 4 x 4 rote training.  Lately, I've been thinking that every class should incorporate more jiu waza, so that we can learn to feel out the situation and develop natural responses to attacks-- each particular attack, i.e. this punch is slightly different from the last, so I'll respond this way.  

Should beginners start with 4 x 4 rote training to catch the basic form, and then "move up" to open-technique practice?  I'm beginning to think not.  Earlier this week was the Mark & Ron show at Boulder Aikikai, and we were talking about how aikido starts in the center / so why don't we start teaching with the center, and move outwards-- instead, we start with the arms, which can allow the student to miss the point that this tiny kokyu-motion, this energy-spiral, begins in the center.  Obviously, this is because the arm motions or the footwork are easy to see-- and we assume that as the student continues, they will figure out that the technique begins in the center.  But I think that students are capable of grasping that the technique begins with this center-stirring at the commencement of their training-- that it would be helpful to kick off with this idea.  There's plenty of models for it-- I think of a seed growing and spiraling outwards, the solar system-- it makes sense, this radial pattern, the enso calligraphied on the dojo wall-- life expands; this is its tendency.  Ok.  So: basically, questioning pedagogy; does rote training do more harm than good?

Two other recent thoughts:

--what is an attack?  I mean, really, is it definable?  as-- someone trying to do you harm?  "take your center"?  I have no idea what an attack is.  I'm not sure I've ever attacked anybody.  I better figure this out soon; it seems pretty crucial.

--Jun explained in a bokken class earlier this week how Japanese swords are different than Northern European swords; you have to use kind of a pulling motion to slice through (I would have to demonstrate this physically for it to make sense).  I can't believe I never heard this before, or never considered the difference between types of swords and how the way we use the bokken depends on the nature of the instrument.  I remember being surprised in a dojo in California when I learned that the jo used to be like ten feet long.  What would be really cool for beginning students is a handout on the history of weapons, detailing how the techniques are shaped by this history.  Of course, it's probably our responsibility to look that stuff up ourselves.  Guess I'll have to add that to my list of research projects...

Other thoughts on pedagogy / the way we learn this art:

People have different learning styles (when I was learning to be a teacher, they taught us about eight "intelligences"); we should actively seek out a way that suits us.  I'm a writer, so writing's a big part of my process (hence this journal).  I can learn linguistically, but my kinesthetic intelligence is incredibly poor; I can watch somebody do a technique but my body can't figure it out, which is why it's taking me forever to learn aikido.  I first started training at Baltimore Aikido, where there was no talking on the mat, and failed miserably at learning; it took a class where we discussed things for me to figure out what was what.  So-- maybe we should develop classes that incorporate different learning styles-- verbal, spatial, artistic; discussion groups; scholarly classes... that would be exciting.  In my dojo, most beginners drop out within a few months-- of course, aikido's not the path for everyone, but maybe it's because the way we teach doesn't suit their learning style.  How accomodating should a dojo be?

I might have said this before, but I think it's important to look at aikido as something we're creating or discovering, rather than something that's Set and now we learn it this way / and I think you can do that without disrespecting O Sensei and what he developed and discovered...]]></body>
	<date>11-26-2005</date>
</blogEntry>

<blogEntry id="2018">
	<title><![CDATA[aikido at Mount Shasta, the magic mountain.]]></title>
	<body><![CDATA[Yesterday evening I attended class at the airy dojo in Mt. Shasta, California.  One thing I liked about this dojo was that there were no ranked belts or hakamas or anything to differentiate status or level-- even the teacher was a white belt.  This made me feel like we were all on the same plane.  I hadn’t even been aware of how the belt thing changes the dynamic of a dojo.  Note to self: remember about turning your partner’s body in irimi nage by hooking the elbow; like driving a car: you can’t drive from the passenger seat, you must be behind the wheel.  Remember also this last version of yokomenuchi kokyunage; irimi- catch arm from inside, collapse your elbow for atemi, open your hip for this final graceful wave.  (Oh, the techniques I have forgotten, because there is no language to remind me of them!  Aikido is so impossible to capture in words.)]]></body>
	<date>08-10-2005</date>
</blogEntry>

