A lot has happened since my last post and I'm sticking with the excuse that most of that is what has kept me from writing.
I will say that I now have a smart phone, giving me the ability to post from nearly anywhere even if it does involve typing on a tiny keyboard with my thumbs.
I was also surprised to learn that I'm done with school (it's a long story, but I now have an AA in culinary arts, go me!), so I now have little taking away from myrecrational computer use.
I also just finished Rohatsu sesshin with my nikyu test for aikido right in the middle. That's two ranks below black belt. I've also been giving lectures on how my zen practice has benefited my aikido and leading short meditations for a handful of students who decide to stick around once a week.
I haven't run out of stuff to say but I have been trying to live as the best teaching possible.
I hope to write more in the coming days as my practice has opened up so much in the past six months.
Showing posts with label Aikido. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Aikido. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
Shaving Ice, One Hopper At a Time
My new job entails a lot of prep work, which I enjoy a great deal. When you're a server there's side work to do that can be similar, but the biggest difference is that it's done on the side, as in while you're still waiting tables.
In the kitchen, your attention is almost entirely on just what's in front of you. In the dining room it's a little different. Waiting tables requires a lot more multitasking so the monotonous aspects of the side work require you to always keep your mind on your tables while you're doing it, forcing you to split your attention. How un-Zen is that?
Now don't get me wrong, the way I did side work, at least in attitude, was altered by my practice, but it was still difficult to throw myself into cutting lemon wedges if I had to keep track of whether or not table 24's entree is up and if it was timed right that they're just finishing their appetizer so that I can use the same tray to bus those plates that I'm bringing the new food on.
In the kitchen there's a list. It's always waiting, but nothing demands your attention more than the one item on that list you're doing now. Everything else will be there for you when you're ready for it. There's still a sense of urgency since you are getting paid by the hour and it's all got to be done before you can leave, but it's still just patiently awaiting its turn.
This is something I'd missed, fondly remembering assembling the collapsed boxes for chicken strips while watching the South Texas Sunset out a window at another job I held long ago.
I find myself peeling and deveining a lot of shrimp. Today they were cooked first so I had to peel off their dorsal side and remove all the guts inside. I noticed that as soon as I let my mind wander, what was supposed to go in the trash was going in with the shrimp, oops. A split second was all that it took for me to make a mistake.
The restaurant I work at now serves oysters on the half shell, a lot of them. So in anticipation for tonight's business I was asked to shave ice for their plating. There's a sno-cone machine in the wonderfully brisk 32 degree walk in cooler where I stood for the better part of an hour cramming about a half gallon of ice at a time into the hopper and pushing down the frozen plunger.
I knew about how much I was going to need, but the cold was getting to me and my thinking mind kept going for ways of making the process go faster. There was nothing I could do though as the hopper was only so big and it had to be loaded by hand each time.
Dishwasher and prep cook are usually the two entry level positions in a kitchen for a good reason. The results of the work is usually taken for granted and almost always boring. The skill level is relatively low and so is the pay.
But as I was grinding away, I wasn't reminded of the tenzo dutifully drying mushrooms in the hot sun because someone had to. I was reminded instead of Huineng pounding away at rice for years until he realized the Truth. I embraced it as an opportunity for enlightenment, not as just something that needed to get done.
After the first few minutes my arm and shoulder were getting tired from trying to push the plunger down from above my shoulders, so I relaxed and let my Aikido earn its keep by connecting with it and dropping my weight, letting the heaviness of my body do the work instead of my shoulder and upper arm. This of course is connected with the breath and as I exhaled with each stroke, I saw each load as a breath and a moment in my life to be present in and enjoy. So I did.
Every now and then that impatience popped up, prompted by the numbing cold in my fingers and diminishing amount left to do. But I took a breath and enjoyed it, not only for the sake of enlightenment, but just because I could.
In the kitchen, your attention is almost entirely on just what's in front of you. In the dining room it's a little different. Waiting tables requires a lot more multitasking so the monotonous aspects of the side work require you to always keep your mind on your tables while you're doing it, forcing you to split your attention. How un-Zen is that?
Now don't get me wrong, the way I did side work, at least in attitude, was altered by my practice, but it was still difficult to throw myself into cutting lemon wedges if I had to keep track of whether or not table 24's entree is up and if it was timed right that they're just finishing their appetizer so that I can use the same tray to bus those plates that I'm bringing the new food on.
In the kitchen there's a list. It's always waiting, but nothing demands your attention more than the one item on that list you're doing now. Everything else will be there for you when you're ready for it. There's still a sense of urgency since you are getting paid by the hour and it's all got to be done before you can leave, but it's still just patiently awaiting its turn.
This is something I'd missed, fondly remembering assembling the collapsed boxes for chicken strips while watching the South Texas Sunset out a window at another job I held long ago.
I find myself peeling and deveining a lot of shrimp. Today they were cooked first so I had to peel off their dorsal side and remove all the guts inside. I noticed that as soon as I let my mind wander, what was supposed to go in the trash was going in with the shrimp, oops. A split second was all that it took for me to make a mistake.
The restaurant I work at now serves oysters on the half shell, a lot of them. So in anticipation for tonight's business I was asked to shave ice for their plating. There's a sno-cone machine in the wonderfully brisk 32 degree walk in cooler where I stood for the better part of an hour cramming about a half gallon of ice at a time into the hopper and pushing down the frozen plunger.
I knew about how much I was going to need, but the cold was getting to me and my thinking mind kept going for ways of making the process go faster. There was nothing I could do though as the hopper was only so big and it had to be loaded by hand each time.
Dishwasher and prep cook are usually the two entry level positions in a kitchen for a good reason. The results of the work is usually taken for granted and almost always boring. The skill level is relatively low and so is the pay.
But as I was grinding away, I wasn't reminded of the tenzo dutifully drying mushrooms in the hot sun because someone had to. I was reminded instead of Huineng pounding away at rice for years until he realized the Truth. I embraced it as an opportunity for enlightenment, not as just something that needed to get done.
After the first few minutes my arm and shoulder were getting tired from trying to push the plunger down from above my shoulders, so I relaxed and let my Aikido earn its keep by connecting with it and dropping my weight, letting the heaviness of my body do the work instead of my shoulder and upper arm. This of course is connected with the breath and as I exhaled with each stroke, I saw each load as a breath and a moment in my life to be present in and enjoy. So I did.
Every now and then that impatience popped up, prompted by the numbing cold in my fingers and diminishing amount left to do. But I took a breath and enjoyed it, not only for the sake of enlightenment, but just because I could.
Monday, December 13, 2010
"Are You Even Listening?!"
...is usually a sign that communication is not going so well. To communicate effectively you must keep your attention on the other party until the communication is over.
This is another one of those common sense things we should all know, but like a wonderful tool just lying out in the open for all to see, until it was pointed out by something I learned over the weekend with Ikeda Sensei, I hadn't noticed the power of its truth.
As I stated here, musubi is an Aikido concept that involves making a connection with your attacker. In communication skills, it can represent making a personal connection like assimilating another's goals or ideas as your own to reach an amicable resolution.
In Aikido, we do this by connecting with our attacker. Essentially we give back just enough force to combine our center of gravity with theirs so that we function as a single mass. Ikeda Sensei referred to this as a "tightness." It's not pushing with force and even calling it resistance is inappropriate, it stops just shy of that amount of energy. Rather than absolute yielding or resistance, it's more of a "hi, there.. I am here, but don't mind me" feeling. He was able to demonstrate this by taking someone's balance with only a rubber band connecting the two of them. Too much energy and he would have broken the rubber band. Once this connection is made, our mass functions as one and we're able to move the mass of "ourself" like a tugboat pushing around a barge.
In my previous post, and in my practice itself, I hadn't realized how absolutely necessary it is to maintain that original connection throughout the entire technique. Even to lose the initial connection and establish a second isn't correct. The initial connection must be maintained all the way through.
I learned that the term musubi refers a knot tied in rope. Two different things tied together; bonded to become one inseparable unit. If you're mountain climbing, you can't untie the knot that's holding your weight and retie it. You have to keep that knot tied the whole time or you'll fall. The same is true with musubi and Aikido technique.
So when we're dealing with people in everyday life, we must maintain our attention while communicating. You may be able to break and return in casual conversation, but the more serious it gets the more important it is to be constant. Obviously, someone attacking you is serious, so attention must be absolute. In Aikido we do this not only with our minds but, now I've learned, that it applies to our bodies as well.
That's all fine and dandy if everything continues in more or less the same direction, but also as I've stated before, one of the ways we move our opponents around is by changing direction to cause them to overcompensate. So how do we maintain pressure when doing this?
Circles and waves. Essentially they're the same thing, look at the relationship between what sine and cosine really represent and then how their function is graphed on a Cartesian plane. The path of effort never reverses at a sharp point, but flows gradually into the reverse. This is how we maintain pressure and it was a powerful eyeopener to feel it click physically rather than just floating around in my head as an intellectual idea.
As beginners the frequency (in a technical way) of the waves and, in the same way, the radius of our circles are large because we're clumsy. Toys for toddlers are over sized in the same way because they lack the finer motor skills to manipulate fine objects. Internalized practitioners like Ikeda Sensei have reduced these to such small distances, that they're no longer observable outside the system. All it takes is the slightest wave of his center of gravity because he's trained his body to transfer that energy with an unbelievable efficiency.*
Likewise in more objective communication, we must lead each other around smoothly without great leaps in subject. This is what I've been trying to do here. I've been oscillating between the topics of personal and physical communication this whole time. What decides the frequency of the waves or the radius of the circle of me coming back to one or the other is how close our shared understanding of the subject matter is. As I progress I'm trying to make it closer and closer, bringing the two ideas together until the difference, while still there, is imperceptible.
