here now

November 3, 2009

by Kate Savoca

I wasn’t planning on doing class that evening. I had already done the morning class, and since it was only six weeks since I had given birth to Cormac, I’d been taking it easy on the mat. But, I went downstairs to get something and saw that three of the six students lined up were women. I ran back upstairs (Cormac in tow) and put on my gi. Coming slowly back to training after pregnancy and giving birth I see that I have missed the practice and also that I feel a responsibility as one of the senior members of the dojo to look out for the development of those junior to me. Recently, I have felt that most acutely with the female students. I bowed in to the class and put Cormac in his bassinet on the side; Sensei started with ki no negare techniques. About 20 minutes later, Cormac started to cry. He was hungry. So, I excused myself and went to feed him. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes passed and he was still hungry (anyone who has seen him recently can attest to the fact that he’s in the middle of a growth spurt!). I found myself watching the clock and hoping that he would soon be done. I wanted to get back to training. But, babies aren’t known for blithely following their parents’ schedules, and Cormac, as amazing as he is, is no exception. He did finish eventually, and I did go back for the last few minutes of class. But I was left with the familiar and distasteful realization of how nearly impossible it is for me to simply do what I am doing. My mind is elsewhere, racing on to the next thing. Even when I am in front of this miracle, this child, I can’t stay where I am! Will I ever change? This daily practice gives me thousands of opportunities to see this – again and again and again. In Aikido, Iaido, Weapons, Misogi, Zazen… how rare it is to have a moment in which my mind, breath, body are all here! But then there is another chance and another and another. One more strike or throw or cut or breath in which to try to actually experience something as it is happening. Of course, I can’t actually “try to experience” something – that sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? But I can make the effort to relax, to drop excess tension, to turn my focus to what is at hand. Perhaps then I can simply do what I am doing.

weapons sesshin, 2009

October 29, 2009

by Annie Hsu

In a cloud of self aggression, I kneel in wait for dokusan. A sharp wet wind sends me into quick shivers. Quiet, at once.

my front bumper got ripped off!

October 22, 2009

by Justin Coletti

The other evening, I was driving down Flatbush Avenue on my way to drop my son off with my mother-in-law when a speeding Dollar Van ripped off my front bumper. A Dollar Van is an unregistered form of public transportation - just wave down the van, give the driver a dollar and he’ll take you and the rest of the passengers up and down Flatbush Avenue. I must admit that I am a little vindictive when it comes to these vans because of their lack of courtesy on the road. With that in mind, my aggression met with the other driver’s aggression and I lost. It was pouring rain out, and my front bumper was lying on the ground between our cars. The look on my face was a cross between disbelief and complete rage. He was yelling at me and I put a finger in his face as we exchanged some very colorful words. I felt very tense and agitated as I squeezed my busted bumper into the trunk of my car. We both just pulled away from the scene. As I drove away, I replayed what had happened in my head. I was angry with the Dollar Van, but knew I could only blame myself. I allowed my hostility to take control of my actions. I train aikido at Brooklyn Aikikai regularly and have been for a few years now. Beyond just training our bodies to remember techniques, we are there to “polish our spirit” and to quiet our minds. Sensei has reiterated that our actions outside the Dojo and how we apply the principles of these techniques in our daily lives are far more important than just learning how to fight. The concepts of blending; being soft when confronted with hardness and visa versa; timing and distance; being centered physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually; and accepting things as they are - these are the principles we try to do our best to practice daily on the mat. That evening in the rain, amidst the confusion of the frenzied street, I exhibited none of the above principles. I lost my center, became mechanical in my obedience to my unbalanced emotions and perpetuated more negativity in a city already brimming with it. Is my training all for nothing? Am I developing any of those qualities that help me be a more conscious human being, or will I remain a slave to my emotions and immature desires? I have no one to blame for my broken bumper but myself. That evening I acted unconsciously and without attention or regard for others. I had an opportunity to exercise my training in my daily life and I failed. I believe one of the purposes of training at the Dojo is to change something in us. By placing ourselves in situations that demand constant attention, we hope that it can drop that thing in us that is constantly drawing us away from awareness and toward something more habitual and mechanical. If, through daily training, I cannot take those principles into my everyday life, then my training is superficial and means nothing. It goes without saying that I need much more training. However, the important question is, what will I do with that training?