Aikido is a budo based on the establishment of harmony from chaos. This is accomplished through the principle of take musu aiki, the spontaneous and uncontrived harmonious reaction to a situation that successfully diffuses conflict. But many martial artists look at Aikido as a weak martial form due to its primary focus on self-defense, safety, and a desire for a peaceful outcome. It is not "hard" enough and is therefore unrealistic many believe.
But do not mistake Aikido's desire for peace and harmony for a weakness. Yes, aikidoka practice softness of technique. Yes, they desire a peaceful resolution to any conflict. But this does not mean that an aikidoka cannot "go hard" if the situation warrants. And "going hard" in Aikido can be devastating. Just ask any aikidoka who has taken ukemi for their sensei and had a momentary lapse of awareness resulting in a full speed technique execution.
Do not take Aikido's kindness as a weakness. You could end up being unpleasantly surprised.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Follow the Teaching, Not the Teacher
I have been studying Aikido full time for just over two years. I initially started my practice back in fall of 2005 but quit shortly thereafter due to disillusionment with the Aikido culture that I was experiencing at the time. Too many of the students I practiced with worshipped our sensei.
Because Aikido is a martial art based purely on self defense with the cultivation of peace at its core, many practitioners I have met come to the art with a pacifistic mind set. Many have no idea about combat in its various forms, verbal, physical, or otherwise, and have made avoidance of it their determined position. Additionally, I have found many are drawn to the art looking for a perverted form of self-validation of their "pacifistic" views, a validation that, in their mind, proves they are superior to those less culturally "refined". They believe that just practicing the art makes them stronger. Applying it in an environment where a loss would be devastating, psychologically or physically, and not to mention deadly, does not even cross their minds. And most telling, almost all have zero leadership experience. Thus, these "aikidoka", which I believe make up a substantial number of practitioners, particularly in America, are very susceptible to "guruism", meaning that they end up following the teacher instead of following the teaching. They are so impressed by their sensei's martial abilities and philosophical pontifications that they make this unfortunate and, martially speaking, fatal mistake.
Aikido is a very difficult martial art due to its revolutionary design. Its founder, Morihei Ueshiba, was a master martial artist. He studied numerous martial arts and became a master in most that he studied. Being Japanese and living in Japan after World War II and seeing first hand the massive destruction caused by this war, he had a realization. This realization, that budo (the way of the warrior) was grounded in the safe resolution of conflict for the benefit of the combatants and society overall, underpins Aikido training and philosophy. This martial philosophy was a radical departure from the generally accepted norms of martial art philosophy at the time and throughout history, that being the application of unmitigated combative force to annihilate your enemy. Additionally, all of his students were highly proficient martial artists, if not masters, in their respective disciplines. Therefore, his audience was highly educated, the modern equivalent of PhD's.
Today, Aikido is taught to beginning martial artists as well as to master martial artists. Everyone is welcomed onto the mat in an Aikido dojo. But this openness has a flaw. Many who do step on the mat to study Aikido, in particular the beginner students, are so enthralled and persuaded by the art and its philosophy as presented by their sensei that they mistake the "teacher" for the "teaching". What is worse, is that many sensei and yudansha class (black belt and instructor level senior practitioners) allow this to happen! They become so intoxicated with the reverence with which their junior students (or kohai) hold them, that they forget the primary purpose of the practice of Aikido: the marginalization of one's ego in order to foster the betterment of the self and the world. My guess is that this is a natural side-effect of Aikido being a Japanese martial art. The Japanese culture in general is very hierarchical. You would think that Americans, with their cultural foundation of radical individualism, would be averse to such hierarchical tendancies.
The Aikido practitioner must always remember that it is the teaching that must be followed and NOT the teacher. Respect for those senior to you and for your sensei is an essential element in the etiquette of the art. But etiquette should never trump the importance of the teaching. The more senior one becomes in the practice of Aikido, the more humble they should be. Arrogance and egotism have no place in Aikido philosophy or practice. As one progresses in the art, egotism must be replaced by a strong but kind confidence whose efforts are aimed at the betterment of one's self and of those around you, particularly those not as knowledgeable or experienced in Aikido.