This is another one of those common sense things we should all know, but like a wonderful tool just lying out in the open for all to see, until it was pointed out by something I learned over the weekend with Ikeda Sensei, I hadn't noticed the power of its truth.
As I stated here, musubi is an Aikido concept that involves making a connection with your attacker. In communication skills, it can represent making a personal connection like assimilating another's goals or ideas as your own to reach an amicable resolution.
In Aikido, we do this by connecting with our attacker. Essentially we give back just enough force to combine our center of gravity with theirs so that we function as a single mass. Ikeda Sensei referred to this as a "tightness." It's not pushing with force and even calling it resistance is inappropriate, it stops just shy of that amount of energy. Rather than absolute yielding or resistance, it's more of a "hi, there.. I am here, but don't mind me" feeling. He was able to demonstrate this by taking someone's balance with only a rubber band connecting the two of them. Too much energy and he would have broken the rubber band. Once this connection is made, our mass functions as one and we're able to move the mass of "ourself" like a tugboat pushing around a barge.
In my previous post, and in my practice itself, I hadn't realized how absolutely necessary it is to maintain that original connection throughout the entire technique. Even to lose the initial connection and establish a second isn't correct. The initial connection must be maintained all the way through.
I learned that the term musubi refers a knot tied in rope. Two different things tied together; bonded to become one inseparable unit. If you're mountain climbing, you can't untie the knot that's holding your weight and retie it. You have to keep that knot tied the whole time or you'll fall. The same is true with musubi and Aikido technique.
So when we're dealing with people in everyday life, we must maintain our attention while communicating. You may be able to break and return in casual conversation, but the more serious it gets the more important it is to be constant. Obviously, someone attacking you is serious, so attention must be absolute. In Aikido we do this not only with our minds but, now I've learned, that it applies to our bodies as well.
That's all fine and dandy if everything continues in more or less the same direction, but also as I've stated before, one of the ways we move our opponents around is by changing direction to cause them to overcompensate. So how do we maintain pressure when doing this?
Circles and waves. Essentially they're the same thing, look at the relationship between what sine and cosine really represent and then how their function is graphed on a Cartesian plane. The path of effort never reverses at a sharp point, but flows gradually into the reverse. This is how we maintain pressure and it was a powerful eyeopener to feel it click physically rather than just floating around in my head as an intellectual idea.
As beginners the frequency (in a technical way) of the waves and, in the same way, the radius of our circles are large because we're clumsy. Toys for toddlers are over sized in the same way because they lack the finer motor skills to manipulate fine objects. Internalized practitioners like Ikeda Sensei have reduced these to such small distances, that they're no longer observable outside the system. All it takes is the slightest wave of his center of gravity because he's trained his body to transfer that energy with an unbelievable efficiency.*
Likewise in more objective communication, we must lead each other around smoothly without great leaps in subject. This is what I've been trying to do here. I've been oscillating between the topics of personal and physical communication this whole time. What decides the frequency of the waves or the radius of the circle of me coming back to one or the other is how close our shared understanding of the subject matter is. As I progress I'm trying to make it closer and closer, bringing the two ideas together until the difference, while still there, is imperceptible.
--------------------------------------------------
*It really boils down to relaxing the body. The body is the medium the wave travels through. If we are too tense, the wave dissipates quickly so we must generate a wave with higher amplitude and a greater period to accomplish the same effect. Most of us are more like molasses but Ikeda Sensei's body moves like water so he needs very little energy and physical movement. It's an amazing sensation to experience firsthand but it really does look fake when you see it. This is what esoteric texts refer to as using ki or ch'i that is so heavily criticized as imaginary by skeptics. For this reason Ikeda Sensei avoids these terms because of the preconceived notions others have about them.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
You Can Only Change Yourself
Day one of our 2nd (annual? with fingers crossed) seminar with Shihan Hiroshi Ikeda and this is one of the things I'm walking away with: "you can't change others, only yourself."
Ikeda Sensei's specialty is internal work and he's known for this even outside of Aikido circles. Internal techniques involve externally unobservable changes made in the dynamic between two people and Aikido would not work without it. In my experience, it has mostly to do with the power of the mind expressed through an intention, usually referred to esoterically as ki or ch'i. From the outside it looks fake, but only after you've been on the receiving end yourself does the magic become real. Many of us were lucky enough to be exposed to this last year but it was so new we had no idea what was really going on. With a year's time to work with it, the things he says and demonstrates make more sense quicker.
Like everything else in Aikido, this message functions on many levels even if it was only presented as a guideline fundamental for physical technique. In context, he was telling us when faced by a physically stronger opponent, we can't move them. The only way to exert our will is for us to move ourselves, and if we're successful in making a connection, they will follow.
Out of the context of physical confrontation, taken into everyday life, this is a powerful lesson. In Zen we see it pop up quite often. We can only hope to control ourselves, if we're able to control anything.
My Aikido teacher reminds us often that the first step in self defense is defending us from ourselves, echoing the same idea.
In Zen, we accept that the world around us exists, but that it is devoid of meaning until we fill it up with our ideas. Most of this is unconsciously done with pieces of our lifetime's worth of experiences fit together like a puzzle. The purpose of Zen practice is to tame the unconscious so that we can choose how we define the world around us. By changing our outlook, we change ourselves and thus the world not only for ourselves, but in a smaller way for everyone else who feels the consequences of our actions.
The Mahayana perspective is that of saving all sentient beings along with ourselves, but we have to straighten out our own mess first. By doing this we make the world a better place, doing just what we can is all we can do. In its outward form, Aikido is about fixing the mess of someone wanting to hurt us. On a subtler level it's about resolving the conflict with another by acknowledging we are not the omniscient and omnipotent center of the universe; we must humble ourselves to get what we want. In reality this manifests in both Zen and Aikido (as philosophy) in the fact that if we let the ego run untamed, we will always be in conflict with the universe. To change the external, we must start with what have and change the internal.
And just as in both Aikido and Zen, the work is never done. Every new situation will suggest excuses to us, "he told me this," "I got stuck in traffic," "I didn't know," "but she started it.." Changing the self requires constant effort because the self is not static, each moment is completely new. Sure, we have habits and patterns, but that is all they are; there will always be anomalies. And just like genetic mutations, if left unchecked, they will spiral out of control until we don't recognize our own behavior any more.
So instead of letting blame slide, don't let yourself be the victim. Change what you can: yourself.
Ikeda Sensei's specialty is internal work and he's known for this even outside of Aikido circles. Internal techniques involve externally unobservable changes made in the dynamic between two people and Aikido would not work without it. In my experience, it has mostly to do with the power of the mind expressed through an intention, usually referred to esoterically as ki or ch'i. From the outside it looks fake, but only after you've been on the receiving end yourself does the magic become real. Many of us were lucky enough to be exposed to this last year but it was so new we had no idea what was really going on. With a year's time to work with it, the things he says and demonstrates make more sense quicker.
Like everything else in Aikido, this message functions on many levels even if it was only presented as a guideline fundamental for physical technique. In context, he was telling us when faced by a physically stronger opponent, we can't move them. The only way to exert our will is for us to move ourselves, and if we're successful in making a connection, they will follow.
Out of the context of physical confrontation, taken into everyday life, this is a powerful lesson. In Zen we see it pop up quite often. We can only hope to control ourselves, if we're able to control anything.
My Aikido teacher reminds us often that the first step in self defense is defending us from ourselves, echoing the same idea.
In Zen, we accept that the world around us exists, but that it is devoid of meaning until we fill it up with our ideas. Most of this is unconsciously done with pieces of our lifetime's worth of experiences fit together like a puzzle. The purpose of Zen practice is to tame the unconscious so that we can choose how we define the world around us. By changing our outlook, we change ourselves and thus the world not only for ourselves, but in a smaller way for everyone else who feels the consequences of our actions.
The Mahayana perspective is that of saving all sentient beings along with ourselves, but we have to straighten out our own mess first. By doing this we make the world a better place, doing just what we can is all we can do. In its outward form, Aikido is about fixing the mess of someone wanting to hurt us. On a subtler level it's about resolving the conflict with another by acknowledging we are not the omniscient and omnipotent center of the universe; we must humble ourselves to get what we want. In reality this manifests in both Zen and Aikido (as philosophy) in the fact that if we let the ego run untamed, we will always be in conflict with the universe. To change the external, we must start with what have and change the internal.
And just as in both Aikido and Zen, the work is never done. Every new situation will suggest excuses to us, "he told me this," "I got stuck in traffic," "I didn't know," "but she started it.." Changing the self requires constant effort because the self is not static, each moment is completely new. Sure, we have habits and patterns, but that is all they are; there will always be anomalies. And just like genetic mutations, if left unchecked, they will spiral out of control until we don't recognize our own behavior any more.
So instead of letting blame slide, don't let yourself be the victim. Change what you can: yourself.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Incomparable Acceptance
As I wait for the lessons sown during last week's Rohatsu Sesshin to sprout and poke through in my mind, I'll visit an important lesson from a couple months ago: while they can have their purposes, comparisons are empty.
