Learning To Be Silent

The June 2010 newsletter has been published.

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By Maggie Schill

Over the past two years I’ve been experimenting with a rare form of Budo. This art is called “te-pu-do” – The Way of the Tape.

It started out with curiosity, which led to necessity. Pretty soon my every thought was captivated by the tiny white roll that is sports tape!

Only through complete devotion to “The Tape” can one hope to unlock the doors to true enlightenment. It was through vigorous training, experimentation and deep soul searching that I’ve uncovered the Truth…and that truth is “The Tape.”

Now that I’ve uncovered this truth, I’ve become convinced to reveal this art to the world, so all might benefit from my training.

Here I have listed just a sample of the jitsu of power…the true techniques of “The Tape.”

1- Learn who your enemies are:

Tape off wrists, shoulder, feet or toes. Training partners will see the presence of “The Tape” as sign of injury.  No good man will attack what they perceive is an injured joint. However, a bad man will think it’s a target.

2- The road is hard:

Often times the training grounds are damaging to the warrior’s tootsies! Mat burn, cracked calluses and split heals are but a few assaults that await you. Reflect on your sport’s tape firmly in this hour. Apply “The Tape” over these dermal annoyances to extend you training time.

3- Silence is a virtue:

In class does your partner talk more than he trains? With “The Tape” there is an obvious answer!

4- Dress the part:

Hole in your dogi? Knees wearing out on your pants? Tailor not! “The Tape” is all you need to shield these imperfections from the world.

5- Hide your shame:

With much pound cake comes much shame! With much shame comes a larger waist line. All too often the warrior will find himself happy with a few extra poundage, and his belt no longer encompasses his mighty girth! “The Tape” is all one needs to bridge the gap between belt and belly.

6- Top notch top knot:

Elastic bands break. Barrettes bend. The answer to all conceivable hair malfunctions lie in the dojo’s first-aid kit. “The Tape!” Oh, glorious scrunchy of eternal adhesiveness!  Turn every down day into an up-do!

7- Brazilian Sunburn:

Before “The Tape” came to me, I would cower at the site of an opponent’s brawny chest hair. Through diligent training and long meditation I have overcome my fears. With “The Tape” in hand, not even the potency of colossal chest hair can thwart your courage! Apply and pull! Your adversary’s screams will be heard as far as the parking lot.

8-  Ho-Ho-Ho:

The power of “The Tape” can take you to new social heights! Are you feeling inadequate in your dojo because of the lack of a full and puissant beard! “The Tape” has the answer. Cut six strips from its hallowed roll and place firmly to your sleek chin, and then train, dignified before your fellow warriors.

9-  One-Half the Fun:

Sometimes the warrior needs to let loose and have fun. However, the serious warrior must take care not to have too much fun. Take “The Tape” firmly and pull forth from it a two foot strip. Leave that sublime strip attached to the roll. Grasp joyfully (but discretely) to the end of that strip and let the hallowed roll hang. You will then have a (somewhat) functional yo-yo. (Also known as a “yo.”) This contraption is also perfect for when you only need to have half the fun that a conventional yo-yo provides.

This is but a sliver of the amazing possibilities you will have when you set out on “The Way of the Tape.”

A nafudakake is a rank board, and is a common part of traditional Japanese dojo. Not all nafudakake are uniform, however; there are variations in the lineage recorded, and in board placement. In our dojo, we have reserved the uppermost left board, or fuda, for O-Sensei. In other dojo, the ranking fuda is reserved for the current Doshu.

Board placement can also vary. For our rank board, the fuda proceed from left to right in rank order, from dan to kyu. In other dojo, board placement is dictated by its position to the shomen. In those dojo, the ranking fuda is closest to the kamiza.

Although rank boards traditionally acknowledge O-Sensei, or the current Doshu, it is worth noting that neither actually have rank in Aikido. Rather, it is Doshu who confers rank on others, through the Aikikai Foundation, and ultimately through its shihan. In that sense, then, it may be more accurate to view a nafudakake not as a rank board, but as recorded lineage.

For most dojo, however, it is more than that. The nafudakake also serves to memorialize dojo membership. This is distinct from an attendance sheet. Typically, once a student achieves rank, her fuda remains on the wall, even if she takes a leave of absence or stops training altogether. The reality of limited wall space, however, does dictate some compromises, depending on student turnover. In some dojo, membership, and therefore fuda placement, is fixed only after reaching yudansha. At our school, we intend to permanently display fuda after a student passes their first promotional test. Time will tell whether that is realistic.

Since a nafudakake represents dojo membership, rather than dojo attendance, a student’s fuda typically remains on the wall even if she transfers or opens her own school. (Of course, much depends on the circumstances of her departure.) For example, on our rank board, we will continue to acknowledge one of our own, although she previously left the dojo and joined New York Aikikai as an uchi-deshi. In her case Seabolt Sensei introduced her to Yamada Sensei, who then accepted her into his dojo.

Lastly, as a United States Aikido Federation dojo, our intent is to acknowlege rank received through the Federation, either from Seabolt Sensei in her capacity as a fukushidoin, or from our shidoin and shihan.