Strict adherence to this principle is vital in order for all aikidoka to truly realize the essential nature of Aikido philosophy and thus the essential nature of budo itself.
Because Aikido is a martial art based purely on self defense with the cultivation of peace at its core, many practitioners I have met come to the art with a pacifistic mind set. Many have no idea about combat in its various forms, verbal, physical, or otherwise, and have made avoidance of it their determined position. Additionally, I have found many are drawn to the art looking for a perverted form of self-validation of their "pacifistic" views, a validation that, in their mind, proves they are superior to those less culturally "refined". They believe that just practicing the art makes them stronger. Applying it in an environment where a loss would be devastating, psychologically or physically, and not to mention deadly, does not even cross their minds. And most telling, almost all have zero leadership experience. Thus, these "aikidoka", which I believe make up a substantial number of practitioners, particularly in America, are very susceptible to "guruism", meaning that they end up following the teacher instead of following the teaching. They are so impressed by their sensei's martial abilities and philosophical pontifications that they make this unfortunate and, martially speaking, fatal mistake.
Aikido is a very difficult martial art due to its revolutionary design. Its founder, Morihei Ueshiba, was a master martial artist. He studied numerous martial arts and became a master in most that he studied. Being Japanese and living in Japan after World War II and seeing first hand the massive destruction caused by this war, he had a realization. This realization, that budo (the way of the warrior) was grounded in the safe resolution of conflict for the benefit of the combatants and society overall, underpins Aikido training and philosophy. This martial philosophy was a radical departure from the generally accepted norms of martial art philosophy at the time and throughout history, that being the application of unmitigated combative force to annihilate your enemy. Additionally, all of his students were highly proficient martial artists, if not masters, in their respective disciplines. Therefore, his audience was highly educated, the modern equivalent of PhD's.
Today, Aikido is taught to beginning martial artists as well as to master martial artists. Everyone is welcomed onto the mat in an Aikido dojo. But this openness has a flaw. Many who do step on the mat to study Aikido, in particular the beginner students, are so enthralled and persuaded by the art and its philosophy as presented by their sensei that they mistake the "teacher" for the "teaching". What is worse, is that many sensei and yudansha class (black belt and instructor level senior practitioners) allow this to happen! They become so intoxicated with the reverence with which their junior students (or kohai) hold them, that they forget the primary purpose of the practice of Aikido: the marginalization of one's ego in order to foster the betterment of the self and the world. My guess is that this is a natural side-effect of Aikido being a Japanese martial art. The Japanese culture in general is very hierarchical. You would think that Americans, with their cultural foundation of radical individualism, would be averse to such hierarchical tendancies.
The Aikido practitioner must always remember that it is the teaching that must be followed and NOT the teacher. Respect for those senior to you and for your sensei is an essential element in the etiquette of the art. But etiquette should never trump the importance of the teaching. The more senior one becomes in the practice of Aikido, the more humble they should be. Arrogance and egotism have no place in Aikido philosophy or practice. As one progresses in the art, egotism must be replaced by a strong but kind confidence whose efforts are aimed at the betterment of one's self and of those around you, particularly those not as knowledgeable or experienced in Aikido.
Strict adherence to this principle is vital in order for all aikidoka to truly realize the essential nature of Aikido philosophy and thus the essential nature of budo itself.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Hard and Soft Arts
In the world of martial arts, Aikido is considered a "soft" art. This basically means that aikido uses finesse, flexibility, and suppleness vice speed, power and strength to achieve its objective of controlling an attacker. The "hard" arts, like Muay Thai, all forms of jujitsu, judo, karate, wushu, etc. tend toward the development of speed, power and strength to control, overpower, and ultimately disable an opponent. Finesse, flexibility, and suppleness are also considered, cultivated and applied but only at the intermediate to highest levels of these arts are they given much attention. But what ultimately makes Aikido as a soft art different from hard arts is in its purest form, strength is not used at all in the controlling of an attacker. In fact, the use of strength shows an aikidoka that his aikido technique is weak and flawed. To understand this concept, it is necessary to look at how training pedagogy differs amongst the hard and soft arts.