A good place this pops up is during warm up stretching for Aikido. We all have different body types and flexibility so my teacher always reminds us to not compare ourselves with others; just focus on stretching. It does no good to compare whether we can touch our hands to our toes, elbows to the floor or whatever. Our effort is to stretch and that is its own benefit.
Usually she points out that if we push ourselves, that stretching that far will never be that painful again. Each time it will just get easier. Ideally this is true if we do it everyday, because our muscles will have stretched, resetting their maximum length. I find this false though, it's not enough to not compare ourselves with others, we shouldn't even compare ourselves with ourselves. Frequently I'll have days when I'm tighter than I have been before and I can't quite reach as far as I could last time. If I get caught up in thinking I should be able to go further, I could hurt myself.
Applied to my Zen practice, this came up in dokusan. I was mildly annoyed that after a wonderful progression of improvement in my sitting, I was having a spell of difficulty focusing during zazen. Doing the natural thing, I questioned it and examined it to discover what this meant. The obvious intellectual conclusion is that I just have to let the results be the results with acceptance and continue my effort.
In my mind, I "know" that the path is what matters and not the goal; that it's about the effort I expend not the results. This situation made me realize the truth of this, but I have yet to actualize it.
It makes no sense to compare the practice of this moment with that of a past moment when each exists completely independently of each other. There's no way to take two moments, set them side by side and critically compare them any more than its possible to take two persons' minds and compare their activities side by side. Any former perception of past results is altered by time; it's no longer real like the present.
We practice zazen to cultivate many things. The Six Paramitas do a good job of summing them up: generosity, ethics, patience, enthusiastic perseverance, concentration, and wisdom. Acceptance and discipline are a couple more that fit in there, too.
We plant the various seeds with our daily life in the soil of our very being. Our practice is the sunlight and nourishment that encourages their growth. We can't pull on the sprouts to make them grow faster. Neither can we neglect one in favor of another.
When we struggle with our practice, these virtues are starving. The extra effort we put forth is needed to wring out the sustenance they need; it doesn't just pour easily from the watering can.
Sure we can kick back and take it easy, the virtues might grow on their own but they're just as likely to shrivel up and die. Besides, what's the point of cultivating a harvest if we don't even care enough to make it is as bounteous as possible?
So accept life's ups and downs, do your best in the moment because that is all that matters.
A good place this pops up is during warm up stretching for Aikido. We all have different body types and flexibility so my teacher always reminds us to not compare ourselves with others; just focus on stretching. It does no good to compare whether we can touch our hands to our toes, elbows to the floor or whatever. Our effort is to stretch and that is its own benefit.
Usually she points out that if we push ourselves, that stretching that far will never be that painful again. Each time it will just get easier. Ideally this is true if we do it everyday, because our muscles will have stretched, resetting their maximum length. I find this false though, it's not enough to not compare ourselves with others, we shouldn't even compare ourselves with ourselves. Frequently I'll have days when I'm tighter than I have been before and I can't quite reach as far as I could last time. If I get caught up in thinking I should be able to go further, I could hurt myself.
Applied to my Zen practice, this came up in dokusan. I was mildly annoyed that after a wonderful progression of improvement in my sitting, I was having a spell of difficulty focusing during zazen. Doing the natural thing, I questioned it and examined it to discover what this meant. The obvious intellectual conclusion is that I just have to let the results be the results with acceptance and continue my effort.
In my mind, I "know" that the path is what matters and not the goal; that it's about the effort I expend not the results. This situation made me realize the truth of this, but I have yet to actualize it.
It makes no sense to compare the practice of this moment with that of a past moment when each exists completely independently of each other. There's no way to take two moments, set them side by side and critically compare them any more than its possible to take two persons' minds and compare their activities side by side. Any former perception of past results is altered by time; it's no longer real like the present.
We practice zazen to cultivate many things. The Six Paramitas do a good job of summing them up: generosity, ethics, patience, enthusiastic perseverance, concentration, and wisdom. Acceptance and discipline are a couple more that fit in there, too.
We plant the various seeds with our daily life in the soil of our very being. Our practice is the sunlight and nourishment that encourages their growth. We can't pull on the sprouts to make them grow faster. Neither can we neglect one in favor of another.
When we struggle with our practice, these virtues are starving. The extra effort we put forth is needed to wring out the sustenance they need; it doesn't just pour easily from the watering can.
Sure we can kick back and take it easy, the virtues might grow on their own but they're just as likely to shrivel up and die. Besides, what's the point of cultivating a harvest if we don't even care enough to make it is as bounteous as possible?
So accept life's ups and downs, do your best in the moment because that is all that matters.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Tolerance in Uncomfortable Situations
Over the weekend we took advantage of the Dallas Area Rapid Transit (DART) while visiting my parents to get to the Fairgrounds for the Texas State Fair's last weekend. Getting down there wasn't that big a deal, there was a point where seating was limited, but people weren't packed like sardines. Coming back was different.
My girlfriend likes her big open Texas spaces and large packed crowds are not her thing. There just gets to be a point where all she can see is backs and shoulders and it's unpleasant to say the least so I made sure we were able to get her in a window seat. I sat next to her in the aisle so I got the best the of super packed train experience.
Others were making the best of it, chatting it up with strangers about what fun they'd had at the fair as the train slowly unloaded at each stop. A small girl was curiously poking my feet with hers to see what reaction she would get as her mother unknowingly bumped those in front of and behind her with various bags and her self as the train slowly rocked around.
I didn't mind all that much, we were all there and there wasn't much we could do about it. It was still unpleasant though. I could see in my girlfriend's face her level of discomfort rising.
I saw it as an opportunity to consider the past, present, and future discomfort of others in similar uncomfortable travel of others. As I looked around the train I saw people of diverse decent and considered how some of our respective families arrived in this country: crammed into the holds of slave ships like cargo with little care, or stowed deep in commercial cargo ships from Asia, trudging across the scrub lands of the American Southwest or squeezed into the trunks of cars or panel trucks. Until air travel became affordable enough, almost everyone made an uncomfortable trip to get here. What's a handful of minutes on a clean air conditioned train?
I suppose this kind of opens the door towards metta- or loving-kindness practice which isn't really a Zen thing. It's not that it's not practiced, there's just not the emphasis on it as there is in some of the other traditions. In comparison to what others experience, I had comfort to spare.
As Zen practice it falls back to the acceptance of the moment as being uncomfortable, that life is suffering. Rather than focusing on sending out happy thoughts to the universe,* I focused on what was going on right then. What was making me uncomfortable?
Well, unfortunately for this example, for me it didn't feel all that uncomfortable. I've ridden on packed trains and sat uncomfortably in the back seat of a car for hours on end so I knew what to expect. I was sitting after all, most of those around me weren't. There was the conversation going on around me to listen to. The small girl was pretty entertaining in a cute puppy antics way.
On the other hand, zazen can be a pretty uncomfortable. There's nothing to distract you as you sit on the cushion. It can be like a case study in discomfort. I originally explored this in "Sleepy Legs and Boring Zazen" and "Staring Down Death", but I've had some time to work with these thoughts. I've also experienced several more times since then where I didn't think I could sit there any more out of pain.
In times like these I wasn't yet able to actualize being in the moment, but each second was an opportunity to push myself further. It's difficult to really stay in the moment with that much pain when you know it will it will end, even if you don't feel it's soon enough.
Tolerance really seems to be the right word in these situations. We're not supposed to place judgment on our experiences. We're not supposed to learn to like the pain just as we're not supposed to hold on to pleasure. While "acceptance" implies "favorable reception" (dictionary.com), "tolerance" deals more with "the act of endurance." To tolerate implies dissatisfaction from the outset, a bare minimum; "acceptance" is more positive. Sure this reeks of duality, but we have to start somewhere.
This doesn't just have to apply to situations though, it can apply to people and their practices as well. As tolerance is further defined as "a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differ from one's own; freedom from bigotry." We don't have to like something to tolerate it.
Tolerance is often seen as the first step towards acceptance and many people get ahead of themselves and fear that this will eventually lead to liking what they're told to tolerate. For this reason they resist. Which isn't surprising, anytime you push something, you provide something to resist. This is a principle taught in a physical way in Aikido that has other applications in interpersonal situations.
In sitting, we experience that it takes time to build up tolerance and then maybe acceptance to discomfort. Taking this and the previous paragraph's concept we learn patience in tolerating others' intolerances.
Try to keep this in mind next time you're in an uncomfortable situation. Sometimes you're able to change things for the better, but sometimes you can't and tolerance is the best you can do; stick it out because nothing is permanent. Sometimes means other than standing up against intolerance are most appropriate; accept it and act as a role-model instead of an instructor.
*I don't know how to put that without sounding patronizing, it's possible that I don't understand the practice all that well. I can see it's potential benefits but I'm sure that sitting on a cushion staring at a wall and clearing the mind for hours probably seems a little ridiculous to some Theravada Buddhists or Vipsassana practitioners. I do take everyone's beliefs and practices seriously, we just find some fit each of us better than others.
My girlfriend likes her big open Texas spaces and large packed crowds are not her thing. There just gets to be a point where all she can see is backs and shoulders and it's unpleasant to say the least so I made sure we were able to get her in a window seat. I sat next to her in the aisle so I got the best the of super packed train experience.
