Aikido

As my most attentive and faithful readers will remember, I mentioned aikido training in one of my entries.
Finding a place to train aikido was one of the various objectives I had in mind when I bought a map of Toyonaka area and found a place called "Budokan Hibiki" on it, a name that suggested martial arts training to me. One sunny Monday morning I went there and found that I was right, only that they had no martial arts training when I had time. But a very friendly little man with almond shaped eyes who immediately took over my case as soon as he spotted me at reception recommended Shosenji, a nearby temple where they train aikido. He made two big photocopies of a detailed map for me and drew in the way I had to go.
He also helped me dign up for the gym across the yard in which I now train almost every morning, but that is a different story that goes with a different picture and will appear on a different day.
So one grey Sunday, I make my way to this hidden away temple. There is a large garden, hidden away behind trees, cherry trees, waiting for March and April. There is a roof with a well beneath it, and ladles to wash your hands. A dragon is guarding the well. On the right, there is a wooden house with a glass door. Little badges hang from the roof with writing on them. There is a large rope with a knot and frills for a handle. Here, you can pull to ring the gods. Behind the glass door, I can see an assembly of different shapes and sizes of statues. They are or were once human beings. Now they are standing in this shrine, wearing red clothes, and emanating an air of superiority and transcendence that humbles me. I do not know who they are and why they’re here, but they have crossed borders I couldn’t find on any map, and they know more than any human being walking the planet. I look at the rope but do not dare disturb their peace.
There are rocks, and little decorative columns, and little flights of stairs. I find my way up to the dojo on the right and some houses to the left. At that moment, a car pulls up at the bottom of the stairs leading to the houses. Out walks a man with a shaven head, soft-featured like a Buddha statue, but without the fat. And a small, attractive woman wearing jeans and purple cowboy boots. Both of them are carrying white plastic bags full of grocery shopping. Then their two little boys come out. One is about five and runs straight into the house. The other one is about two. I introduce myself and ask the man whether he is responsible for aikido classes here. He is. He walks into the house to get me some information. His wife stops and talks to me. “Your Japanese is very good.” “No, I still have to practise a lot!” I protest. “No, it’s very kirei (pretty).” I’ve heard that before, but only once, and while being told that my Japanese is good leaves me cold knowing that many people say it upon hearing you utter a simple “hello” or “thank you” in their language, being told that it is “kirei” is actually nice to hear, as I imagine it refers to the respect language I have been practising hard and try to employ when talking to people I want to speak to in a respectful and reverential manner.
While she and I talk, her tiny little son looks at me from the bottom of the stairs. One step is about as tall as he is, yet he starts climbing them one by one, as we talk. After the third one, he pauses and looks at me again. And doesn’t stop. I have to smile at his square face with its big almond eyes. He smiles back. The mother laughs. “He’s happy!” Good thing he is happy at seeing me, rather than scared. When the boy reaches the top of the stairs and holds on to his mothers’ legs, Buddha re-appears from the house and hands me a couple of photocopies. “Can you read kanji?” “Yes, I can. It might take some time, but it is no problem.” He explains to me that there are classes Monday, Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday night, and there is a women’s class on Firday mornings. I tell him that training in the evenings is impossible for me except for Mondays, so I would like to join the Monday evening and the Friday morning classes. "I will come on Friday,” I say, and thank him, and ask him for his continued benevolence in the future. I say good bye to the wife and son and walk back towards Toyonaka station.