Humans are animals and are thus susceptible to animalistic actions. The "flight or fight" response is a simple example. Humans, as with all animals, are psychologically hardwired for this response when faced with a mortal threat. They either run away or stand and fight. And if forced to fight, the average (ie. untrained) individual's instinctive reaction is to strike at the threat with as much speed and strength as they can muster.
The pedagogy of hard martial arts capitalizes on this instinctual psychology and initially teaches easily learned and basically executed hard strikes using the fist, elbow, knee, head, etc. This is why through regular repetitive practice the average individual, in a short amount of time, can develop a basic level of proficiency. That individual can strike hard and fast when needed and is afforded a basic level of self-defense skills. So if necessary, they can stand and fight with a some comfort level in their abilities.
But if you ask that same person with no additional amount of training, to use finesse to achieve their objective, they will not be able to do it. For example, ask this person to use a hammer-fist strike to just barely graze the nose of their opponent to provide a warning blow vice a disabling one. They will not be able to do it. The development of this type of strike to such a level of precision takes years to learn.
This "hard" training pedagogy is effective for basic self defense. I have trained under this type of system and have found it very effective at teaching basic self-defense skills to a high level of proficiency in a short period of time. But one must realize that with this system, precision is sacrificed for speed. Hard arts are like teaching a person how to use an axe instead of a scalpel. It doesn't take long to learn how to effectively wield an axe for its intended purpose. But, it takes years of practice to effectively learn how to use a scalpel for its intended purpose.
Continuing with this analogy, imagine if all you had ever used to fight was an axe. It is heavy and takes strength to swing. An because it is heavy and takes strength to swing, it's hard to control. It is great when the target is big, and control and precision are not needed. Then, having been an axe-wielder your whole life, suppose someone handed you a scalpel. Since a scalpel is an instrument of precision and not strength, it would be very difficult for you to learn to use effectively. In fact, using strength with a scalpel is counter-productive. With strength, you could land an axe almost anywhere on your opponent and cause substantial damage, possibly even killing them with one blow. But that would be nearly impossible with a scalpel. You would have to hit very few and very small targets to achieve the same "one shot, one kill" effect as with the axe and the use of strength actually reduces your accuracy with a scalpel. Just ask any surgeon.
So how does all of this relate to "hard" and "soft" arts? Hard arts are an axe whose skills can be developed relatively quickly and can be used for self-defense when regard for the welfare of your opponent is of little consideration. Aikido, being a soft art, is a scalpel and is a better way to control a situation when the welfare of your opponent is a consideration. But, like a surgeon's training, it takes years to develop the proficiency in Aikido needed to accomplish this.
But here is the truly interesting difference between the hard and soft arts. Assuming the same the level of proficiency, practitioners of the soft arts can more easily go hard, if needed, than a practitioner of the hard arts can go soft. In my opinion, this is one of the truly beneficial aspects of soft art training. In aikido, we spend a considerable amount of time trying to undo our body's natural, hard reaction to violence. Though we may succeed to some level at this task, the hard reaction is always there and can be easily called upon if needed. The opposite is not the case.
Understand that no art is better than any other, in my opinion, and this essay is not saying such. All arts have their advantages and disadvantages. But the study of a soft art like Aikido, especially after the study of a harder, more aggressive art, can do nothing but enhance one's overall martial ability and should not be summarily dismissed.
Humans are animals and are thus susceptible to animalistic actions. The "flight or fight" response is a simple example. Humans, as with all animals, are psychologically hardwired for this response when faced with a mortal threat. They either run away or stand and fight. And if forced to fight, the average (ie. untrained) individual's instinctive reaction is to strike at the threat with as much speed and strength as they can muster.
The pedagogy of hard martial arts capitalizes on this instinctual psychology and initially teaches easily learned and basically executed hard strikes using the fist, elbow, knee, head, etc. This is why through regular repetitive practice the average individual, in a short amount of time, can develop a basic level of proficiency. That individual can strike hard and fast when needed and is afforded a basic level of self-defense skills. So if necessary, they can stand and fight with a some comfort level in their abilities.