Others were making the best of it, chatting it up with strangers about what fun they'd had at the fair as the train slowly unloaded at each stop. A small girl was curiously poking my feet with hers to see what reaction she would get as her mother unknowingly bumped those in front of and behind her with various bags and her self as the train slowly rocked around.
I didn't mind all that much, we were all there and there wasn't much we could do about it. It was still unpleasant though. I could see in my girlfriend's face her level of discomfort rising.
I saw it as an opportunity to consider the past, present, and future discomfort of others in similar uncomfortable travel of others. As I looked around the train I saw people of diverse decent and considered how some of our respective families arrived in this country: crammed into the holds of slave ships like cargo with little care, or stowed deep in commercial cargo ships from Asia, trudging across the scrub lands of the American Southwest or squeezed into the trunks of cars or panel trucks. Until air travel became affordable enough, almost everyone made an uncomfortable trip to get here. What's a handful of minutes on a clean air conditioned train?
I suppose this kind of opens the door towards metta- or loving-kindness practice which isn't really a Zen thing. It's not that it's not practiced, there's just not the emphasis on it as there is in some of the other traditions. In comparison to what others experience, I had comfort to spare.
As Zen practice it falls back to the acceptance of the moment as being uncomfortable, that life is suffering. Rather than focusing on sending out happy thoughts to the universe,* I focused on what was going on right then. What was making me uncomfortable?
Well, unfortunately for this example, for me it didn't feel all that uncomfortable. I've ridden on packed trains and sat uncomfortably in the back seat of a car for hours on end so I knew what to expect. I was sitting after all, most of those around me weren't. There was the conversation going on around me to listen to. The small girl was pretty entertaining in a cute puppy antics way.
On the other hand, zazen can be a pretty uncomfortable. There's nothing to distract you as you sit on the cushion. It can be like a case study in discomfort. I originally explored this in "Sleepy Legs and Boring Zazen" and "Staring Down Death", but I've had some time to work with these thoughts. I've also experienced several more times since then where I didn't think I could sit there any more out of pain.
In times like these I wasn't yet able to actualize being in the moment, but each second was an opportunity to push myself further. It's difficult to really stay in the moment with that much pain when you know it will it will end, even if you don't feel it's soon enough.
Tolerance really seems to be the right word in these situations. We're not supposed to place judgment on our experiences. We're not supposed to learn to like the pain just as we're not supposed to hold on to pleasure. While "acceptance" implies "favorable reception" (dictionary.com), "tolerance" deals more with "the act of endurance." To tolerate implies dissatisfaction from the outset, a bare minimum; "acceptance" is more positive. Sure this reeks of duality, but we have to start somewhere.
This doesn't just have to apply to situations though, it can apply to people and their practices as well. As tolerance is further defined as "a fair, objective, and permissive attitude toward those whose opinions, practices, race, religion, nationality, etc., differ from one's own; freedom from bigotry." We don't have to like something to tolerate it.
Tolerance is often seen as the first step towards acceptance and many people get ahead of themselves and fear that this will eventually lead to liking what they're told to tolerate. For this reason they resist. Which isn't surprising, anytime you push something, you provide something to resist. This is a principle taught in a physical way in Aikido that has other applications in interpersonal situations.
In sitting, we experience that it takes time to build up tolerance and then maybe acceptance to discomfort. Taking this and the previous paragraph's concept we learn patience in tolerating others' intolerances.
Try to keep this in mind next time you're in an uncomfortable situation. Sometimes you're able to change things for the better, but sometimes you can't and tolerance is the best you can do; stick it out because nothing is permanent. Sometimes means other than standing up against intolerance are most appropriate; accept it and act as a role-model instead of an instructor.
---------------------------------------------------
*I don't know how to put that without sounding patronizing, it's possible that I don't understand the practice all that well. I can see it's potential benefits but I'm sure that sitting on a cushion staring at a wall and clearing the mind for hours probably seems a little ridiculous to some Theravada Buddhists or Vipsassana practitioners. I do take everyone's beliefs and practices seriously, we just find some fit each of us better than others.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
New Opportunities
So after my "fantastic" weekend, some awesome opportunities opened up for me.
The first I didn't know about until yesterday, but actually happened Friday. Andy, author of the Bayou City Buddhist invited me to join in on the Buddha bus at the Bayou Buddhist Houston Belief site. Of course I said yes, so that's in the works right now. <<<EDIT: It's up now>>
The second, and somewhat expected but still exciting, was the first leadership meeting we had at the dojo concerning the future developments my teacher wants to make for the school. Lots of volunteering for various things occurred, one of the more notable for me that of dealing with organizing food for our parties. The other was formally signing up to be instructors for private lessons as well as administrative duties, which should bring me some much needed cash. We also intend to have Zen meditation to complement our class occasionally, so I was volunteered to (help?) organize that due to my experience. So all of that's pretty exciting.
The last has to do with business at the zendo. The Rohatsu Sesshin is coming up in December and me being without a job/money wanted to see if there was something I could do in exchange to be allowed to attend. Seeing as I have yet to even attend a 1 day sitting, I though offering my services in the kitchen would be a nice transition into such intensive practice. Since the preparation and service of food is formal practice as well, I won't really be missing out on anything but a little extra boredom and aching legs.
My offer was received with great enthusiasm. It turns out the tenzo has held the position for two years and done most of the work all by himself so an assistant would be wonderful. I was told today that someone had provided a scholarship for me to attend. I kind of thought they came from the community as a whole, but it seems like I have an anonymous sponsor. If that's the case, I may have a feeling as to who it is but know if they wanted me to know, I would so I'll just be grateful to the community at large.
I've also been asked to help in the kitchen for a couple other occasions before the sesshin that won't be as formal so I jumped at those as well out of gratitude and the opportunity for experience.
So once again, I'm grateful for the generosity of the communities I find myself a member of, inspiring me to return the favor.
I also applied for a job yesterday that I'm pretty excited about, but won't know anything about that for a little while
The first I didn't know about until yesterday, but actually happened Friday. Andy, author of the Bayou City Buddhist invited me to join in on the Buddha bus at the Bayou Buddhist Houston Belief site. Of course I said yes, so that's in the works right now. <<<EDIT: It's up now>>
The second, and somewhat expected but still exciting, was the first leadership meeting we had at the dojo concerning the future developments my teacher wants to make for the school. Lots of volunteering for various things occurred, one of the more notable for me that of dealing with organizing food for our parties. The other was formally signing up to be instructors for private lessons as well as administrative duties, which should bring me some much needed cash. We also intend to have Zen meditation to complement our class occasionally, so I was volunteered to (help?) organize that due to my experience. So all of that's pretty exciting.
The last has to do with business at the zendo. The Rohatsu Sesshin is coming up in December and me being without a job/money wanted to see if there was something I could do in exchange to be allowed to attend. Seeing as I have yet to even attend a 1 day sitting, I though offering my services in the kitchen would be a nice transition into such intensive practice. Since the preparation and service of food is formal practice as well, I won't really be missing out on anything but a little extra boredom and aching legs.
My offer was received with great enthusiasm. It turns out the tenzo has held the position for two years and done most of the work all by himself so an assistant would be wonderful. I was told today that someone had provided a scholarship for me to attend. I kind of thought they came from the community as a whole, but it seems like I have an anonymous sponsor. If that's the case, I may have a feeling as to who it is but know if they wanted me to know, I would so I'll just be grateful to the community at large.
I've also been asked to help in the kitchen for a couple other occasions before the sesshin that won't be as formal so I jumped at those as well out of gratitude and the opportunity for experience.
So once again, I'm grateful for the generosity of the communities I find myself a member of, inspiring me to return the favor.
---------------------------------
Friday, September 24, 2010
Musubi and Timing: Proactive and Reactive
Last night we had an Aikido kyu review, which is basically a test/demonstration of techniques we've learned either since the last review or since our last promotion. They're usually a lot of fun. Everybody gets all nervous and does their best to overcome it. Every once in a while some people will have a bad time and we'll take turns recounting our own bad experiences and try cheering them up and put things back in perspective.
To relieve the stress and celebrate the event we always either go out to eat or my sensei hosts a party. Last night we went out to eat.
Although we do talk about other things, as the night wore down the topic turned more towards the philosophical aspect of our practice and it's life applications. Just like texts written by Zen teachers, Aikido teachings can get a little abstract. My post on marubashi and ikkyo being a good example. Unless you approach it with the right mindset or have been pointed towards the deeper meaning, it's easy to miss. We do get that Aikido is more than just it's physical aspects pounded into our heads rather often, but last night it seemed like some eyes were opened to see its full depth.
Most of what we discussed was similar to my post above since I found myself doing most of the talking. It felt good to see it sink in but the last discussion was cut short as our waitress told us it was closing time. I didn't really see the truth of the matter until I was on my way home so I'll put it out there now and hope I'm able to pick it up some other time.
It started with a comment about a physical aspect that some find troubling. Like many of O-Sensei's students, many of my fellow students brought a lot of experience in other arts with them when they came to Aikido. While the rest of us have to learn how to give appropriate attacks so that our partners can perform the techniques correctly, they already know how to. They have issues with the way appropriate energy is being presented as throwing your balance if your target moves.
What I wasn't able to express was that I find this to be an exaggeration because more people are erring on the other side of not giving enough energy with the attack, so our teacher would rather we overdo it and reel it back in as we gain experience than undershoot it and have the attack be ineffective.
