Welcome to South Austin Aikido

12-09-2007

When a friend heard I was beginning aikido, his first response was to share with me that he is a huge Steven Segal fan. Strange as it may sound, my experience of aikido thus far is less as a martial art than as a form of communication. "Feel that?" Chad will say, shifting his weight almost imperceptibly. And wordlessly, he will reveal his center of gravity.

Turning his wrist, he'll raise my shoulders. "Feel that?" My "center" is suddenly up in my chest. Every movement (and, I suspect, every intention) is felt by the other and affects the balance of both.

Staying connected -- that's the point. But that doesn't just mean holding on. The connection isn't between hand and arm; it's between center and center. And the orbit of these twinned centers is the line aikido traces.

But maintaining this connection is a soft and subtle art that continues to escape me. For a brief instance I'll have a flash of awareness as Tim will begin to fall and his center sinks. The feeling is palpable, like ground giving way under your feet, as there's suddenly nothing there.

"Fill the space," Jay Sensei says -- the place your partner needs to keep his balance. As he adjusts, you feel him move with a kind of dynamic integrity, as he keeps his structure intact as long as he can.

Following all this while tending to my own movement requires a great deal of awareness I find I rarely have.

"Relax, relax," Todd tells me again and again. "I am relaxed," I think, then feel the tightened muscles in my shoulder. It is a little disturbing that he sees this better than I do. But my lack of awareness bothers me more. I don't think of myself as unaware, yet there it is.

01-29-2008

I've been going to the dojo about 2 or 3 times a week (except Christmas week) since I started. The movement -- and some of the words -- are starting to feel a little less foreign; the rolls slightly less life-threatening.

I asked Chad if there are camps or other more intensive training opportunities -- when practice ends, I feel I'm getting somewhere, but then start the next class about where I started before. He said there are, but to be patient.

Be patient. Relax. Let go. Breathe. These have got to be the most difficult parts of aikido. And they're the reasons I go.

I mentioned to Chad that I'm noticing aikido everywhere -- when I open a door, or lift something. Tim says he hasn't opened a door with his arms in years. Ha!

It goes deeper than that, of course. I see it in my interactions with people at work, at home. It provides a rich vocabulary for the energy that occurs when people come together. And I find it encourages me to do things that feel right.

It's different from other terminologies, and in some ways, more useful. Aggressive and passive, for instance, or introverted and extroverted can be helpful spectrums in some ways. But being "present" seems a better thing to focus on most of the time.

I am still moved by how vulnerable and exposed I'm required to be in the practice. Not simply that there's no hiding -- it just ceases to be aikido when you're not connected. The entire point of the exercise is to be present -- to reveal yourself to your partner, and move together.

And (perhaps -- I'm still very new at this) the central lesson of the discipline is the power you find in that fearlessness. It is a deeply satisfying thing -- when I live up to it -- to trust it, to just let it happen. To let go of that instinct to shrink back and protect, or to lash out and control.

A week or so ago, Tim and I were practicing -- very slowly. And for some extended moments I could feel my movements shifting the weight in his hips and knees, and vice versa. Slight adjustments, from the center, out.

The mindfulness this takes (not so much concentration, which makes me think of furrowing my brow) is nearly total. No multi-tasking! And the connection -- both to Tim and to myself -- was kind of revelatory.

If I did something that broke the connection -- leaned wrong, or tightened up -- I quickly felt it and let it go. So many things about aikido are about letting go of things I reflexively cling to, and tending to things I neglect, like an awareness of myself and the things I'm connected to.

That's essentially how I experience it outside the dojo, as well.

Last night I practiced several times with Brian. He's newer to aikido than Chad or Tim or Todd, and not yet as fluid. But he was making a point of showing me things, giving me feedback. He was often careful to admit his own struggles with an aspect of the move, just as the more experienced guys do -- a kind of humility that reminds me of my very best experiences at church.

He seemed to take great pleasure in sharing aikido with me. Seeing him apply such close attention to his practice was really a great thing.

I'm impatient with myself, and how long it's taking me to internalize some of these basic skills, so for now, I'm trying to focus on just being a good student. Pay attention, pay attention.