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The Aiki Way The Art of Falling By Richard Strozzi-Heckler Sensei First time visitors to the dojo often find themselves mesmerized by the rolling and falling. Their eyes light up as they follow the movement of the person falling and their body has a bit of body English in it as if to catch the sensation of oneself as a circle and spinning effortlessly across the floor. Then a look of perplexity crosses their face as the person thrown comes squarely upright on two well-planted feet, not missing a beat, with a smile on their face as they charge back in for another attack and then again being hurled out into one of those exquisite rolls. “It looks so easy!” “Does it take long to learn how to fall like that?” “Does it hurt?” “It’s beautiful”; “I’m not sure I can do that.” is what they say. But they can’t take their eyes off the movement and their bodies seem to clench and relax, clench and relax, amidst the calm chaos of many bodies being flung to the mat and then returning to engage with their partner and then changing roles and throwing the other to the mat…with no one crashing into the other. This is harmony that is health at its best. Their bodies know this and you can see it by the way they lean toward the spirals, and circles, and whirling as if they might catch some of this goodness through sheer proximity. In the world of the martial arts Aikido is categorized as a grappling art, which means there are a wide variety of throws and pins. This means that in Aikido practice one also learns the art of falling. You learn back rolls, forward rolls, break falls, (which look like a flip in the air) and falls on the side of the body. The same principles you learn in Aikido training-center, ground, extension, focus, dynamic relaxation, connection, ki-breath-you also learn and employ in the art of falling. When people are drawn to the art and joy of falling, but are intimidated by it, they forget that everyone began where they are beginning: in this priceless present moment, anxious, thrilled, unskilled, with beginner’s mind and the promise of much to learn. The entire historical thrust of our culture is upward and outward, away from the earth, a systematic forgetting of the elemental ground of soil, water, plants, replaced instead by an upward draft to the ethereal shrines of the theoretical and abstract. Church spires, skyscrapers, communication antennas, heads mounted on mute bodies, God in heaven above us, the head-centered accumulation of data, we are schooled to rely on thinking and have become anaesthetized to feeling. We’re afraid to surrender to the downward pull of the planet because we can’t feel our feet already on the ground. We live in anxiety because when we can’t feel the ground we can’t feel our place in the world. Living from our heads, the distant tower of the intellect, ground is at a great distance, a long drop down. In our spiritual amnesia we have forgotten we are already there. When I teach children to fall I demonstrate the roll and then ask them to do what they saw and they simply do it. They immediately engage with the mat without description or instruction. They have not yet been educated out of their bodies, schooled off the ground, taught distaste for the sacred covenant between humans and the earth. No wonder then that when newcomers see the exquisite poetry of falling they are jolted by the contradiction of attraction and fear in themselves. They sense the naturalness of it, the gentle, insistent pull to the earth, like a mother drawing a child into her embrace; and they fear what they have to let go of to experience this surrender to love. If we are afraid to surrender to our relationship with the earth, we live in fear. I worked with a client who was a senior executive in a large multinational corporation and one day I told him I was going to teach to him fall. We went out to the grass and I taught him to fall and afterward he said, “I can smell the grass.” He didn’t say this as a way of placating me or saying the right thing but as a sincere and authentic response to the awakening of his senses. He had become more alive. In his contact with the ground, perhaps the first since his childhood, his shoulders relaxed three inches. ”He’s not afraid as he was,” I thought. Falling requires surrendering to gravity, the energetic field of our lovely planet. To live a conscious, evolving life surrender is a requirement at every stage of growth. When we surrender we fall into a larger, luminescent, unknown space. Falling is the practice of surrendering. What do you need to surrender to? How do you keep yourself from surrendering? What is the cost of not surrendering? What do you need to fall into?