What I did express was that I thought it was because we're supposed to draw out the attack with a concept called musubi which has to do with making a connection with our partner that connects us with their center of gravity to influence their movement. In a way, it's like hacking into their body and suggesting a new direction for their movement in a subtle way that provides nothing for them to resist. It sounds esoteric, but it's really just body mechanics.
While this is true sometimes, we do occasionally take our opponents balance in the direction they're moving as they reach full extension, sometimes as in the case we were discussing, the opposite is true.
When someone attacks with a swinging motion, either from over head or from the side, there are only two points to make contact. The first is when they wind up, at this point you charge in, irimi, like I mentioned before and push their balance before they change direction and swing towards you. If you don't get the timing right, they are too strong and momentum is already built.
The second is after they swing and have missed, which they have because you got out of the way. They will of course recoil for a second attack and this is the moment you enter to make contact. With their recoil going back, you contribute the energy of your irimi to throw them back in the direction of recoil. This was the preferred timing of whom brought it up.
At both of these points the strength of the attack, and its ability to harm you are at their least. Aikido is full of this technique of over-correcting balance. Your opponent wants to move forward, so you draw them forward until they change their mind and want to go back, so you let them and push them back until they've changed their mind to go forward again. With each change of direction, the momentum builds until they can't maintain their balance.
But how does this tie into daily life? The first, meeting the attack before its energy comes towards is you, is being proactive. The other, getting out of the way and waiting for it to pass before acting, is reaction. In the full force of the attack, without sufficient strength, nothing effective can be done.
So in life, if we're able to see an unfortunate situation coming, we have two options. Either charge in and meet it before it builds enough strength to manifest, or get out of the way to avoid its damage and acting to prevent it from happening again. Sure you can just continue to get out of the way, but eventually a mistake may be made so it must be stopped.
The concept of musubi comes into play here especially when dealing with individuals. I commented with the following in response to a post of Nathan's on Dangerous Harvests on his proposed list of ways to handle the downward spiral of confrontational discussion on blogs:
After having gotten out of the way, by allowing others their opinions, we make amends by identifying with where they were coming from, remembering that they are humans also with egos to struggle with.
In the end, there are very few real truths in the world so everyone is going to disagree from time to time. The best thing we can do when someone does is check our egos and apologize, at the very least state your sorrow at their holding that opinion and agree to disagree. But provide a resolution to prevent it from continuing.
To relieve the stress and celebrate the event we always either go out to eat or my sensei hosts a party. Last night we went out to eat.
Although we do talk about other things, as the night wore down the topic turned more towards the philosophical aspect of our practice and it's life applications. Just like texts written by Zen teachers, Aikido teachings can get a little abstract. My post on marubashi and ikkyo being a good example. Unless you approach it with the right mindset or have been pointed towards the deeper meaning, it's easy to miss. We do get that Aikido is more than just it's physical aspects pounded into our heads rather often, but last night it seemed like some eyes were opened to see its full depth.
Most of what we discussed was similar to my post above since I found myself doing most of the talking. It felt good to see it sink in but the last discussion was cut short as our waitress told us it was closing time. I didn't really see the truth of the matter until I was on my way home so I'll put it out there now and hope I'm able to pick it up some other time.
It started with a comment about a physical aspect that some find troubling. Like many of O-Sensei's students, many of my fellow students brought a lot of experience in other arts with them when they came to Aikido. While the rest of us have to learn how to give appropriate attacks so that our partners can perform the techniques correctly, they already know how to. They have issues with the way appropriate energy is being presented as throwing your balance if your target moves.
What I wasn't able to express was that I find this to be an exaggeration because more people are erring on the other side of not giving enough energy with the attack, so our teacher would rather we overdo it and reel it back in as we gain experience than undershoot it and have the attack be ineffective.
What I did express was that I thought it was because we're supposed to draw out the attack with a concept called musubi which has to do with making a connection with our partner that connects us with their center of gravity to influence their movement. In a way, it's like hacking into their body and suggesting a new direction for their movement in a subtle way that provides nothing for them to resist. It sounds esoteric, but it's really just body mechanics.
While this is true sometimes, we do occasionally take our opponents balance in the direction they're moving as they reach full extension, sometimes as in the case we were discussing, the opposite is true.
When someone attacks with a swinging motion, either from over head or from the side, there are only two points to make contact. The first is when they wind up, at this point you charge in, irimi, like I mentioned before and push their balance before they change direction and swing towards you. If you don't get the timing right, they are too strong and momentum is already built.
The second is after they swing and have missed, which they have because you got out of the way. They will of course recoil for a second attack and this is the moment you enter to make contact. With their recoil going back, you contribute the energy of your irimi to throw them back in the direction of recoil. This was the preferred timing of whom brought it up.
At both of these points the strength of the attack, and its ability to harm you are at their least. Aikido is full of this technique of over-correcting balance. Your opponent wants to move forward, so you draw them forward until they change their mind and want to go back, so you let them and push them back until they've changed their mind to go forward again. With each change of direction, the momentum builds until they can't maintain their balance.
But how does this tie into daily life? The first, meeting the attack before its energy comes towards is you, is being proactive. The other, getting out of the way and waiting for it to pass before acting, is reaction. In the full force of the attack, without sufficient strength, nothing effective can be done.
So in life, if we're able to see an unfortunate situation coming, we have two options. Either charge in and meet it before it builds enough strength to manifest, or get out of the way to avoid its damage and acting to prevent it from happening again. Sure you can just continue to get out of the way, but eventually a mistake may be made so it must be stopped.
The concept of musubi comes into play here especially when dealing with individuals. I commented with the following in response to a post of Nathan's on Dangerous Harvests on his proposed list of ways to handle the downward spiral of confrontational discussion on blogs:
They bring to mind a list I'd like to share that I learned through Aikido, although it didn't originate there.This is the daily life application of musubi, you connect with someone else to, hopefully, diffuse a situation before it gets out of control. The reactive side of this is in making apologies.
"How to harmonize with that which oppresses you.
1. Correct your position
2. Connect with the other person
3. Employ the spirit of yielding"
While it may sound formal and stilted, it's actually very practical.
To correct your position, you (as you stated) try to see where they're coming from. Give them the benefit of the doubt long enough to try on their shoes.
In doing this you'll be able to connect with the other person. Even if they don't return the favor at least you'll be on the same page.
To employ the spirit of yielding, admit to yourself at least that they're right at least from their experience. If they're not, banging on the door louder will only scare them into piling more furniture behind it.
Doing this, the worst you could come away with is a bruised ego and a lesson learned if you're wrong.
After having gotten out of the way, by allowing others their opinions, we make amends by identifying with where they were coming from, remembering that they are humans also with egos to struggle with.
In the end, there are very few real truths in the world so everyone is going to disagree from time to time. The best thing we can do when someone does is check our egos and apologize, at the very least state your sorrow at their holding that opinion and agree to disagree. But provide a resolution to prevent it from continuing.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
So Many Teachers
At this point in my life I find myself with formal teachers in three aspects of my life. To count them I have two sensei and a handful of chefs.
In my culinary education, I have attended three schools. The first I don't really count because I didn't really come away with anything and it was just a stepping stone into seriousness. But between the latter two, I have had a dozen very gifted chefs as instructors. Each of them has dedicated their lives to the craft and business of food. Furthermore they have dedicated their lives to passing on that knowledge to the next generation of culinarians.
While I still find myself wavering in my dedication to the art, I would like to follow in their footsteps. I have learned so much with so much generosity, but unfortunately I don't have the desire to use it in the manner that it was intended, in restaurant kitchens.
For a little over a year of practicing Aikido, I have had a teacher to guide me in not just a physical practice, but in a spiritual way to help me deal with life's obstacles by confronting them with single mindedness and courage. Her long-held dedication to the art is apparent in the ease and joy she combines with the strict seriousness of each lesson. Sticking exclusively to either one would not only be against the spirit of the art, but remove the dynamic nature that is needed to perpetuate the desire to learn throughout life.
Somehow she has been able to juggle several interests while maintaining this dedication, showing that it is possible to be so committed to one thing but still live a well rounded life. She has served as both a role-model and mentor.
And recently I have acquired a Zen teacher to guide me in my spiritual practice, to help me deal with life's obstacles with acceptance and compassion. This provides the yin to the yang of my Aikido.
While I have yet to get to know her well, just in my interactions on both a group and individual level, it easy to see that she has something special. Her dedication is easy to see in the joy she expresses interacting with others and in the intensity and openness with which she listens. I look forward to deepening this relationship as well.
In these three avenues, knowledge and wisdom has been passed to me with such generosity, that I really want to share it. I am seriously exploring the possibility of teaching culinary arts formally whether professionally in a class room or as a side job teaching individuals how to cook for themselves at home. As a "veteran" student I have had the joy of sharing many tricks with fresher students and even a couple with my teachers.
I am approaching the opportunity to teach Aikido in the setting of private lessons. While I have learned so much to share, I realize I still have so much to learn. But I have also realized how much there is to learn more about what I know in sharing it with others. I had often fantasized about what it would be like to teach Aikido as an instructor and though it's still a fantasy some of it may be realized some day. Until then I share what I can graciously, and hope I provide more understanding than confusion.
Although I only recently began my Zen practice, I do have almost ten years worth of learning about it that must be processed through the lens of practice. Formally teaching is even further than a fantasy for that, but I would like to think that what I share of my experiences helps others in some way.