But if you ask that same person with no additional amount of training, to use finesse to achieve their objective, they will not be able to do it. For example, ask this person to use a hammer-fist strike to just barely graze the nose of their opponent to provide a warning blow vice a disabling one. They will not be able to do it. The development of this type of strike to such a level of precision takes years to learn.
This "hard" training pedagogy is effective for basic self defense. I have trained under this type of system and have found it very effective at teaching basic self-defense skills to a high level of proficiency in a short period of time. But one must realize that with this system, precision is sacrificed for speed. Hard arts are like teaching a person how to use an axe instead of a scalpel. It doesn't take long to learn how to effectively wield an axe for its intended purpose. But, it takes years of practice to effectively learn how to use a scalpel for its intended purpose.
Continuing with this analogy, imagine if all you had ever used to fight was an axe. It is heavy and takes strength to swing. An because it is heavy and takes strength to swing, it's hard to control. It is great when the target is big, and control and precision are not needed. Then, having been an axe-wielder your whole life, suppose someone handed you a scalpel. Since a scalpel is an instrument of precision and not strength, it would be very difficult for you to learn to use effectively. In fact, using strength with a scalpel is counter-productive. With strength, you could land an axe almost anywhere on your opponent and cause substantial damage, possibly even killing them with one blow. But that would be nearly impossible with a scalpel. You would have to hit very few and very small targets to achieve the same "one shot, one kill" effect as with the axe and the use of strength actually reduces your accuracy with a scalpel. Just ask any surgeon.
So how does all of this relate to "hard" and "soft" arts? Hard arts are an axe whose skills can be developed relatively quickly and can be used for self-defense when regard for the welfare of your opponent is of little consideration. Aikido, being a soft art, is a scalpel and is a better way to control a situation when the welfare of your opponent is a consideration. But, like a surgeon's training, it takes years to develop the proficiency in Aikido needed to accomplish this.
But here is the truly interesting difference between the hard and soft arts. Assuming the same the level of proficiency, practitioners of the soft arts can more easily go hard, if needed, than a practitioner of the hard arts can go soft. In my opinion, this is one of the truly beneficial aspects of soft art training. In aikido, we spend a considerable amount of time trying to undo our body's natural, hard reaction to violence. Though we may succeed to some level at this task, the hard reaction is always there and can be easily called upon if needed. The opposite is not the case.
Understand that no art is better than any other, in my opinion, and this essay is not saying such. All arts have their advantages and disadvantages. But the study of a soft art like Aikido, especially after the study of a harder, more aggressive art, can do nothing but enhance one's overall martial ability and should not be summarily dismissed.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Kansha
Each day of human life contains joy and anger, pain and pleasure, darkness and light, growth and decay. Each moment is etched with nature's grand design-do not try to deny or oppose the cosmic order of things
-Morihei Ueshiba, The Art of Peace
In November of last year, two weeks apart, both of my parents were diagnosed with cancer, mother with lung and my father with pancreatic. It was the first time in my life that I have truly been faced with the possibility of losing someone close to me. By today’s standards, both of my parents, being in their mid-sixties, still had 15 or 20 years left to live. Their illnesses have made that almost impossible.
When faced with such a tragedy, it is very easy to focus on the pain of such an event. It is very easy to focus on the loss. But focusing on the loss does nothing and only shows an ignorance for “…the cosmic order of things…” spoken of by Morihei Ueshiba and many other spiritual leaders.
Death is a natural occurrence. It will come, sooner or later, to all of us. Therefore, it is up to all of us to prepare for the moment when we face it. Additionally, our loved ones will also face death, sometime right in front of our eyes, a process that can be difficult to watch. To ease the difficulty, I practice kansha, Japanese for gratitude.
I do not focus on the death of my parents. Instead, I focus on their life. I focus on how much gratitude I have for their love, their kindness, their advice. I think back to when I was a child and how my father taught me to fish or how my mother taught me to swim. Or our Christmases in the mountains with the snow outside, the heat of the fire inside, and the whole family celebrating together. Or my mother's recipe for stuffing at Thanksgiving and how my father would carve the turkey.
