Building a Bridge
A lot of things go through
your mind when test time rolls into your life. Even more so if you
happen to be someone with the misfortune of failing your previous test.
Beyond the obvious considerations of assessing one’s skill, is perhaps
an even more daunting survey of a students determination. For me beyond
the technical requirements of me passing or not passing, are the
questions of whether or not the fire is lit. Is my flame a mere flicker
or is it sufficiently hot enough to do its job? Can it heat the contents
and transfer energy with mind, body, and spirit integrated as one?
I
had a lot riding on this test for the rank of 1st Kyu (level/grade) in
the Japanese martial art of Aikido. I really wanted to show I had spent
significantly more time on the foundations of our art: hanmi(stance) and
taisabaki(footwork). I also wanted to prove to myself that I had been
willing to eat the bitter fruit, spending the requisite time alone
outside of class, continuing to forge my will, and bringing those
developments to the dojo. My hope was that others would bear witness to
my progress.
Three
nights of testing sounded like a good idea at the time as a welcome
switch up to the usual program of having to prove yourself on a single
night. This allowed myself, and others, I believe, to be less anxious
about getting it all right (like such a thing was even possible). The
test format proved to be physically taxing with one to two hours of
testing every night for three consecutive nights; Tuesday through Thursday. Wednesday
as hump day will forever have a new meaning for me. In summary, I feel
it was more demanding physically, but less so mentally, since the one
chance is all you got pressure was mitigated by expanding the format
into three days.
I
even had a strategy. Or at least I thought I did. Rather than rush
through the techniques with the nerves of a cattle bell I would try to
relax into a moderate pace and get into the groove. My groove–– whatever
that was. I needed to create my own stepping stones on this path to 1st
Kyu. For I was naked, alone, and exposed. No further preparation could
help me at that point. I relied on what had helped me most in all manner
of challenges. A positive mental attitude. This was something I could
do. I just needed to focus my concentration.
Fleshler
Shihan told me once: “this mat is just as much yours as anybody else’s.
You need to own it.” I felt as if I was incapable of owning the entire
area of the mat but surely I could attempt to own a small patch of it.
That much I could do.
Unfortunately
after what felt like a near brilliant first night of demonstrating
strong foundation level skills, things began to fall apart for me on the
second night. Where did my basics go? Where did my confidence go? They
didn’t tell me they were leaving. And suddenly I felt abandoned. Now
missing both, I was feeling uneasy to say the least, and with a certain
anticipatory grief, for how this would all end up.
I remember telling myself I just had to get through this and live
another day. Perhaps my resilience would return the following night.
The
third and final night of testing I felt like I got my groove back. I
got the fire back I and turned up the heat. Even when I was caught off
guard with tantodori (knife defense techniques) and jodori(techniques
against staff attacks) I remained as placid as a lake. It might not have
looked that way on the outside but that’s what I was aiming for on the
inside. I wasn’t exactly sure how I would express myself but I knew I
had to be in control. I would embrace the circumstances as guests and
invite them in as if I was looking forward to seeing them. I wasn’t
necessarily proud of my specific responses, but I was very proud of the
resolve I displayed in the face of simulated threats.
There was also a certain
ugliness and ego I experienced during testing. I began making odd
comparisons between myself and others. “If you can do better than him
you will pass”. Ultimately I had to let these comparisons go. No one
could take this test for me. And comparing myself to someone else was
not only a waste of time, but energy as well. Whatever basic level of
body mechanics and integration I had attained, now was the time to show
it. Winning had no resonance here, only existing in the moment as it
presented itself.
“When one is under sound attack
one must die, and yet live,
from moment to moment.
It is in momentary living
that one is free from distraction...”