In sharing what I've learned in return for such dedication, I am doing my best to live the vow of the eighth Grave Precept as I see it: to give generously whatever I can provide. This concept has always featured prominently in my life so I am happy to have found an ideology that embraces it.
In all of this, I must not forget that learning comes from so many other places than just those with titles. While I treasure the teachers I mention above, every interaction with others is the opportunity to learn from them, to internalize their own life experiences. My practice also reminds me of the opportunity to teach myself with each situation I end up in. I must remain mindful that the dharma gates are boundless and that I vow to enter them.
In my culinary education, I have attended three schools. The first I don't really count because I didn't really come away with anything and it was just a stepping stone into seriousness. But between the latter two, I have had a dozen very gifted chefs as instructors. Each of them has dedicated their lives to the craft and business of food. Furthermore they have dedicated their lives to passing on that knowledge to the next generation of culinarians.
While I still find myself wavering in my dedication to the art, I would like to follow in their footsteps. I have learned so much with so much generosity, but unfortunately I don't have the desire to use it in the manner that it was intended, in restaurant kitchens.
For a little over a year of practicing Aikido, I have had a teacher to guide me in not just a physical practice, but in a spiritual way to help me deal with life's obstacles by confronting them with single mindedness and courage. Her long-held dedication to the art is apparent in the ease and joy she combines with the strict seriousness of each lesson. Sticking exclusively to either one would not only be against the spirit of the art, but remove the dynamic nature that is needed to perpetuate the desire to learn throughout life.
Somehow she has been able to juggle several interests while maintaining this dedication, showing that it is possible to be so committed to one thing but still live a well rounded life. She has served as both a role-model and mentor.
And recently I have acquired a Zen teacher to guide me in my spiritual practice, to help me deal with life's obstacles with acceptance and compassion. This provides the yin to the yang of my Aikido.
While I have yet to get to know her well, just in my interactions on both a group and individual level, it easy to see that she has something special. Her dedication is easy to see in the joy she expresses interacting with others and in the intensity and openness with which she listens. I look forward to deepening this relationship as well.
In these three avenues, knowledge and wisdom has been passed to me with such generosity, that I really want to share it. I am seriously exploring the possibility of teaching culinary arts formally whether professionally in a class room or as a side job teaching individuals how to cook for themselves at home. As a "veteran" student I have had the joy of sharing many tricks with fresher students and even a couple with my teachers.
I am approaching the opportunity to teach Aikido in the setting of private lessons. While I have learned so much to share, I realize I still have so much to learn. But I have also realized how much there is to learn more about what I know in sharing it with others. I had often fantasized about what it would be like to teach Aikido as an instructor and though it's still a fantasy some of it may be realized some day. Until then I share what I can graciously, and hope I provide more understanding than confusion.
Although I only recently began my Zen practice, I do have almost ten years worth of learning about it that must be processed through the lens of practice. Formally teaching is even further than a fantasy for that, but I would like to think that what I share of my experiences helps others in some way.
In sharing what I've learned in return for such dedication, I am doing my best to live the vow of the eighth Grave Precept as I see it: to give generously whatever I can provide. This concept has always featured prominently in my life so I am happy to have found an ideology that embraces it.
In all of this, I must not forget that learning comes from so many other places than just those with titles. While I treasure the teachers I mention above, every interaction with others is the opportunity to learn from them, to internalize their own life experiences. My practice also reminds me of the opportunity to teach myself with each situation I end up in. I must remain mindful that the dharma gates are boundless and that I vow to enter them.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Marubashi and The Spirit of Ikkyo
In my first post, I brought up my issues with getting to class. I'd either give up before I'd even started or just stopped in my car and sat in the parking lot. While I'm confident that this is no longer a problem, it is still an issue as I discovered the last two mornings I had class.
Getting up isn't an issue anymore. I may be tired, but I'm committed to my sitting practice. However, I'd get about halfway to school and that familiar feeling would come crawling up from deep inside.
I don't think that "fear" is the right word, but I can't really think of how to put it. The devil that sits on my shoulder has gotten smaller and quieter, but it's still telling me to go back home and go to sleep or just do anything but suffer through a loss of freedom for seven hours. That fear of losing my freedom is still there.
Since this is a "battle" I'm waging with myself, this post will be more about my Aikido practice. While it is pretty easy for me to separate the physical differences between my Zen and Aikido, their impact on my day to day life are like my right and left hands. I don't need both of them, they each kind of do the same things. But when they work together, I'm twice as equipped to deal with life.
First, two terms or concepts to define: ikkyo and marubashi.
Ikkyo literally means "first lesson." It happens to be a specific physical technique, but it has a deeper meaning that Aikido's founder Morihei Ueshiba, or O-Sensei as he is referred to, stressed as the secret to Aikido.
The technique of ikkyo involves entering into the attack (irimi) with precise timing (de-ai), distance (ma-ai), and energy (zanshin) to catch your attacker at the most advantageous moment to take their balance. This first lesson becomes the foundation for other techniques as they all require irimi for success and build upon it with added concepts. Without irimi, there is no Aikido.
Marubashi is a borrowed term from the Yagyu Style of swordsmanship and is translated as "bridge of life." Aikido is heavily based on the sword arts and employs several or their concepts. While straight blocking a weapons attack may be possible, getting out of the way is always the best option in case the block is ineffective.* Sometimes getting out of the way isn't possible and we must face an attack head on, as if facing an enemy on a narrow log bridge high over a river. There is no left, right, back or even hesitation as the sword comes charging at you.
My teacher's teacher and devoted personal student of O-Sensei, Mitsugi Saotome explains this in one of his books, Aikido and the Harmony of Nature:
This is a guide as to how to live a good life, not how to take them. Our greatest enemy and the one that we face every moment of every day, is our self, our ego. It flaunts our desires in front of us like a carrot on a stick to lead us around. The death that we choose is the death of the ego. Choosing life for the ego is great initially but just around the corner are the karmic rewards of death, suffering.
My issue above is that of not wanting to give up the freedom of indulging the ego and its desires. I have to go to class. My ego is trying to convince me that I have a choice out of self preservation. Saotome Sensei also writes:
I met my ego with the Spirit of Ikkyo and abandoned my thoughts of escape and the threat of pain and discomfort (didn't have to worry about death, thank goodness).
I continued on my Way and cut down my ego.
It's far from dead, though, it is strong and persistent. The fingers of my Zen teachers and that of my Aikido teacher are only able to point me in the right direction, they can't take me there, but they are both pointing at the same thing. The ego is not going anywhere anytime soon so I'm greatful to have them all at hand to help me learn to deal with it.
------------------------------------------------------
*There is no blocking in Aikido, btw. Instead attacks are met with receptive force and their energy is blended to a favorable direction by the attacked to diffuse the situation. I may go into that another time because it too has many daily life applications
Getting up isn't an issue anymore. I may be tired, but I'm committed to my sitting practice. However, I'd get about halfway to school and that familiar feeling would come crawling up from deep inside.
I don't think that "fear" is the right word, but I can't really think of how to put it. The devil that sits on my shoulder has gotten smaller and quieter, but it's still telling me to go back home and go to sleep or just do anything but suffer through a loss of freedom for seven hours. That fear of losing my freedom is still there.
Since this is a "battle" I'm waging with myself, this post will be more about my Aikido practice. While it is pretty easy for me to separate the physical differences between my Zen and Aikido, their impact on my day to day life are like my right and left hands. I don't need both of them, they each kind of do the same things. But when they work together, I'm twice as equipped to deal with life.
First, two terms or concepts to define: ikkyo and marubashi.
Ikkyo literally means "first lesson." It happens to be a specific physical technique, but it has a deeper meaning that Aikido's founder Morihei Ueshiba, or O-Sensei as he is referred to, stressed as the secret to Aikido.
The technique of ikkyo involves entering into the attack (irimi) with precise timing (de-ai), distance (ma-ai), and energy (zanshin) to catch your attacker at the most advantageous moment to take their balance. This first lesson becomes the foundation for other techniques as they all require irimi for success and build upon it with added concepts. Without irimi, there is no Aikido.
Marubashi is a borrowed term from the Yagyu Style of swordsmanship and is translated as "bridge of life." Aikido is heavily based on the sword arts and employs several or their concepts. While straight blocking a weapons attack may be possible, getting out of the way is always the best option in case the block is ineffective.* Sometimes getting out of the way isn't possible and we must face an attack head on, as if facing an enemy on a narrow log bridge high over a river. There is no left, right, back or even hesitation as the sword comes charging at you.
My teacher's teacher and devoted personal student of O-Sensei, Mitsugi Saotome explains this in one of his books, Aikido and the Harmony of Nature:
Choosing life is death. The only path is the enemy's path. There must be no separation, but an exchange of time and space with the spirit of moving into the very heart of the enemy. This is the spirit of irimi (entering). When you extend your spirit into the future, the present is neutralized. Negative becomes positive; positive becomes negative. Past becomes future, and future becomes now. Only by abandoning attachment to time and space, attachment to life, will you attain the true freedom of choosing death. The bridge and life are the same. Heaven and hell are now, infinity is now. Choosing death is life. This must be practiced and become instinctive.Alright, so this sounds all good and martial and all, but how does it relate to my issue above? Well, first of all, a lot of that probably sounds pretty familiar from a Zen perspective: opposites switching, past becomes future, infinity is now, must be practiced and become instinctive... Is it any wonder the warrior class of feudal Japan embraced Zen?