<blogEntry id="2004">
	<title><![CDATA[sacramento: rhythm, corner-drops, performing, and]]></title>
	<body><![CDATA[Last night I had a chance to train at The Aikido Center in Sacramento, California, with Matt Fluty sensei -- this is now one of my favorite dojos. Everyone was quite welcoming (they usually are, wherever you go -- I was just having breakfast with an aikidoka from Ottawa & we commented on how when you travel & do aikido, you feel like you have friends all across the country)...  The dojo was filled with quotes from Thich Nath Hanh and the like about love & harmony; the atmosphere had a feeling like Naropa (Buddhist University in Boulder, Colorado) -- but not overdone; the ceiling was painted with a starry night sky...  yet the whimsy was balanced by serious training & respect.  This is an important balance to strike.  "Look for the people who are smiling," an aikidoka in DC advised me, "and train with them."  So that's what I do -- because practice should be joy -- and yet because of where I'm coming from & my Generation-whY cynicism I have this aversion to what might be called New Age fruitiness -- so it's beautiful to find a place that is joyful & grounded too.

Things I noticed:

-- There was an emphasis on "rhythm", which is something I'd not really considered, and I don't know if it's brillant or useless.  There was one exercise where we as attackers had to line up and synchronise ourselves with our opponent's rhythm as she moved through the technique.  On one hand, I'm not sure that a martial situation has rhythm to it-- but maybe every situation has rhythm to it, & the trick is to find it.  I mean, we all breathe & have hearts.  There were also exercises where we were supposed to find the group's rhythm & work with it; which as a principle kind of creeps me out (I'm rather individualistic & libertarian)-- but I can also see the beauty of it, & see that if you were attacking as a group, you might want to have this sense of rhythm.  I'd never even considered attacking as a group before; aikido doesn't have much of that.  I think that at Boulder Aikikai, we tend to avoid "rhythm" in our training as a symptom of falling asleep & not being mindful -- "oh, you just get into a rhythm" -- but there's a lot there to explore.

-- The class was mostly the corner-drop-throw & variations (sumi-o-toshi?); at this dojo they grab one's tricep from underneath, while I was used to cutting over the wrist with my hand.  The interesting thing about this was that  1) I never realised that I did it this way until I tried this other way, and 2)  I didn't even realize there was another way to do it.  This, obviously, shows that I'm not very advanced in my training, and I look forward to the time where I do a technique and start thinking about my own possible variations on it.  Also, this is why I love training at many different dojos... it teaches me to observe my own technique by contrasting it with what's out there.

-- One thing I liked was at the end of class, each person had to take a turn throwing all of the advanced students.  It was a beginner class, and many of these people had probably not been up-in-front-of-everybody much.  I thought it was probably really good for them -- for all of us -- to know that pressure of everybody's-watching, and I was impressed that the sensei could create a safe-feeling space & yet maintain that challenge, that pressure.  It was another really beautiful balance that dojo struck: between safety & challenge.  I've been to dojos where it's only the sensei & yudansha that are ever performing, but I think it's healthy to teach everyone what it feels like to perform.  Aikido as performance art.

-- We were talking during the jo class about how the strikes are the way they are because they were designed to be used against armor (as opposed to fencing, a plain-clothed art?), and I was thinking that I never view aikido from a historical perspective.  This is because I consider aikido to be an art of the future.  (Of course, it's all these things), but I've never considered it to be like, O Sensei made this and then we learn it and it's been done.  I think of it more like, O Sensei tapped into this thing and had the brillant thought to teach it in this way, and it's just starting to be discovered, and it's real blossoming will be in the future, once these pioneers figure out a little bit more of it.  People criticise aikido for not being especially effective "in a martial sense" or whatever-- but I don't think aikido's real strength is on the physical plane.  But, being physical creatures with material existence, I think the physical plane is a good (and fun) way to work with it.  I'm not sure quite what I mean with all this or how to explain it, but I could probably tell you more about it in five years.]]></body>
	<date>08-05-2005</date>
</blogEntry>


</blogEntries>