This is a message to my friends who fruitlessly engage the online (and offline) martial artists and “Aikido” practitioners who whine about fighting, aikido training, and “street worthiness.” You know who and what I’m talking about:

Despite the tendancy of a true Aikidoka to include, evolving sometimes means distancing yourself from people who wish to challenge growth by dragging you down to their level of dysfunction. The deeper you swim, the louder they’ll get. But eventually you won’t even hear them, because they’re still standing in the shallow water. They can’t swim, and don’t wanna learn. They are, in fact, afraid to swim. Nothing you say or demonstrate will change their delusional perspective. I, personally, choose not to engage them. Life is short. Engage those with hope and interest, because sometimes we have to leave people behind in order to move forward.

In our older kids’ class (8-13) it’s not uncommon for some after-school slack, slop,  and goofiness to occasionally visit some of the children during training (imagine that). I have discovered a great line that works almost every time. It goes like this… “That failed to express your greatness.” If you say it right, the child doesn’t hear that they failed. They hear that they’re already great, and they just need to show it. And then they do. They step through their technique with an elevated sense of center, the energy is more intentional and focused, and they are more connected to the ground and their partner.  It’s like friggin’ magic. Of course you have to follow up with positive reinforcement and occasionally remind them to bring back “The bigger Johnny (or whoever).” It had been going so well, in fact, that I decided to try it with adults. It didn’t go so well. The first one was with an intermediate-level student who’s temporarily disconnected alignment wasn’t getting her effective outcomes. I tried the line. She nodded and then proceeded to nearly rip the guys arm off. “What are doing?” I asked. “Declaring my greatness,” she said. I reminded her that I didn’t ask her to declare it. I asked her to express it. It took a while, but we got there. The next student I tried it on was a more advanced one (same class). She was dis-integrated in her movement, and for her, applying relatively listlessly. I tried the line, and once again, the student answered with forcefulness. “What are doing?” I asked. “Proclaiming my greatness,” she said. So, I reminded her that I didn’t ask her to proclaim it. I asked her to express it. It took a while, but we got there. It seems that children have an easier time accurately understanding what their “greatness” means. Adults immediately hear that there’s something they need to DO—something harder, faster, stronger. Kids hear that there’s a way they need to BE. How wonderful, and…how scary.

A few days ago I got a phone call with news that my old friend, Keo Power, had committed suicide. I was shocked at first. Less than a day later I was remembering the times he had said that he’d rather put a bullet in his head than…die slowly of some horrible disease or be incapacitated, or whatever condition of perceived hopelessness it was at that moment. It’s hard to say this, but knowing Keo as a man of action—sometimes volatile action—I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked that this is the way in which his life ended. I don’t know the exact conditions that triggered him into killing himself, and I certainly don’t want to play armchair psychologist, but…how hopeless he must have felt. It makes me sad.

Keo loved to create—much of the time for others. He was an extremely generous guy. My world has his handiwork everywhere. I walk in the dojo and there’s not a spot that he hasn’t built or touched in some way—the mat, the weapons racks, the dressing rooms, the frame for the stained glass that he installed as a surprise one night after everyone left the dojo, the old “Aikido of Mission Valley” sign that he carved for me. As I walk through my home I notice tools he gave me before he left for Japan and the stovetop espresso maker he gave me. He was serious about his coffee even when he was living out of his van, and he felt that I should be too. I still use it for camping.

Keo was also an Aikidoist and a student at our dojo for several years. He got his Ni-Dan with us. The fact that he was a close friend before he started training with me was sometimes a challenge, because we didn’t always agree when it came to Aikido. He often had a hard time going in the direction I encouraged while still honoring his previous training, which was the stated reason he came to me. That was a source of both appreciation and frustration for me. With that said, he had his moments of greatness on the mat and he was a model of diligent training. That relationship taught me a lot about being a teacher who’s also a friend, and meeting people where they’re at without compromising my own principles.

It had been a while since I had seen Keo. He left San Diego a few years ago. I would occasionally hear from him, and was under the impression that things were going well for him. I took for granted that I would see him again, and that we’d sit down and share a few beers and talk about aikido, adventures, and women once more. We did that pretty often. Now that I know it won’t happen again, I miss him, and I’m grateful that we were in each other’s lives.

Aikido of San Diego had it’s holiday party at my home this past Saturday afternoon after a fun and vigorous class at the dojo. Like most parties, it started slowly with a few early arrivals. About an hour later I looked over the back yard and thought, “Yes, this is the most well-attended one we’ve ever had. Good sign. I hope there’s enough food (that’s my Jewish mom coming through).”  Then I started to look a little deeper—beyond the numbers. There were children, seniors, and every generation in between represented. There were retired people, scientists, students, store clerks, construction workers, computer programmers, bookkeepers, teachers, and the list goes on. There were groups of people engaged in stories and conversation, and no discernable way in which the groups were made up. You just couldn’t profile them, and for some reason, that made me smile. I was gazing over a community of people with Aikido at its center, and all that it truly represents turning its wheels. What is that? Our common humanity, and desire to belong. Real community. I love it, and love that the practice of Aikido helps create that.

