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Our dojo lost a good friend this past week, Keo Power. Sensei shared a lovely tribute on his blog, and I urge you to read it. I had never met the man. From everything I've heard about him, and the few photos I've seen, I wish I'd had the opportunity.
Some months ago a friend advised me to feel and be inspired by the love and sweat of all those who'd gone before me on the mat. Keo not only trained on our mat, he helped create it, along with much of the rest of the dojo. Tonight, during meditation before class, I let myself be open to feeling his presence. Afterward I spent a few moments noticing the places where I know his hand touched this little world I love so much.
Our dojo is physically beautiful, and an oasis for the spirit. Much of that was his doing. I don't know if one's contemporaries can become kami, but I like the idea that Keo, a generous and passionate man I never met, will always be present in that space.
I have been around music and horses for many years. In both of cases there are festivals, seminars, workshops, and clinics. I've been to many local one-day workshops with touring guitarists and fiddlers, weekend-long annual festivals with hundreds of music workshops going on all day, 4-day riding clinics with world-famous horse trainers, and even one week-long live-in camp in West Virginia to work on fingerstyle blues guitar. These are always intense, worthwhile experiences. Even in cases where the workshop is above my skill level it's fun and useful to see what could be possible at some point in the future. Workshops are a great way to learn new skills, discover new ways of looking at things, meet new friends, and reconnect with old ones.
My way of thinking about these things is if the opportunity presents itself, take it. I'm not much of a flat-picker, but when Dan Crary offered a local workshop, darned right I went. When the Mark Rashid comes to town for a horsemanship clinic, if I can manage it, I sign up. I always benefit from going, and it's always money well spent.
So going to an Aikido seminar at some point this year seemed like the natural and obvious thing to do. But with large animals to care for (or to haul off to board), and inner ears that don't like air travel (not to mention the expense of flying and hotels), getting to one of the big summer camps didn't seem feasible.
I was whining about just that online back in October when someone pointed out that
In 2009 I came to the dojo. I intended to be serious about Aikido, but could only spare one night a week. I was busy, you see. I was just there to learn some skills I could use.
Aikido smiled, offered a wrist, and I grabbed.
And now, here at the beginning of 2010, without having felt any force to struggle against, and without quite knowing how I got Over Here, I am facing a new direction, looking back with new eyes at who I used to be, and looking forward to a new year of continuing discovery.
This post is a "reprint" of a Facebook Note written by Cherie Cornmesser (also known, here on AikiWeb, as Shadowfax). Cherie and I seem to operate on the same wavelength about a lot of things. We are both long-time horsepeople (although she is much more experienced than I am). We are both new to Aikido, starting in spring of 2009, and are both 6th kyu now. We are fans of horseman & aikidoka Mark Rashid. We both like playing with nages who don't baby us. About the same time I was flying off Rainy last week, Cherie was writing this.
Cherie Cornmesser lives in Southwestern PA. A graduate of Meredith Manor Equestrian College in Waverly, WV. She has gone on to train horses professionally on a limited basis, focusing on developing a partnership between horse and rider as a team. She is also a professional hoof care provider using the barefoot methods commonly referred to as natural hoof care. Cherie was introduced to aikido and began to study it in June 2009 after seeing clinics by horse trainer Mark Rashid and with the encouragement of her friend, martial artist, Rodger Pyle. She currently trains under Garth Jones and Tara Meyer at Allegheny Aikido in the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh, PA.
Thank you, Cherie, for allowing me to share your writing. With that, grab a cup of coffee and get comfortable. This is well worth reading:
"While the rest of the world has been immersed in celebrating the season, I have spent today deeply immersed in my favorite subjects. Ai
You might recall that the person who introduced me to Aikido is Mark Rashid, a teacher of horsemanship, author, and Nidan in Yoshinkan Aikido. I had participated in one of his horsemanship clinics in February of 2009, after my large, young horse, Rainy, got scared at the beginning of a ride in the mountains, gave a few good bucks, and I came off.
I've not ridden Rainy except maybe once or twice around the backyard since starting Aikido in May 2009. Now that I'm a lot more fit, and in somewhat better control of my breathing and body language, I thought it might be time to start riding again. My plan was to ease into it with a few minutes of walking around the backyard. Walk, turn, walk, whoa. That kind of thing. Easy peasy. Maybe another little ride tomorrow, and one Sunday, maybe.
