Learning To Be Silent

“Failure is the key to success; Each mistake teaches us something.” O-Sensei

This is my favorite quote from O-Sensei for a variety of reasons.  One of the main reasons is that it embodies my personal philosophy.  This is not just limited to Aikido, but to life in general.  In life, as with Aikido, failure is inevitable.  Look back on your own life.  How long did it take you to learn to walk, to speak, or to learn your profession?   Can anyone honestly say that they accomplished these tasks the first time?  I thought not.  The reality is that failure is unavoidable, and is sure to be your truest companion through life.

Most people are disappointed by failure because they expect perfection.  This is faulty reasoning when going to an Aikido class, though.  Perfection is a sign of mastery, and if one can truly master a thing (be it Aikido or anything else) there is nothing left to learn.  The impressive thing about Aikido is that it does not have a glass ceiling.  There is no upper limit.  Even O-Sensei trained when he was recognized as the master of his art.  Even he, at his highest level of skill, saw fit to improve upon what he had built, presumably because he was not satisfied on some level.  We should expect failure, because perfection is impossible.

Since we cannot avoid failure, we should embrace it fully, in Aikido and in life.  Personally, I find it to be the best teacher: No organization can compare to the school of hard knocks.  For me, the hard things are best remembered, while that which is easily earned is just as easily forgotten.  Life is hard, Aikido is hard, so you should expect to fail.  It makes life more interesting!

A quick post, to follow my Strangelove ramblings.*

This is what I mean when I see tenchi-nage executed (extremely) well.  Waite Sensei also demonstrates the technique, at the 2007 USAF Summer Camp.

That initial kokyu motion is key.  A decent analogy, I think, would be a sword draw and “do” cut to uke’s midsection. 

I taught the technique last night, as best as I could, in our beginners’ class.  I think Ryan and Kevin were a bit nonplussed after I threw them–the ukemi is a lot more active, and practically demands breakfall if good connection is kept.

Honestly, those videos of Hagihara and Waite Sensei answer a lot of questions I’ve had about the technique, particularly with regards to kuzushi.

* Did anyone catch the allusions? Am I that old?

I wanted to post a brief addendum to my initial article to clarify and expand on a few points. Although I feel my original post is technically correct, some topics weren’t addressed with the detail I believe they deserve.

I stated previously that uke’s muscles and joint cartilage take the brunt of stress during a fall. Although correct, I would point out that the energy absorbed by uke’s body is in reality quite negligible. Otherwise, the integrity of uke’s body would be compromised by the throw itself. By the same token, the amount of energy lost to friction is likewise miniscule. For our purposes, therefore, the majority of energy expended by nage is transferred directly to uke, which must then be exchanged, ideally in a non-injurious way.

Perhaps a clearer way to visualize this transfer is that of a bowler (the sport, not the hat). The energy expended by nage forces uke to roll in much the same way as a bowling ball when released from a bowler’s hand. Uke assumes a rounded shape, like a ball, specifically to facilitate this transfer of energy in a safe manner. When uke stays rounded during the throw, force is turned into work, as opposed to shear stress. It is the difference between rolling a ball, and rolling a brick.

Which brings us to the crux of uke’s dilemma. Since energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only exchanged, the energy transferred to uke is still very much present. How uke deals with that energy determines whether the exchange is injurious or not. By naturally allowing the forward force (i.e. the throw) to create a “moment arm”, uke is caused to rotate, which allows him return to his feet. Should uke resist the throw, and therefore not rotate, the energy transferred becomes shear stress on uke’s body, as he is thrown headlong into the mat.

Those who know me understand that in general, I’m a pretty level headed fellow.  Sure, I have strong opinions, and sometimes I can ruffle feathers, but in the main, I consider myself a steady hand at the dojo.

In other words, there’s not a lot that confounds me.

Which makes my reaction to a certain technique (fifth kyu, no less!) all the more bewildering.  It’s as if I become Merkwürdigliebe, a stranger trapped in my own body. And like the good doctor, I’m as liable to strangle myself as throw uke with authority. Sure, I can make it work, but believe me, there is a world of difference between what I do, and what I see the shihans do.

I am, of course, referring to tenchi-nage.

What looks like a seemingly innocuous throw becomes, with the right nage, a truly devastating cut. Uke is transported over nage’s center, and is forced to breakfall or lose her shoulder. I’ve seen it performed with skill hundreds of times over the years, and it still manages to impress me. Literally, the gulf between the beginner and the adept is that wide.

But I’ve had a breakthrough, thanks to Dee. Last week in class, I saw Sensei demonstrate the technique with Fabian. Determined to lead Fabian into the proper ukemi, she cut strongly with her lead hand, and placed her hip directly behind his, trapping his legs with her own. She then brought him over her center, and cut forward, perpendicular to his stance. Fabian went flying. It was beautiful.

Oscar, who also saw the throw, looked at me, stunned.

It’s funny how you can observe a technique for years, and practice its outward form, and not really understand it, at least not until you’re ready. It’s as if your mind says, “You know what? You’ve suffered long enough. Let me help you. This time, don’t look there. Look here.”

Strangelove, you’ve got nothin’ on me.

Over the years, I’ve noticed a tendency among Aikidoka to focus on differences, or the things that divide us.  Whether those things are technique, pedagogy, or organizations, invariably the conclusion is: “Well, I’m sure that works for them, but it’s certainly not the way we would do it.” The implication, of course, is that the other way, the new way, (which in most cases isn’t really new at all, if only our friend had been paying attention in class), isn’t actually Aikido, or at least the Aikido our friend thinks he’s practicing.

That’s why I love training at other schools, with other instructors. Rather than focus on those “things”, I try (sometimes successfully, sometimes not) to focus on our commonality, or those principles which make our techniques work. It’s not the slight distinctions with ikkyo that matter, it’s the other things–positioning, distance, balance–that make the technique what it is. Sometimes we lose sight of this, to our real detriment.

And the connections don’t just stop there. All the dojos participating in our friendship seminar have real connections to each other. They may be obvious, as between our school, Brevard Aikikai and the Aiki O-Kami Society. Our connection there, of course, is Yamada Sensei.

Or they may be less obvious, but no less real. You may be surprised to learn that the founder of our school, Curtis Rosiek, was a student of Tom “Doc” Walker Sensei, the much loved founder of Sand Drift Aikido. In fact, Walker Sensei tested our earliest students. So our connection with Sand Drift is one of shared history.

And what about our friends at Shugenkai? Well, Woodard Sensei is a student of Kevin Jones Sensei, who studies under Maruyama Sensei. For years, Maruyama Sensei was a senior student of Koichi Tohei Sensei. Dee’s instructor, Yamada Sensei, although an uchi-deshi of O’Sensei, also counted Tohei Sensei as one of his instructors.

The connections are there, if we choose to look.