The Aiki Way The Practice of Partnering By Richard Strozzi-Heckler Sensei The other day a visitor at the dojo asked me, “Does it mean that the person falling down loses?” I had to explain that Aikido is not a competitive art and that the person defending themselves from attack and the attacker are working together and not competing against each other. Perplexed, she asked, “Then how do you know who wins?” I went on to explain that in Aikido there are no winners and losers. You gain rank by time spent training and demonstrating your competency in front of your teacher. You improve by training recurrently over time with partners who help you advance in your skill level. In other words, it’s a partnership in which you are equally committed to each other’s development. While you are learning more and more complex techniques you also embody fundamental principles such as dynamic relaxation, centering, grounding, extending and focusing your energy, blending, being a skillful partner, neutralizing aggression without violence, and being in harmony with natural laws (spirals, gravity, yin and yang). The person who defends in Aikido is called nage and the person who attacks, and then is thrown, or taken down, is called uke. The word uke, from ukeme, is roughly translated as the one who receives the force, and nage is the one who gives the force. Training with an accomplished uke vastly accelerates your ability to learn the techniques and principles because a trained uke can fully take your force without hurting themself, or you, and moreover they can help you shape your moves more effectively. In this way both partners work together to help each other improve. To see Aikido in this way is pure Beauty...capital B; and Beauty is good for your health. This embodied ethic of cooperation goes far beyond the dojo and it has deep and wide ramifications in our personal and professional lives. The embodied practice of partnership in Aikido produces more effective communication, deeper listening, and an increased willingness to help others in our daily lives. Training with this ethic of cooperation in mind it then becomes natural to become a “good uke” for someone outside the dojo as well; that is, to be open to and receive “the energy” of family, colleagues, clients, and loved ones so we can listen more deeply to what they’re communicating: their purpose, concerns, hopes, fears, and dreams. In this way the word “uke” becomes a practical operational distinction in our relationships and we can ask ourselves: am I listening clearly and deeply enough to them, am I giving them useful feedback, am I treating them with dignity, am I shaping myself so they become more skilled at what they are doing? We learn to partner this way in Aikido through practices that consolidate body, speech, and spirit. Remember that this cooperation and partnership doesn’t mean that uke is simply being acquiescent or compromising. The uke has standards of center, ground, and connectivity as well; and if the nage is unnecessarily rough or disconnected the feedback from uke will be clear and direct. That is, he or she will not take the ukeme, which means they won’t fall or go down or they will stop the nage from completing the technique. This type of direct feedback is the responsibility of the uke to insure that nage meets the standard of the relationship and is not bullying, or overly timid. For uke to maintain standards is their commitment to the advancement and learning of nage. We can easily see how this transfers to our relationships outside the dojo. Both partners learn to feel, not just think, their way through the nuances of a relationship. Practiced diligently Aikido is an effective martial art; but at its heart there lies the seeds of how people can harmoniously conduct their relationships in dignity, love, and strength.
The Aiki Way The Place of Awakening By Richard Strozzi-Heckler Sensei Aikido practice happens in the dojo. Dojo is a Japanese word that refers to the place to “train in the Way”. The origin of the word is from the ancient Sanskrit, Bodhimandha, which means place of awakening. Place of Awakening! How extraordinary this is! Ever since human beings have spoken about what is important to them they have attributed great importance to a place in which people can gather to wake up! The Buddha sat under a bodhi tree when he was Awakened. Perhaps this tree was one of the first dojos. But the physical structures of wood, paint, sheetrock, windows, ceremonial objects, or even the subjects and rituals being taught, do not necessarily make a dojo, nor a place of awakening. The objects and materials have meaning only in relationship to the story we have about them. A dojo is a place of commitment in which people practice waking up. What we declare a dojo is a dojo. I have a friend who bows to any place that she feels learning, a commitment to practice, and a conversation with the Divine has taken place. This has included hotel rooms, friend’s houses, even a jail cell where she was held for a while. A dojo can be the space in which you have conversations with your children or spouse or business partner. It is a useful distinction in framing a conversation or set of actions; as in, “this is a dojo conversation” and all those participating can then orient around a learning experience, one of training and practice, a time to turn up the awareness, a time to be quiet inside and prepared to act on the outside. The Japanese kanji, or script, for “Do” as in “Dojo” or “Aikido is composed of two parts. One depicts a person walking on a road. The other is the human throat, which surrounds the jugular vein, representing the very core and pulse of our life. In other words, a person walking towards life. Life towards Life. The Way is a theme of awakening to life. The dojo is place where we awaken our senses, grow the self, and unite with Spirit through rigorous and compassionate life-inquiry. In aikido practice we do this in movement with others. To have someone come forward to grab you is an extraordinary environment in which to wake up and, furthermore, to have your actions instantly reflect your level of wakefulness. It is both an invigorating, affirming experience, and at the same time, deeply humbling. Aikido practice asks that your awareness be informed by principles that are larger than the self and in that larger energy flow there is an intelligence that moves towards coherence and harmony. In the aikido dojo we are waking up to the wisdom of aiki: the energy of wholeness, harmony, unity. My teacher once tapped me on the chest and said, “Jiri shin kore dojo”. He was reminding me that the dojo ultimately lives within us, in our hearts, speech, thoughts, and actions. The dojo exists because of the meaning we give it. This meaning can never be lost from its place in the world because it itself, is that place. The dojo is where we declare it to be. Each moment can be a place of awakening, of learning, of walking toward life. What dojo do you train in? What is awakening in you? Are you walking toward life? What is life presenting?