Sensei would like to thank Kevin for his excellent woodworking skills, and Buck for his practiced script, for making our rank board a reality.

By William Terrell

I distinctly remember the first time I worked a full shift at the Sheriff’s Office. I was driving northbound on the interstate enjoying the sensation of being THE MAN. The Poe-lease. The Five-O. I was armed with a 9mm Smith & Wesson semi-automatic firearm, pepper spray, a ticket book and just enough experience to be dangerous. A poet I was not. A warrior I was really trying to be.

Then, reality. My mind began trying to embrace the reality that whatever came out of that state-of-the-art super-duper Motorola radio would be my responsibility. Whether it be a burglar alarm, a murder, a broken down vehicle, a rape, a funeral escort, a suicide, a stranded traveler, an armed robbery, an unruly juvenile, a molestation, a hazard in the road or any of the other innumerable versions of malice and mayhem I would have to respond.

My mind might have the luxury of having a few minutes to formulate a plan en route. Or it might not. It could erupt so quickly right in front of me that my body would respond quicker than I could think. And either way I would have to get it right. And fix it. Or at least contain it till the fixer could get there. This was heavy and I was suddenly not sure I could handle the weight.

What to do? I could trust my instincts. Believe in my training. Clear my mind. Respond to the situation at hand with flexibility and react appropriately to even the smallest changes.

Sounds easy enough.
Except it isn’t.
It’s life and death.
To be unprepared is to be defeated.

How did I get myself into this? Am I as ready for this as I can possibly be given the amount of mental and physical preparation available to me? Many times while practicing Aikido I have asked myself the same questions.

One of the reasons Aikido attracted was the notion of being a gentleman warrior, to be able to defend myself without resorting to unnecessary violence, to possess the latent ability to respond to a threat quickly and effectively, to be a coiled spring. To contain the dichotomy of the calm, polite, well-mannered berserker.

There has been a great deal written about the concept of the warrior-poet, just exactly what the term means and the role of such a person in different cultures. It is an interesting concept but I am too much of a novice to speak intelligently about anything but my own experience.  I profess to be no expert. My thoughts reflect a great simplification of a very complex concept and are not my final thoughts on the subject. This is just one of the ways I have examined the idea of a warrior poet in my own life.

For me the concept of the warrior poet can be fairly straightforward and not necessarily an esoteric dissertation (although there is a time and a place for such things) on mind and no-mind. Simply stated in this train of thought the poet is my conscious mind, the warrior is my body. Training the mind is much harder than training the body.

There are times when my body takes over with reflexive movement faster than my conscious mind can formulate. Call it instinct. Call it training. Call it muscle memory. Either way I know that in some threat situations my body will respond independently without me knowingly/deliberately willing it to.

One day at the office a co-worker came up behind me wielding a pencil as if it were a knife. My arm rose in response so fast I drove the pencil lead into my arm where it promptly snapped off. I do not remember seeing her until after I responded. My body acted of its own accord. There was no time to dash off a haiku. No time for mushin no shin. No time to decide which stance I should assume in response to what was basically a shomenuchi attack. My body responded in defense of itself, true self-defense.

In this situation it is to my advantage to have a body that is flexible and strong, to be relaxed but alert. The kind of body developed through the steady practice of Aikido, the situational awareness fostered through the consistent practice of Aikido techniques both on and off the mat and the mindset of not expecting a threat to be around every corner but to be prepared for it nonetheless.

One night while again patrolling a stretch of I-95 I pulled over a passenger car for speeding. The location of the stop was miles away in either direction from the nearest exit. Any backup would be at least 10-15 minutes away.

The driver got out and so did five other adult males. Then to really jack things up the driver proceeded to urinate right in front of me. He was saying he believed himself to be the alpha male and that I was just another dog.

My first response was to notify dispatch to have my brothers in arms coming to me. Just in case. In this case having a strong and flexible body would help. Aikido technique would help a great deal but if the situation escalated the S&K .45 semi-automatic high velocity projectile tsuki would have been my optimum technique choice.

It was my strong and flexible brain, the poet, the thinker, the rational, conniving part of me that kept me alive. The Aikido training, the breath control, the soft focus, the confidence. No panic. Staying calm and cool and waiting for backup. Keeping all of them in sight and not let them get behind me. Use my training and experience both on and off the mat to place my body in the best possible defensive position. To keep my weapon guarded but available.

And to talk. The five passengers leaned against the car and broke out the cigarettes. I kept a running conversation going with the driver, consciously trying to defuse the conflict, to avoid the use of deadly force. But if they had bumrushed me the warrior, the instinct, the training, the muscle memory in me would have taken over and I would have fired at them. I would have done everything possible to go home and not to the morgue at the end of the shift.

Of course the best possible way to avoid conflict would have been to never have put on the badge. Or the gi.  But where’s the fun in that?

Editor’s note: William is the author of November In My Soul, and is a recipient of the Thinking Blogger award. He is also the creative mind behind The Bosom Serpent.