–– Thomas M. White
As
the test results were called I sat on the floor in seiza(proper
sitting) with dreaded apprehension. Was I good enough and were my
techniques sharp enough? Regardless of the pending result, I felt some
degree of my personal development was evident for all to see. What I did
not expect, in my quest to attain the rank of 1st kyu, was to be
elevated instead to the rank of shodan (black belt). In fact, upon
hearing the results called, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. The
handshakes and congratulatory gestures would now have a significantly
larger context now. Unexpected? Absolutely. In addition, it was a
particularly special honor for me because I am one of the first shodans
to be promoted by chief instructor Van Amburgh Sensei.
What does shodan mean for me? It means so much. I was so proud of this achievement and the perseverance it took to get to here. This was a 14 year journey of
blood, sweat, and tears; both figuratively and literally. I only wish my
mom was still alive to share this achievement with me. For three weeks
after testing I felt like I was floating in the clouds. Now I could
finally go to yudansha(black belt) class and feel I belonged there.
What
I wasn’t ready for was a mild sense of shame or embarrassment coupled
with a case of post-goal blues. Why couldn’t I just be happy with the
present moment and simply bask in this glorious warm sunshine? These are
answers I still don’t have. Maybe I was instinctively feeling that I
had reached the top of a mountain fully unaware of the even higher
mountain tops that lay directly behind it. Not only was the endeavor not
over. It had just begun. In fact, shodan literally means “beginning
degree”.
In
regards to the technical aspects of our art, shodan means revisiting
irimi(entering), tenkan(pivoting), taisabaki(footwork), and Ikkyo(1st
technique: elbow control). Each has something I need to earnestly re-explore on a more intimate level. But more generally,
shodan is a chance for me to begin weaving a tapestry with the basic
elements of our art. Its pattern will only be revealed after jumping
back into the forge, emptying my cup, and re-filling it anew with fresh
insights from a beginners mind.
“The true warrior acquires the nature of a priest.
It is in the mind that the body is trained, and in
devotion that the mind is trained.” –– Thomas M. White
Shodan
also means looking for ways to use Aikido in daily life. I recently
delivered an amazing design presentation to one of my clients. Just
before that meeting my nerves were shot. This was a big account. So to
raise my spirit, I bowed in(as if in Aikido class) in the hallway
outside their office. After gathering my center, I stood up and then
walked confidently into that meeting. The dojo’s boundries are limited
only by my own artifice and preconceptions.
There is also an opportunity to expand my definition of some basic Aikido concepts beyond the dynamic sphere of physical practice. For example, irimi(entering) could potentially mean finding space in my schedule and my heart to work at a soup kitchen. Or the idea of
Tenkan(pivoting) could mean making a dramatic shift in my previously
held position to consider another way of seeing or looking at
challenging circumstances in the world. Is it possible for me to be more
compassionate towards others? Even someone I perceive as an opponent?
Of course this is difficult but not entirely impossible.
“Be kind whenever possible.
It is always possible.”
–– His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama
And
finally, shodan for me, means walking a spiritual path. This is what
attracts me the most about the possibilities of the journey we share and
infinitely more applicable. In fact, most of us are more likely to be
in an automobile accident than a street altercation.
Spirituality has
the possibility to transcend the physical manifestations of our day to
day life. I am fully aware that martial arts may not help me when faced
with a periodontal surgeon or deal with my trauma of being robbed as a
youth in Los Angeles, but it can help me be more present. Here. Now. It
can also help me shed the confines of the ego and the limitations it
imposes on me. I’ve got some serious baggage. But I’m traveling lighter
everyday, freeing myself from the unnecessary weights keeping me from
swimming to that distant shore.
I
dedicate this essay to all the teachers illuminating this path, both
past and present. I sincerely feel that without their wisdom I would be
nothing more than an empty shell, void of any base or structure: Sifu
James Wing Woo, Shihan Thomas M. White, Shihan Albert Wilson, Shihan
Nobu Iseri, Shihan Dennis Belt, Shihan Minoru Oshima, Sensei Nobu
Arakawa, Shihan Aki Fleshler, Sensei Suzane Van Amburgh, Guro Albert
Tabino, and Yangsi Rinpoche.
Sanders Anderson
beginning student / Aikido Multnomah Aikikai