Me and my family just came back from a cruise. I had never been on one of this magnitute. Let’s get to the point. It was hard to find the “Aikido.” If you’ve ever been to a loud, crowded party and came to a point where it was just too much, that’s where I was at after about an hour or so. There we were…jamming through the ocean in a big can built to be a floating cheesy version of Las Vegas. There was nothing harmonious about the big picture. Thousands of people practicing decadence and debauchery while being served around the clock by over a thousand others from far-away lands, waste like I’ve never encountered before, and noise that makes the serenity of the ocean passing by hard to appreciate. But I did anyway. I think the moment was just after an Asian man completed his very loud and enthusiastic karaoke rendition of “Rub Me Tender” for the entire Lido deck. I couldn’t take it anymore. So I went in…way, way in. I found a less crowded spot on the back of the ship and just watched the ocean pass behind us. The noise started to drop off even though I was still aware of the guy next to me trying not to puke, and the two drunk and pasty cowboys at the bar talking smack about Obama. If I could hold this, the next day on our way to Puerto Vallarta would be much less stressful. I walked back to see my family at the pool and then started to notice the “Aikido.” There were my seven-year-old boys demonstrating the principle of non-resistance as they bulleted down a big curly water slide. It wasn’t much, but it made me smile. And then I started to notice the acts of kindness among the unsustainable organized chaos of life on the ship. People helping those who have obviously been on way to many cruises to get to the buffet line, people holding elevators for each other, and people recognizing the efforts of all the workers on the ship with their smiles and tips. Like I said, it wasn’t much, but under the circumstances it was something. And it made a very strange experience much more enjoyable.

At the dojo we’ve been focusing lately on the quality of initial contact when engaging Uke. I’ve been calling it “One,” as in step one. It seems to be helping a lot with peoples’ integrity of form and application. Here’s the basic outline. Upon initial contact Nage has a base with a center line extending out of it, and that base-center is in deliberate relation to Uke. It’s really simple, and at the same time, kind of challenging. One is about the integrity of a first impression that greatly effects the whole engagement. Or we could say, the better the integrity of One, the more naturally technique seems to unfold. There’s no particular thing to do in order to practice the basics of this other than to take a moment after initial contact. Pause. Notice your base and center line. Notice how you’re aligning with Uke. Carry on…

One
There is connection
The touch of a leaf in a breeze
Grown from the center of the earth
Lightfully speaking its words
of ‘I am here’

The underlying principle that points to a true expression of Aikido is non-resistance, and that implies receptive values. That doesn’t mean we don’t take action, but simply that we’re not in opposition to what is. Aikido is obviously an art form that is expressed through the body, which gets information from our sensory awareness. That means feeling. Feeling is a physical form of receptivity that’s always relevant to a centered and appropriate expression of any action quality (yin or yang, doesn’t matter). And, awareness of what you feel is the only real and effective instrument for gauging actual improvement. In other words, if you want to get better at aikido, be receptive, place your awareness in the body, and feel. For some people this can be very scary as their awareness is absorbed in the doing of the technique—the mechanics of form. Over the long term, though, mechanics ultimately have little to do with Aikido as non-resistance (a tough pill for some people to swallow, including me many years ago). There’s nothing wrong with practicing mechanics, but mechanics doesn’t speak very deeply to the qualities and appropriateness of aikido form as it’s unfolding.  It’s an inorganic level of dealing with organic conditions. I know of only one way to include solid mechanics in an organic process of being non-resistant and effective. Feel what’s happening now, act on that information, and trust. If I’m an average example of how that process goes, then expect some train wrecks before awareness and action connect more consistently, but don’t abandon it because it’s uncomfortable or scary. You’re a warrior for god’s sake, and it just so happens that aikido’s path is most effectively and dimensionally practiced from the inside out. Feel. It’s good.

My teacher, Robert Nadeau Shihan, told me over the summer that I should watch for any O-Sensei dreams. I didn’t have one until very recently. It was short, but kind of cool. O-Sensei and Einstein were hanging out (I know, it sounds like the beginning of a joke), talking and laughing like kindred spirits. Einstein suddenly turns to O-Sensei and asks, “Really, what is one plus one anyway?” O-Sensei’s eyes light up and with a big smile on his face says, “You decide.” They both got a little chuckle out of it in a way that indicated agreement. That was as much as I could remember, but enough to spark some thought on O-Sensei’s process, especially in regards to alchemy, which he referred to. I have frequent experiences in freestyle when everything slows down and things just happen seamlessly—so seamless it’s like it’s not even me doing it, but rather me seeing it happen. It’s a wonderful feeling. Alchemy? Maybe. I don’t know. I do know, though, that there is harmony, and if it was alchemy then harmony is the path to it. Practice harmony. You don’t need to be doing freestyle to do that. Practice harmony whether you’re uke or nage. Practice harmony whether you’re doing basic ikkyo, or randori. Practice harmony.