difficulties on the way

June 28, 2013

The difficulty in practicing Aikido lies in the fact that each of us brings the entire sum of who we are onto the mat. Nothing truly is left behind. The idea to leave behind your day and your struggles as you take off your shoes is a nice one, but is it possible, truly? Every action we have taken, every internal and external event is carried within us, perhaps even on a cellular level. We are the sum of an entirety of causes up until this moment-- and we bring all of them to practice Aikido, or for that matter, anything. A tension in the shoulder, a fear of this or that, an inability to perceive a movement or, on the contrary, an ease in movement, a certain degree of relaxation-- all these are the result of karma. I use the word karma here to mean the entirety of who I am up until now, which includes genetics, upbringing, external events, and the possibility of past lives (who knows?). Another way to put it: I bring all my resistance as well as my desire to learn Aikido. How can it be otherwise? And if this is true, what hope is there for me to learn anything? For ultimately, I will always superimpose anything given to me with my own views, biases and limitations. For myself, the only hope lies in seeing my resistance, seeing my prejudices. If I can see these often enough, perhaps I can avoid falling into the same habits. There is no easy way. There is no "I've got it." There are moments of real encounters, real letting go. And then...my resistance, my prejudice, my ego is there. It always comes back. Perhaps, in time, it will be less and less- it will soften and not be so overbearing. But for now, if I really want to practice, to learn, I have to understand my resistance, my biases. I have to see accurately the sides of me that don't want to practice, don't want to learn, and that don't want to go along with what is shown. Looking for these sides is difficult, because they don't often want to be seen, and "I" really don't want to change, do I? So let's try and take a look at this more in our practice. New York, 2013 Ryugan

From the Magazine Parabola, Volume XIII, No. 1, February 1988. An interview with painter Paul Reyna

May 22, 2013

Question: Is struggle an element that helps bring force to a work? There needs to be a state of very alert and active receptivity in order to work as an artist, and at the same time it seems that there is an opposite movement needed in order to express that. Is there a contradiction here? Is it in the change from one to the other that the struggle comes in? Reynard: It seems to me that, on the contrary, it is very close. It is only at the moment that you are open that something is expressed. It is a rather mysterious process, because you can work and work for a long time and not find what you want. You come to a point where you seem to have exhausted all the possible means for this work, all the thoughts you have, all the emotion, in other words, you are finished. There's no more to say-- you are like a fruit that has been squeezed. And this moment is very important. It's the moment when you may open. All the necessary elements are present without any order. You are even at the point where you are ready to destroy what you have done. It is nevertheless a very precious moment, because it is then when something new may emerge, something which was in you but which you didn't know, you didn't see. And that is the real moment of expression. When I'm no longer trying to do something, I begin to feel I am led, as if my brush was just following a definite path. I am just following something which I merely initiated. At that point I am open to something which I was unable to express before when I wanted to direct it. And strangely enough the best moment, and the best result, is when I am here in front of the painting, and the hand is so to speak free. I am not imposing. At the same time it is me who paints. But it is as if I were following a kind of secret indication. I am no longer fighting. The struggle has taken place before this moment, when I was at the point of giving up. And if at that point I'm open enough, then something occurs, something completely new, something which seems to be true, something true in relation to what was within myself at that very moment.

a lesson learned living in the dojo - m. croes

March 25, 2013

When I was asked to write a blog post for the dojo it immediately sparked a sense of anxiety. I’m not much of a writer and prefer doing things of a more tactile and physical nature, e.g. cleaning. So as I started this I began thinking about why I feel a sense of anxiety around this kind of task; what impact does it have on my training ? This points to a larger question that I’ve been thinking about: how to apply what I learned living in the dojo to my everyday life.

The specific topic I was asked to write about was the month I spent living at the dojo. Living there is unlike any experience I’ve had. You start your day at 6:00 a.m. and the first thing you do, before brushing your teeth or putting away your futon, is to light incense and change the Kamidana (Shinto shrine) offerings. You then train Aikido or weapons for an hour, do zazen or misogi, eat breakfast, clean, train at noon class, clean, prepare dinner, train for two more evening classes, clean, get dinner ready, clean up and then hopefully sleep a few hours. The simple list of activities can’t do justice to the kind of life it is. It is something that must be experienced firsthand to understand the personal impact. I can tell you what it did for me. It showed me what is possible when you feel worn down and it taught me to begin letting go, to release some of my obsessiveness. It also brought me closer to seeing within myself how quickly I can give up on something if it becomes difficult or uncomfortable.

At the dojo, you train harder than you think you will. No matter what you prepare for, you won't be truly ready for what you are confronted with. The pain, the discomfort of sleeping on futons on the floor, the emotions that begin to surface. Everything that you can hide behind outside the dojo slowly gets stripped away and you are left to embrace your faults and strengths. You begin to learn from them and hopefully make adjustments that improve you in aikido and in life. Learning this is made easier by the warmth of the people at the dojo and it gives me a sense of calm and centeredness in my life… sometimes. It's a work in progress.

While living in the dojo I also had to work in the mornings at my job in New Jersey. In the beginning there was a sense of relief after such hard training to go to work and get what I perceived as "a break." But as my time progressed I found that work simply became a distraction from what was really important to me – training. And the process began to affect me both physically and emotionally.

In a way I came to appreciate the sheer exhaustion of living there because there was no energy left for much of anything. Every day - on the mat and off - I have anxiety about doing things correctly or accomplishing things. I get frustrated when I attempt even simple movements: left foot here, right there, and then I go to do it and find myself with my feet switched or slouching or hunching my shoulders. That's not to mention being able to do something correctly one day and then not the next. But in my time living in the dojo the anxiety lessened and I was able to do more of what frightens and frustrates me. I had to let go of something. It would have been impossible to function otherwise. In Aikido and in life one has to let go of attachments and desires in order to move on and to improve. The letting go of tension, anger, fear all have to happen. Part of improving - we’ve all heard - is becoming “relaxed with tension"; how to accomplish that has been something I have been asking myself for some time. When I find the answer I’ll post it. If you told me two years ago that cleaning and training in a martial art could teach me about letting go and becoming more relaxed I wouldn’t have believed you. When I first started to train I would look for excuses to not go to the dojo or to not stay as long because of some fear or anxiety. Now, I look for excuses to be there longer or to stay for that extra class that I don’t really want to do. I still have ups and downs and there are times when I don’t want to go, when laziness or emotions win out. It is a work in progress. But I am definitely taking the advice I was given by Sensei when I stopped sleeping at the dojo… “keep going." -Michael Croes