Aikido Heaven

“Feel the impact of the attack instantaneously, and react to it accordingly.”

So we practise. Free style aikido. Choose whatever waza fits the particular attack you receive. “Morau,” says Shihan about receiving the attack. A word choice that suggests that the receiver appreciates what he gets, rather than simply getting something.
We attack and receive, and try to appreciate whatever is there, to truly feel whatever is there, or feel first, and truly appreciate through that- cause and consequence blur, and that is the aim of the exercise. The key word today is “tossa” – instantaneous. That is the aim of our practice, to be instantaneous, to tailor our waza precisely to whatever is given to us.

I want to simply flow and react, but realise painfully that my aikido vocabulary is not big enough to rely on mere instinct. I would need more possibilities, more ways to move (with) my partner, in order to react appropriately to the multitude of attacks I am given. I do not want to endanger my opponent or myself. This adds pressure, while the thought Shihan has put in my mind creates an unusual kind of freedom, makes room for inspiration and a learning experience different from our usual training.

“I apologise,” says Shihan after our second bout of free style aikido, our second attempt today to practise enforcing a particular way of thinking, rather than the technicalities of a particular waza. “Today’s training is rather theoretical. But if we never do this, we will not proceed beyond primary school level with our training.”

Then the second speech follows. “There is a saying that goes kan ippatsu. Kan is written with the kanji meaning “interval”, followed by ichi - “one”, and then hatsu -“hair”. Imagine that: only a hair’s width between you and your partner when you interact during the waza. It is a very small space. But on the other hand, you could say – wow, a whole hair’s width fits in there, where, really, there should be nothing at all! Where we should perceive one single being, no dividing line? So what I would like to practise today is try and reduce this hair’s width to first half a hair’s width, then a third, then a quarter of a hair’s width, until you manage to perfectly connect. Don’t push for it. Just perfectly glue yourself to whatever part of himself your partner gives to you.”

So we practise, feeling for little gaps and tiny crevices in our partners’ fingers, hands, forearms, seeking to fill each empty space we find, with ourselves, connecting to every bit of live tissue that touches us with a sense of complete appreciation, welding ourselves to it, giving up ourselves completely, fully committing to the creation of a new entity born out of the interaction between two centres of ki that Meet. I. Love.

I feel reminded of a story I read in a book called “The Empty Force” and believed by most scientifically minded people to be complete nonsense. “Master Wang,” it said about one old Chinese master of the Empty Force, “could keep a bird on his hand when it alighted there, simply by applying the power of ki.”
Although this is most probably a myth, this story conveys a powerful image. Even when I read it a few years ago, without the first idea about aikido, it conveyed to me a the image of what aikido is meant to be. Glue yourself to the bird, and the bird can’t take off.

Although I would personally add one thing to the story. What I am striving for is to learn how I might glue myself to the bird so subtly and gently that the bird, without noticing the slightest change, would just take off with me and fly me through the sky.