thoughts on japan and shugyo, by m. croes

February 27, 2016

You would think that a 13-hour flight might have you sleeping through most of it—but not when you’re heading to Japan!

One of the greatest experiences in my life was the opportunity to travel and train in Japan. There, at Ichikukai Dojo, we trained intensely in Misogi, a purification practice through chanting and breathing. The training was hard, rigorous, and painful, though I can’t say much about the specifics of it (you have to experience it for yourself to really understand it).

Yet what I can say is that the training left me feeling a connection to a place and group of people that I’ve rarely felt. The thing I noticed most at Ichikukai was a lack of pretension—there was never anyone waiting to do something, whether it be clean, work, or train. No one was waiting to be told what to do; everyone would jump up after training or eating and get right to what had to be done. Students and teachers would do the cleaning alongside each other, which is different from a Western approach to training.

In the West, we feel we’ve worked hard, so now we shouldn’t have to do what’s thought of as menial tasks. But I got the feeling (especially after talking with Sensei and Ashwini after our trip) that at Ichikukai, no tasks are small ones, and no task is menial; all tasks are treated equal and with care. This is something that struck me. So much of when we start something for the first time is waiting to be told what to do—like cleaning in the dojo. We often wait to be told to clean something rather than just thinking about what could be cleaned and doing it. I’ve seen this in myself. Whether it’s due to the fear of making a mistake, feeling intimidated, laziness, or even exhaustion from training, we all go through this at some point, in some place. How to get through fear, stubbornness, laziness is something I think about since coming back.

While I was training at Ichukukai Dojo, I never felt anything but love and compassion. This is not to say that the training wasn’t difficult and rough, but I think about my feeling during that intense training: There was a sense of joy, love, and compassion in everything from cleaning to training to cooking—it didn’t matter. There was no sense of “I don’t have to do this” or “this is beneath me”. This is something that I feel is necessary for real training for me: humility, letting go of all the bullshit and just getting to it. How to keep that in one’s self on and off the mat. It’s easy to motivate with negative emotions but more difficult (for me anyway) to think of compassion as a motivating force. How to get up and clean or to take one more class when you have nothing left. It’s easy to use anger or strength (especially when you’re bigger than your opponent) but to really engage your center and give yourself with no strength, I guess that’s the question I took from Japan and Ichukukai: How can I be open and give everything without using strength or negative emotions. And how can I enjoy all things even when I don’t necessarily want to do them.

a bull in a china shop - by martine baruch

November 5, 2015

That’s what my behavior was when I first began cleaning sensei’s office - but rightfully so! Anyone who enters his office can agree that there is some serious energy contained in that small room - an energy that both comforted and intimidated me. As I began to pick up and dust the many items, I came to a horrifying realization: everything was precious and delicate and fragile and important. I found myself shaking when I had to pick up an inscripted zippo lighter and after I dusted off a couple of seashells I placed them back down as if they were fine china. Two hours later I had finally finished cleaning the office. For the next few weeks I cleaned the office in frustrated discomfort which I narrowed down to two reasons: A) It was taking me too long to clean the office and B) I had mentally exhausted myself an hour into each session. By the fourth week, my feelings of deep frustration finally got to me and as I was gently placing one of sensei’s fountain pens back on his desk I spoke two reckless but important words to myself, “screw this.” With a quicker and less thoughtful movement I placed the pen down on the desk… but the pen didn’t break in half. Neither did the table. Noting the change in myself I moved through the office picking and placing objects with greater ease. I had dicovered that these objects, though important to me in a very truthful sense, were just objects. And they all had specific individual strength. A strength that could only be broken if I came at them with true recklessness or malice.

This discovery quickly transferred to my aikido. When I began my aikido practice, I was scared of hurting my partner. I was scared of giving them my full spirit. But then again I was also reckless in movement. My waza was careless. Through my office experience I learned that I can only hurt someone if I ignore the way they move. An arm only breaks when it can no longer bend. I could still give my full spirit, but I need to listen to what they’re giving me.

In acting, in my career, I am constantly told that true actors get their performance off the other person. The truthful response comes from how I relate to my partner; not some idea that I have about my partner. If I go into the scene with the idea that my partner is fragile or I am always too mean to them, I will miss the truth about how they actually feel about me or the situation and I will break the connection between us. The reality and truth will break.

My sister moved in with me a few months back. She is 19 years old and when she first moved in she was in a rough mental state. I knew her mind was fragile and weak, but I also knew that if I had to be hard on her and push her she could take it. I trusted our relationship and I trusted her own strength. I was hard on her. I reprimanded her when she was being selfish and when she needed a swift kick in the ass, I was there to give it to her. And I was right- she was strong enough to take it.

The real technique in cleaning and aikido and acting and relationships and cooking and fishing and everything else in life is very simple: Look, listen, feel, find the truth in what’s in front of you… and then act.

Being a bull in a china shop is a very real feeling, but it only comes from ignoring your situation in favor of whatever anxiety lives within you.

the importance of cleaning

July 28, 2015

My apartment had taken on an interesting smell. It wasn't unpleasant, it was just noticeably different. I set out to find the source but there was nothing out of the ordinary. No moldy food in the pantry, no forgotten piles of doggy accidents. In fact, my apartment seemed clean. I try to take time every day to clean the big messes in my apartment. No dishes go unwashed, my counters are cleaned a few times a day and I pick up all the cardboard Jet (my dog) has torn and tossed around.

Okay. So there was no “source” of the odor. Then what was causing the different air quality? I began to scrutinize my apartment and the closer I looked the more I saw. The garbage can had a mild smell from never being washed and the recycling bin was sticky from uncleaned beer bottles. Jet's bed hadn't been washed in a bit and smelled funky and my arm chair could probably use a cleaning. Alone, these smells were mild enough to go unnoticed but when put together it created a quality in the air that surely was. I cleaned these individual items and took Jet out for a walk. Upon reentering my apartment I didn't smell anything. The offending odor was gone.

Two and a half years ago, when I first walked into the dojo, the first thing I noticed was the strong quality of “clean” it had. After spending some time there I came up with an easy answer- we clean it all the time. All of the students spend a lot of time and effort to clean the dojo from top to bottom and when we are not there, the job falls on the shoulders of Sensei, Kate and whatever uchideshi is currently residing there. But like I said, this is an easy and incomplete answer.

To get an energy as clean as the dojo, you have to do more than clean. You have to pay close attention to every last detail. You have to give each and every object the respect it deserves - for you see, all things small and large are part of the whole and if you neglect one item, no matter how small it may seem, it will weaken the power of the whole. This is the realization I had last night as I was cleaning dojo plant Rapunzel. A plant that is dusty and less cared for will weaken the quality of the room. Even if you don't see it immediately. A dirty and less cared for garbage can will weaken the quality of the air. Even if you don't smell it immediately. -M. Baruch