Everything went fine today until a neighbor somewhere out of sight made a small, sudden noise. That wasn't a problem, but Rainy's reaction was. He spun and bolted. My limited ukemi skills served me well. When I realized I was so far off balance there was no recovering I bailed in an organized way. I was able to let go as I fell, which is surprisingly hard to do. I was able to aim away from Rainy's legs, and toward a clear patch of soft ground just beyond a log and before a tree trunk. I must have rolled, and slammed into the tree, because I know I was diving forward and to the right, head-first, but ended up on my left side, with my feet tucked under me. Most of the road rash and bruises are
Rainy is my Percheron x Paint/Quarter Horse gelding. He's about 5 years old, 16 hands tall, and 1,400-some-odd pounds. Rainy loves water, carrots, oranges, and belly scratches. He is a sweet-natured, pushy, friendly kind of character. Not a mean bone in his body. But he's young and "green" (not highly trained). He can spin quickly enough and run fast enough to avoid being eaten by the lions he imagines are lurking in the bushes.
Some of my upcoming posts are going to be about applying Aikido to riding and horsemanship, so you might as well know who I'm talking about. :-)
Enjoying the first beautiful, quiet morning of a 4-day holiday weekend. No classes for a few days, but the two last night were so rich it may take 4 days for everything to sink in. The first offered a powerful new perspective on familiar techniques, and the second taught calm focus under pressure. I am so lucky to have such amazing teachers.
I've been much more relaxed, and really enjoying training, having discovered and let go of my energy on testing. Last night when Sensei was walking around watching our practice I was still trying to get it right, of course. But instead of worrying that he'd notice my mistakes when I made them, I was hoping that he would. He did, of course, and provided very useful feedback and clarification. So grateful for amazing teachers, and for being able to take responsibility for my own attitude about learning.
And now, a few days with my sweetie pie, family, and friends, puttering in the yard, time with the critters, and riding Rainy for the first time since starting Aikido.
Soft eyes, quiet mind.
Notice thoughts and let them go.
There! Feel it and move.
Great seminar today, about getting off balance, returning to center, discovering what's possible now, and acting on that. How wonderfully appropriate (and enjoyable). I'm left with noticing when I'm thinking, planning, and trying to direct, rather than just seeing what's in front of me, and doing what's available.
A couple of months ago, roughly, I set a goal for myself of training as if I were going to be testing for 5th kyu on February 6th, the next day tests are held at our dojo. As I said in a post about it then, my goal was not to test that day, or even to be ready to test that day, just to train so that I could be as prepared as possible.
What I was hoping to avoid was what I did before my 6th kyu test. In that case I was bopping along happily training in whatever came along in class (which is great), but not paying any particular attention to what techniques that would be required on the test. When my name appeared on the Dreaded Dojo Whiteboard (where Sensei writes the candidates names), I found I had a lot of learning to do. So I was hoping to at least be less blindsided if my name were to appear this time around.
If you've read my last few posts you know that I've been uneasy about something recently. I couldn't put my finger on it, though. It felt like some mashup of grief, disappointment, pressure, and feeling very inadequate. But I couldn't put my finger on a reason. There were no circumstances to support feeling like that, or none that I could see.
What was really out of character was Thursday night, in weapons class. I was freaked out at not feeling like I had one of the techniques down clearly. I didn't know it, and felt like I should've known it. Sensei was walking around the mat watching and correcting people, as senseis do when they are teaching, you know,
I usually don't dream weird dreams. I usually dream about work, or about something I have to do the next day. Boring. But last night I had a really strange dream. I'll tell you about it first, and then what I think it represented.
The dream started with me arriving, as if by transporter, or warp in the space-time continuum, in a room. It was obvious there was no way of going back where I'd come from. There was a doorway or hall, and women were coming in or walking through in small, quiet groups. I was pleading with them to tell me where I was, who they were, where I should go, what I should do. They could see I was lost, and seemed sympathetic, but couldn't understand what I was asking, and I couldn't understand them. They took me to another room where I met with an older woman who seemed to be their spiritual leader or counselor. She could see I was very upset by this time, but she too could not give me any answers. Through body language and touch she let me know that I was safe there, and that she understood, if not my story, at least what I was feeling, and that I was OK.
At first glance I figured I must be watching too much Star Trek, and didn't give it a lot of thought. But as I started going over the details in my mind I came to a different interpretation. The rooms were simple and plain, white and wood, with no decoration. The women were soft-spoken, and clearly part of a tight community where they knew and understood each other without a lot of talking. They were