The Aiki Way Taming Aggression Awakening Compassion By Richard Strozzi-Heckler Sensei When you step into the Dojo the first thing you notice is the tremendous amount of life that is present. Even if you are just somewhat attentive you can even feel the vibrancy as you approach the entrance. It’s as if there are heat waves undulating from the building and they draw and welcome you into the fullness of their force and mystery. Inside the Dojo itself, at any given moment, there are people in heavy white cotton jackets and pants called gis and some with the black traditional Samurai hakama, which looks like a skirt tied around the waist, moving in graceful circles and spirals, narrowly missing each other, accepting each other’s force and guiding one another into a elegant fall on the padded floor. At other times you may see someone rushing fiercely with great intent toward another in order to grab them or strike at them and at the last minute the one being attacked steps aside, turns as if coiling around a central point, takes the attacker’s intent by their hand or lapel and with seemingly little effort flips them in mid-air, landing with a bright crispness on the mat. Perhaps, you may enter at another time when everyone is sitting in a single line, completely silent, still, and it is so quiet that you can hear the far off lament of a mourning dove and even in this quiet there is the imminence of energy, as if a deep lake of power resides beneath the mat, the deep pulse of the earth. At another time students are working together on joint locks and in studious, respectful tones helping the other with the technique, as if in a library studying an ancient text, then a cheerful laugh punctuates the air in appreciation as one partner executes the move well and the partner drops to her knee in a gesture of compliance. In this charged space of energy and connection everyone is studying how to unite their ki with a Universal ki. This requires trust and it requires rigor. There is a seriousness and there is a lightness. Everyone is here to learn and while there is discipline there is plenty of space to be a beginner and to be curious and open. It’s fun, it’s fierce, it’s loving. The power of restraint; the choice of taking the path of least resistance; the energy, or ki, as we call it in Aikido, of healing rather than harming; moving with the energy instead of against it or running from it; is what is practiced in the Aikido Dojo. This elegance of restraint is its own exquisite energy and power, a power less practiced in our time, but one that is deeply missing in our time of uncertainty and change. To relate to our ki, or life energy, in this way is an evolutionary shift. This is more than simply having an idea or ethic about how to move with conflict, but a practice that has the possibility of changing our relationship with violence and aggression. To take on an aiki practice opens the door to being with power and energy in a healing, wise, and compassionate way.
