It always amazed me. She either could see things that I could not see or she had an unquestionable trust in the order of things. She wasn't reckless but only acted as if each step was a new beginning. What happened next could not be determined until the beginning had happened. Each moment and each step was not predetermined or premeditated. Each moment and each step determined her presence in the only things that existed then, that was the moment to which she gave her attention. She couldn't relive it and certainly didn't have the time to stop and think about it now. It had no value. She also couldn't worry about twelve steps ahead because she was only able to focus on the uncertainty and the experience of the moment. There was no time for the future, a future that could not be predicted with the same certainty as experiencing the present.

It was amazing and beautiful. It seemed like reckless abandon; yet it seemed like every step was well choreographed. There were no slip or miscalculations. It seemed like she had done this a hundred times before and was now doing it for the hundredth and first time with her eyes closed. But I knew this was not so. We had not been here before.

There was no time for her to plan a course of action. There was no time to plan a course of action. There was no time for her to pause and plan her next step. It was all happening in a smooth and spontaneous manner. It was happening in the present moment. It was as if you were jumping from lily pad to lily pad - unable to stop for a moment for fear that you will sink. However, for her it seemed that at each jump there was also a sensory assessment of the current situation and a spontaneous adjustment for the next moment.

I don't know how it is done. I don't believe that it is a reckless act. My sense is that there was a desire to enjoy the romp and to release to the care of the Fates. If disaster were to strike, it would be dealt with in that moment. If disaster were terminal, there would be no concerns after that.

Molly, golden retriever, was my teacher at that moment during our walk through the woods. For Molly it was a joyous romp through the bushes, down the slopes, through the creek, and from rock to rock - an adventure that for me was the necessary exercising of the family dog.

(Aikido for self discovery, Stan Wrobel)


Life is full of surprises. And it requires of us an awareness that is similar to dancing on a shifting carpet.

Today at class, students were practicing their ukemi (break-falls). This included sliding into a rear break-fall under a sweeping jo (short staff). One student moved too slowly, too stuck in his position to move out of the way in time and ended up colliding with the jo, not hard mind you, but hard enough to smart and to stop him. Any number of factors could have caused the collision: thinking too long and too much, hesitating - and then being lost, a break in concentration and awareness, or indeed wanting the situation to end in a particular way when the circumstances did not allow for that.

Too often in life we remain attached to a particular outcome - even in the face of evidence to the contrary - and doggedly pursue OUR outcome often at great cost to ourselves.

On the mat this sometimes shows itself as a forcing through a particular technique - regardless of whether we clash with our partner (uke) - even if this means that we resort to overpowering uke with brute force. This then starts a downward spiral which ends with might being right. The short-term goal might be achieved - my opponent is down - but the long-term damage to the relationship might be irreparable.

In life, attachment to a particular outcome can show itself in everything from arguing a point just to be right through to schoolyard bullying or cause us to "pre-emptively" invade another sovereign country on the flimsiest of pretexts at great economic, social and human costs.

Aikido teaches us that we need to embrace the surprise, the uncertainty, the constant change in life through self-awareness, a trained body and an open attitude. It requires of us an integrated approach. Aikido requires us to interact with our uke second-by-second, reading his/her intention off his/her actions. It also requires us to be flexible and confident enough to adjust what we are doing to what is more appropriate, knowing that the ultimate outcome will be fresh, new, different perhaps to what either of us anticipated, but a constructive outcome nonetheless. It also helps us realise that at the end of every engagement, both uke and tori will be changed individuals.

Attachment to a particular outcome ultimately leads to a stuckness, a hardening of our position and our bones, a poke in the eye or death. Training in Aikido requires us to engage with both uke and life in a passionate, energised way that welcomes and embraces surprise.

Enjoy your training



Ghalib

2006 started with a bang - or more precisely a spark, a flame and ultimately a conflagration that engulfed much of the Peninsula. A chance cigarette butt, tossed negligently out of a car window wreaked havoc on the mountainside causing huge damage, leaving very visible blackened scars and even causing the death of a British tourist who was overcome by the smoke.
Even now, as I sit here in a farm-house in the Overberg the devastation of another fire is all too visible. Around me about 400 hectares of the unique fynbos vegetation of this part of the world was destroyed. Only quick thinking of the owners ensured that the farm-houses survived the flames.

This season of flames, of seeing nature's fury night after night from my balcony in the city, made me think of the elemental nature of our training. We're constantly balancing the four elements - fire,air, water and earth - in our training. Fire fills us with the passion and inspiration to practice, air (or kokyu rokyu) ensures that we have the relaxed connection to the universe that allows us to act without attachment, water gives us the flow to move circularly emulating the spirals in the universe and earth ensures we are grounded squarely in proper technique and good posture to channel all of this energy.

In order to gain the full benefit of our aikido training, it is necessary to find the balance between these elements - too much fire and we risk overheating and burning ourselves up (and possibly destroying uke); too much air in our practice and we may forget the realities of actual combat or a self-defence situation; too much water and our techniques lose the focus we need to take control of the situation; too much earth and we remain stuck in the face of an attack, unable to move quickly enough out of harm's way. So it is in finding the balance between these elements that the secret lies hidden. And for each of us that balance will be different because we may already have an excess of one or more of the elements. Through our practice then we need to awaken the dormant elements and calm down the hyper-excited ones.
As we practice and become aware of our own and others' actions and reactions, we will start to change - where we might have been shy and retiring, we may find ourselves moving more confidently; where before we might have brash and impulsive, finding the balance calms us down and makes us more thoughtful, strategic.

Just like the seasons are changing now and the blazing summer heat makes way for slightly cooler evenings of autumns and the plants gear up for the hibernation that winter brings, so too each of the elements are important, essential even and appropriate at different times. Knowing how to act appropriately and equally importantly, when to do so, is the product of a self-awareness, and a confidence that comes with regular practice.

See you on the mat

Ghalib