This is a guide as to how to live a good life, not how to take them. Our greatest enemy and the one that we face every moment of every day, is our self, our ego. It flaunts our desires in front of us like a carrot on a stick to lead us around. The death that we choose is the death of the ego. Choosing life for the ego is great initially but just around the corner are the karmic rewards of death, suffering.
My issue above is that of not wanting to give up the freedom of indulging the ego and its desires. I have to go to class. My ego is trying to convince me that I have a choice out of self preservation. Saotome Sensei also writes:
Giving up attachment to life and death is the refusal to be controlled by fear, the refusal to be controlled by the selfish ego, which clouds the spiritual eye. With no thought of escape, whether the threat is pain, discomfort, or death, you must continue in the Way with all of your might, not with the purposes of ego in your heart, but leaving your fate in the hands of God.As I was driving along to school, traveling along the road of life, my ego met me holding the sword of freedom on the the bridge of life, my marubashi.
I met my ego with the Spirit of Ikkyo and abandoned my thoughts of escape and the threat of pain and discomfort (didn't have to worry about death, thank goodness).
I continued on my Way and cut down my ego.
It's far from dead, though, it is strong and persistent. The fingers of my Zen teachers and that of my Aikido teacher are only able to point me in the right direction, they can't take me there, but they are both pointing at the same thing. The ego is not going anywhere anytime soon so I'm greatful to have them all at hand to help me learn to deal with it.
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*There is no blocking in Aikido, btw. Instead attacks are met with receptive force and their energy is blended to a favorable direction by the attacked to diffuse the situation. I may go into that another time because it too has many daily life applications
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
"Such a Nice Guy..."
As a zen practitioner and chef in training, it's obligatory for me to soak up as much information about the Tenzo Kyokun (Instructions to the Cook*) by Dogen, as I can. I came across a commentary online that has this great quote by Ven. Anzan Hoshi Roshi:
In other words, we can't rest on our laurels.
Just because we are normally one type of person (kind, helpful, good worker, etc.) doesn't mean we earn merit that we can expect to be able to cash in later to get away with things. The universe doesn't work like that, it doesn't remember in that way. People usually do, though, and I'm guilty of taking advantage of that more often than I'd like to admit.
I'm a pretty hard worker, and helpful, and yes, usually kind. I try to do things by the book at school and work when it comes to most things, and I (usually) get appreciated for that. But sometimes, I slack off with a couple ideas in my head: "Other people do it, and I work so much harder than them." or "I do my best at this and even go above and beyond what is expected, so I should be able to let this slide."
It's dangerous thinking, and while, in the moment, I see it as fair, I'm not playing by the rules that I think everyone should be held to. For one thing, it usually doesn't require me extra effort to do some of the exceptional things I do, I just do them because they're there. It's not truly giving 110% if you give 110% effort and take back 20-30%.
How does this fit with practice? Every moment is now. Full effort must be expended each moment, and if it's not, it's okay, I just can't lie to myself and say I am.
Sitting is a good example. Once I've committed to the cushion, I'm there. Slouching isn't going to make my legs hurt any less, and letting my mind drift is counterproductive. I have to keep my spine erect, shoulders back, chin down and head up. Only through this effort will the future be easier.
My aikido practice is another good example. If I don't actually push myself in training, I'm not getting anything done. Only through reaching actively when stretching, will my muscles stretch, making it easier next time. But, I can't relax when it's easier or my progress stops there and I might as well stop training.
Even when cooking, I can subsist on what I know, but it'll get boring. Pushing boundaries and opening up to new things keeps what I eat interesting.
Fortunately, practice helps make me more aware of all of this when I'm in the moment and that awareness fuels a second wind in my effort.
In personal situations, sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the way I'm being treated because of how well I usually act. I feel like I should have merit from my effort with practice that can be cashed in. I mean, if it weren't for that who knows how bad arguments would get. How could it be fair to try so hard to keep my cool when the other person is just letting me have it? (The last thing I'm going to do is point this fact out, too. I know I'm not perfect so there's no need to be self-righteous)
Sometimes it just gets to be too much and even my awareness of what's going on doesn't get me over that hump and the best I can do is not slide down the hill towards hurtful or passive aggressive behavior. I'm glad this is rare, because, while I understand this is normal human trait, I don't like it or myself when it does. I can only keep my nose to the grindstone and push on with my practice knowing that each moment is another chance to realize that ideal.
I know that every time I push through the difficulty, the rut of that habit gets deeper and just as the stretching to get flexible just to stretch some more benefits my body, exerting myself in other ways makes everything relatively easier and automatic down the road.
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*I think it should be Instructions to the Chef but I'll save that for a post of its own.
Just because you are kind to someone once, the moment is entirely gone, you can't build anything the base of that... It is not sufficient to just have some image of being compassionate towards others, we must actually be so. So when that moment comes, that is what we must do. We can't say, “Well, I am usually like this and I will probably be quite compassionate then, too.” When the moment comes we have to make our choice and we have to do what we do. Once it is done, then there is the next thing to be done.
In other words, we can't rest on our laurels.
Just because we are normally one type of person (kind, helpful, good worker, etc.) doesn't mean we earn merit that we can expect to be able to cash in later to get away with things. The universe doesn't work like that, it doesn't remember in that way. People usually do, though, and I'm guilty of taking advantage of that more often than I'd like to admit.
I'm a pretty hard worker, and helpful, and yes, usually kind. I try to do things by the book at school and work when it comes to most things, and I (usually) get appreciated for that. But sometimes, I slack off with a couple ideas in my head: "Other people do it, and I work so much harder than them." or "I do my best at this and even go above and beyond what is expected, so I should be able to let this slide."
It's dangerous thinking, and while, in the moment, I see it as fair, I'm not playing by the rules that I think everyone should be held to. For one thing, it usually doesn't require me extra effort to do some of the exceptional things I do, I just do them because they're there. It's not truly giving 110% if you give 110% effort and take back 20-30%.
How does this fit with practice? Every moment is now. Full effort must be expended each moment, and if it's not, it's okay, I just can't lie to myself and say I am.
Sitting is a good example. Once I've committed to the cushion, I'm there. Slouching isn't going to make my legs hurt any less, and letting my mind drift is counterproductive. I have to keep my spine erect, shoulders back, chin down and head up. Only through this effort will the future be easier.
My aikido practice is another good example. If I don't actually push myself in training, I'm not getting anything done. Only through reaching actively when stretching, will my muscles stretch, making it easier next time. But, I can't relax when it's easier or my progress stops there and I might as well stop training.
Even when cooking, I can subsist on what I know, but it'll get boring. Pushing boundaries and opening up to new things keeps what I eat interesting.
Fortunately, practice helps make me more aware of all of this when I'm in the moment and that awareness fuels a second wind in my effort.
In personal situations, sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the way I'm being treated because of how well I usually act. I feel like I should have merit from my effort with practice that can be cashed in. I mean, if it weren't for that who knows how bad arguments would get. How could it be fair to try so hard to keep my cool when the other person is just letting me have it? (The last thing I'm going to do is point this fact out, too. I know I'm not perfect so there's no need to be self-righteous)
Sometimes it just gets to be too much and even my awareness of what's going on doesn't get me over that hump and the best I can do is not slide down the hill towards hurtful or passive aggressive behavior. I'm glad this is rare, because, while I understand this is normal human trait, I don't like it or myself when it does. I can only keep my nose to the grindstone and push on with my practice knowing that each moment is another chance to realize that ideal.
I know that every time I push through the difficulty, the rut of that habit gets deeper and just as the stretching to get flexible just to stretch some more benefits my body, exerting myself in other ways makes everything relatively easier and automatic down the road.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*I think it should be Instructions to the Chef but I'll save that for a post of its own.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Discipline and New Habits
Since I set this thing up a couple days ago and haven't really done anything with it, I guess my first post should be about discipline. This ties in nicely with my zen practice, culinary school.. and well, a lot of other things in my life.
One of the reasons I'm still in culinary school after four plus years is due to a lack of discipline. I missed a lot of class the first couple years so I had to repeat a lot. I don't want to make excuses anymore and it doesn't really matter anyway, but discipline was pretty much the problem. It was too easy for me to make excuses that I could accept as suitable reasons to either just stay home, drive all the way there and not get out of my car, or just drive around. I've dealt with this for waaaay too long, but I'm fairly confident I've broken that habit. I didn't see it as being lazy, because I really struggled with it. I cared that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing, I was just better at making and accepting my own excuses.
And habit was a big part of it. For many years I've halfheartedly looked for some sort of meditation practice to incorporate into my daily life. I'd tried different moving and sitting forms of meditation, but never really stuck with it. I knew the benefits of such things from my previous experience with aikido. Most of it's benefits were from focusing and staying in the moment, but I had trouble taking those things off the mat into daily life. And of course the reason that was my previous experience is because once I started to lose interest, I gradually stopped going. It had been a hobby, but not yet a habit yet. Every time I was given another chance, I'd psych myself up that it'd be different this time, but I just wasn't able to follow through.
So what's different? What changed that allowed me to make new habits and break the old ones? Now that I think about it, it's not all that obvious. I think the credit rests with resuming Aikido. Last summer, I found a book (not in a store to be bought, but in a box in the woods, but that's another story) called Zen in the Martial Arts. I'd set it aside for a while but read it eventually and it got my interest back up to get back into Aikido. I'd never really lost interest in it entirely, it always kind of stuck with me and colored my worldview in some way, but now I realized I actually had the time to train. The instructor at the dojo I found required a one year commitment, which I did hesitate to commit to (fear isn't really the right word, but in sense it is appropriate).