The Aiki Way Centering -The First Step in Being Accountable By Richard Strozzi-Heckler Sensei Early in almost everyone’s Aikido training there’s a moment when you’re struggling with your partner to do the technique correctly and the thought crosses your mind that “if only they did their part right I could get my technique right”. The teacher notices your frustration and comes over to help and you gesture towards your partner and say something like “I can’t do the technique because they’re not…” The teacher stops you and says, “Your partner is never wrong”. Accountability is a fundamental principle of Aikido training. The student learns from the very beginning of their training that the focus is on how you correct yourself, as opposed to correcting your partner. Your job is to deal with your energy, their job is to deal with their energy, and you work together to join your energies. This eliminates the crutch of blaming others, the situation, or the world for your shortcomings. Operationally this means bringing your attention back to where you have the most control-to yourself. We have very little control of others and the world. Once we manage our own moods, emotions, attention, and presence we can then interact with the world in a more responsible and skillful manner. In Aikido we call this centering and it’s the starting point for our physical, emotional, and spiritual health. Centering is more than a bumper sticker or a good idea. Centering is a practice that one can engage in at any time. It’s practical and it doesn’t require any equipment, only your goodwill. Centering is a central requirement for anyone in a leadership position, whether you’re the leader of your family, PTA, or a large organization. When we’re centered we’re present, open and connected. Present: There’s a sign from a local raffle that we put up at the offices of Strozzi Institute that says “You Have to be Present to Win”. This means being present to yourself, others, and the environment. We’re present in our bodies by bringing our attention to our sensations. While we’re living deeply in our bodies we become present to others and our surroundings by extending our attention into the world. We’re not lost in our thoughts planning the future or reminiscing on the past. We’re living fully in each moment. Open: We’re open to possibilities. Instead of holding on to our own personal wants, desires, and hopes we allow ourselves to open to the greater potential that life offers. This mood of openness is not simply an idea but an embodied presence. Our body is relaxed without being slack, and vital without being rigid. Our heart is open; compassion and love are more available to us. We let our rigidity melt and open to our higher good. Connected: Regardless of the circumstances and events that surround us we stay connected to our purpose and vision and mission in life. Purpose is not simply a concept but it is our true north; it is embodied and it’s what guides our life. We are our purpose. While we’re able to empathize with other’s point of view our ethics and morals remain deeply embodied. We know what we stand for. First breath, Center in your body. Second breath, Center in your purpose. Third breath, Center in the Mystery.
The Aiki Way By Richard Strozzi-Heckler Sensei When I was twelve years old my mother enrolled me in Judo. Being from a Navy family I moved regularly and as the “new” kid I would be the object of catcalls and shoves. I was the type of personality to shove back, which often ended in fights and from this my mother feared I was a bully. I didn’t feel like a bully, I was simply afraid. When I was physically confronted an indeterminate heat would immediately capture me and it would hold onto me and I acted without consciousness. My only response was to strike back. Even then I knew that I was reacting without choice and this vulnerability compelled me to strike out even more. I didn’t know what else to do. I was caught in a circular pattern of aggression. With my father on a six-month cruise to the Far East my mother was at a loss and didn’t know how to navigate this unknown territory. A vice-principal suggested I take Judo as a way of learning self-discipline. My mother worried it would only make me fight more. I was grateful that my father was at sea and the discipline didn’t come from him. I was enrolled in a Judo class that took place in a gigantic airplane hangar on a Navy base. Marines and Sailors who had studied in Japan taught the classes. Like young men everywhere they joked and had fun with each other but they were sincere about their teaching. The moment I saw them practicing I was spellbound and I never once thought about how I could use it to protect myself or beat someone up. It seemed like poetry to me. Wearing thick, white cotton pants and jackets tied by a black belt at their waists they effortlessly and confidently threw each other over their hips, like water flowing over a cliff, smiling and laughing and thoroughly enjoying what they were doing. It wasn’t like fighting at all, but moving in a graceful, economical, and dignified way with each other. It was harmony I saw, not conflict. I wanted to be able to do what they were doing. This moment changed my life and I have been training martial arts ever since, over fifty years ago. This lead to Jujitsu-the gentle skill-and then on to Karate-empty hand-and I taught hand-to-hand combat in the Marine Corps. The irony was that once I began to practice martial arts I stopped fighting and it opened the doors to meditation and the healing arts. Thirty-nine years ago I began Aikido and though I train in other arts, Aikido is the art that I am wedded to and it informs everything I do. Everything. When I saw Aikido it was like the moment I encountered Judo those decades ago-pure poetry. Aikido-the Way of Harmony with Universal Energy-is a modern, non-violent martial art. The founder, Morihei Ueshiba, who was a national living treasure of Japan, claimed that Budo, the martial way, was to bring people together. Aikido is both a martial art and a spiritual practice. An ambitious claim and Morihei Ueshiba, O Sensei-Great Teacher-as he is called embodied this ideal. People came from all over the world to challenge him and he would defeat them without hurting them and they stayed and trained with him. His story is not a creation myth but an exemplar of how we ourselves can awaken. The practices of the Aiki path are a way of connecting our mind/body/spirit unity to Universal Energy. This is a warrior’s possibility of awakening peace and harmony.
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