Over the first few months I had some frustrations, but stuck with it since I was in for the year. Now I've always felt the need to share things I learn with people, mostly as a courtesy to what I've learned, so I've always respected people who teach. But I think the most important lesson I could ever learn was when my teacher told me that there were days she didn't feel like teaching us, but she did because that was the commitment she'd made.
I don't know why that had the effect on me that it did. Of course it was to be expected of her, she's only human; no one could be expected to really want to do anything four days a week with almost no break for years on end no matter how much they enjoyed it. But for some reason, this acknowledgment really struck a chord. I became more aware of the years of effort and dedication to reach that point and that without all of that she would not be in the position to teach us.
As someone who habitually adjusts interests time after time, this sort of dedication was brought into a new light. I couldn't help but see this revelation in the other parts of my life, my teachers at school for example, but not just them: anyone who was any kind of authority on anything had made the conscious decision to commit and follow through with it.
About this same time, I was reading an awesome book, Zen Heart by Ezra Bayda. I credit this book with me actually beginning my practice and will talk about that more some other time. My point, though, is that here was another person who'd dedicated themselves to something that hit home in me somehow. I'd put off actual practice for so long, but this book inspired me in a practical way to make the commitment myself.
Now there were other reasons to do it, and they are all legit, but in an idealistic move I cut my hair about as short as I could tolerate to mark this commitment. I'd needed something concrete that I couldn't ignore and it seemed an appropriate way to mark my commitment to my new life and new practice.
Now whenever I'd scratch my head in wonder about doing what I'm supposed to do, I get that nifty scratchy reminder. Plus, about once a month, I have to renew that commitment by cutting my hair again.
But discipline... yes, back to that. I had started sitting in the evening after my girlfriend went to bed, and that was fine for about a month. It was calming and became a little habitual. I followed what was laid out in Zen Heart for practice until I was able to take a free intro class at the local zen center. I've always been an evening person, but after sitting once early one morning, I learned how sitting can affect my day. I was actually somewhat awake and motivated.
I was fortunate enough to be given a scholarship for a deeper six week intro class to sitting meditation a month later and applied my new perspective on teachers and commitment. Here were two people teaching this class who had dedicated themselves to this life sharing their experiences with me, and on top of that, they had agreed to share it with me without charge. I had to take this seriously to honor this as a gift. It definitely paid off.
I committed myself to get up an hour earlier than I was accustomed to sit for twenty minutes everyday. For anyone who hasn't sat zazen, it's more than you'd think. Just sitting for twenty minutes? How hard can it be? It's pretty tough not just mentally, but physically as well. Discipline is needed to keep from stopping when it starts to hurt or when you get bored. Rather than have a watch in front of me and decide on a time I'd stop. I set a timer and refuse to look at it. I won't move until it goes off so there's no, "eh, that's close enough to twenty minutes.."
Sitting is so simple, and it's a great way to build discipline, among other things. I make the commitment and there's nothing else to do until the time is up. After six months, it has become a habit, and one that spills over into other parts of my life. Gotta go to school? Just go, it's more exciting than just sitting there, and I'm supposed to do it anyway. After enough days not missing: new habit! Don't feel like scooping the litter box, washing dishes, doing laundry? Won't take more than twenty minutes, and my legs won't hurt after doing it.
So the irony of the title of this blog and the title of this post: did I have everything I needed already? Did I have discipline? Well, no... I didn't, not then, but the past is the past. I've learned my lessons, and now, in the present, I do have more discipline than I did. I definitely had the seeds before, otherwise I would have just been lazy without a care of whether or not I did what I was supposed to do. So in a way I did have what I needed already, just not at that present, it was waiting for me in the future to learn my lessons and then I would be ready.
What an ungodly long way to make a point, but before starting this, I didn't have anything at all. So here's to new habits.
One of the reasons I'm still in culinary school after four plus years is due to a lack of discipline. I missed a lot of class the first couple years so I had to repeat a lot. I don't want to make excuses anymore and it doesn't really matter anyway, but discipline was pretty much the problem. It was too easy for me to make excuses that I could accept as suitable reasons to either just stay home, drive all the way there and not get out of my car, or just drive around. I've dealt with this for waaaay too long, but I'm fairly confident I've broken that habit. I didn't see it as being lazy, because I really struggled with it. I cared that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing, I was just better at making and accepting my own excuses.
And habit was a big part of it. For many years I've halfheartedly looked for some sort of meditation practice to incorporate into my daily life. I'd tried different moving and sitting forms of meditation, but never really stuck with it. I knew the benefits of such things from my previous experience with aikido. Most of it's benefits were from focusing and staying in the moment, but I had trouble taking those things off the mat into daily life. And of course the reason that was my previous experience is because once I started to lose interest, I gradually stopped going. It had been a hobby, but not yet a habit yet. Every time I was given another chance, I'd psych myself up that it'd be different this time, but I just wasn't able to follow through.
So what's different? What changed that allowed me to make new habits and break the old ones? Now that I think about it, it's not all that obvious. I think the credit rests with resuming Aikido. Last summer, I found a book (not in a store to be bought, but in a box in the woods, but that's another story) called Zen in the Martial Arts. I'd set it aside for a while but read it eventually and it got my interest back up to get back into Aikido. I'd never really lost interest in it entirely, it always kind of stuck with me and colored my worldview in some way, but now I realized I actually had the time to train. The instructor at the dojo I found required a one year commitment, which I did hesitate to commit to (fear isn't really the right word, but in sense it is appropriate).
Over the first few months I had some frustrations, but stuck with it since I was in for the year. Now I've always felt the need to share things I learn with people, mostly as a courtesy to what I've learned, so I've always respected people who teach. But I think the most important lesson I could ever learn was when my teacher told me that there were days she didn't feel like teaching us, but she did because that was the commitment she'd made.
I don't know why that had the effect on me that it did. Of course it was to be expected of her, she's only human; no one could be expected to really want to do anything four days a week with almost no break for years on end no matter how much they enjoyed it. But for some reason, this acknowledgment really struck a chord. I became more aware of the years of effort and dedication to reach that point and that without all of that she would not be in the position to teach us.
As someone who habitually adjusts interests time after time, this sort of dedication was brought into a new light. I couldn't help but see this revelation in the other parts of my life, my teachers at school for example, but not just them: anyone who was any kind of authority on anything had made the conscious decision to commit and follow through with it.
About this same time, I was reading an awesome book, Zen Heart by Ezra Bayda. I credit this book with me actually beginning my practice and will talk about that more some other time. My point, though, is that here was another person who'd dedicated themselves to something that hit home in me somehow. I'd put off actual practice for so long, but this book inspired me in a practical way to make the commitment myself.
Now there were other reasons to do it, and they are all legit, but in an idealistic move I cut my hair about as short as I could tolerate to mark this commitment. I'd needed something concrete that I couldn't ignore and it seemed an appropriate way to mark my commitment to my new life and new practice.
Now whenever I'd scratch my head in wonder about doing what I'm supposed to do, I get that nifty scratchy reminder. Plus, about once a month, I have to renew that commitment by cutting my hair again.
But discipline... yes, back to that. I had started sitting in the evening after my girlfriend went to bed, and that was fine for about a month. It was calming and became a little habitual. I followed what was laid out in Zen Heart for practice until I was able to take a free intro class at the local zen center. I've always been an evening person, but after sitting once early one morning, I learned how sitting can affect my day. I was actually somewhat awake and motivated.
I was fortunate enough to be given a scholarship for a deeper six week intro class to sitting meditation a month later and applied my new perspective on teachers and commitment. Here were two people teaching this class who had dedicated themselves to this life sharing their experiences with me, and on top of that, they had agreed to share it with me without charge. I had to take this seriously to honor this as a gift. It definitely paid off.
I committed myself to get up an hour earlier than I was accustomed to sit for twenty minutes everyday. For anyone who hasn't sat zazen, it's more than you'd think. Just sitting for twenty minutes? How hard can it be? It's pretty tough not just mentally, but physically as well. Discipline is needed to keep from stopping when it starts to hurt or when you get bored. Rather than have a watch in front of me and decide on a time I'd stop. I set a timer and refuse to look at it. I won't move until it goes off so there's no, "eh, that's close enough to twenty minutes.."
Sitting is so simple, and it's a great way to build discipline, among other things. I make the commitment and there's nothing else to do until the time is up. After six months, it has become a habit, and one that spills over into other parts of my life. Gotta go to school? Just go, it's more exciting than just sitting there, and I'm supposed to do it anyway. After enough days not missing: new habit! Don't feel like scooping the litter box, washing dishes, doing laundry? Won't take more than twenty minutes, and my legs won't hurt after doing it.
So the irony of the title of this blog and the title of this post: did I have everything I needed already? Did I have discipline? Well, no... I didn't, not then, but the past is the past. I've learned my lessons, and now, in the present, I do have more discipline than I did. I definitely had the seeds before, otherwise I would have just been lazy without a care of whether or not I did what I was supposed to do. So in a way I did have what I needed already, just not at that present, it was waiting for me in the future to learn my lessons and then I would be ready.
What an ungodly long way to make a point, but before starting this, I didn't have anything at all. So here's to new habits.
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