I know that they will die soon, and I do not have much time left to spend with them. But even after they have gone, I will still have kansha that I have been able to spend almost 40 years learning from them and loving them.
Even in death, kansha will allow me to continue to do so.
-Morihei Ueshiba, The Art of Peace
In November of last year, two weeks apart, both of my parents were diagnosed with cancer, mother with lung and my father with pancreatic. It was the first time in my life that I have truly been faced with the possibility of losing someone close to me. By today’s standards, both of my parents, being in their mid-sixties, still had 15 or 20 years left to live. Their illnesses have made that almost impossible.
When faced with such a tragedy, it is very easy to focus on the pain of such an event. It is very easy to focus on the loss. But focusing on the loss does nothing and only shows an ignorance for “…the cosmic order of things…” spoken of by Morihei Ueshiba and many other spiritual leaders.
Death is a natural occurrence. It will come, sooner or later, to all of us. Therefore, it is up to all of us to prepare for the moment when we face it. Additionally, our loved ones will also face death, sometime right in front of our eyes, a process that can be difficult to watch. To ease the difficulty, I practice kansha, Japanese for gratitude.
I do not focus on the death of my parents. Instead, I focus on their life. I focus on how much gratitude I have for their love, their kindness, their advice. I think back to when I was a child and how my father taught me to fish or how my mother taught me to swim. Or our Christmases in the mountains with the snow outside, the heat of the fire inside, and the whole family celebrating together. Or my mother's recipe for stuffing at Thanksgiving and how my father would carve the turkey.
I know that they will die soon, and I do not have much time left to spend with them. But even after they have gone, I will still have kansha that I have been able to spend almost 40 years learning from them and loving them.
Even in death, kansha will allow me to continue to do so.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
True Freedom
It is in the understanding of ourselves that fear comes to an end. If the individual is to grapple with life from moment to moment, if he is to face its intricacies, its miseries and sudden demands, he must be infinitely pliable and, therefore, free of theories and particular patterns of thought.
Jiddu Krishnamurti, Education and the Significance of Life
Fear permeates the lives of almost all, if not all, people. It leads people to do things outside the bounds of their character. Its visceral pulse can drive people to the depths of human depravity or to the paralysis of unquestioned compliance. It is a powerful force that can destroy any sense of humanity we might feel towards others and towards ourselves. It is the most humbling of human emotions and can, if not recognized, rule a peron's life without the individual ever realizing it.
Jiddu Krishnamurti, the 20th century Indian humanistic philosopher and spiritual teacher, spoke of fear often, and in particular the facing and overcoming of fear, as a gateway to true freedom. Freedom from fear is the human condition sought by all, religious and spiritual adepts in particular. Belief in Jesus as the son of God, for example, claims freedom from eternal damnation. Belief in and practice of the Buddha's Four Noble Truths and the Eight Fold Noble Path claims the end of samsara, the eternal rebirth into a life of suffering. The practice of martyrdom through jihad bis saif, or struggle with the sword (Islamic holy war) claims divine acceptance and victory over the infidel.
But Krishnamurti believed that subservience to any doctrine, religious, spiritual or otherwise, in an effort to free one's self from the suffering of human existence or the possibility of an unbearable afterlife is nothing more than a form of self enslavement. In an effort to understand and overcome human suffering, people enslave themselves to religious ritual and dogma which ultimately binds themselves to a particular course of action. Krishnamurti thus demands an individual be "infinitely pliable" and "free of theories and particular patterns of thought" in order to be truly free.
With this thesis, Krishnamurti descends a slippery slope as he does not go on to describe an ethics commensurate with this stunning proclamation, leaving open the non-sensical, but quite easily drawn, conclusion that one's ethics could be "infinitely pliable", an invitation to a most obscene form of moral relativism.
Moral relativism is reckless, weak, and cowardly. Strength and courage lie in a reliance on and a judicious execution of what students of philosophy call "first principles". To use the commonly accepted definition, first principles are a set of basic, foundational propositions or assumptions that cannot be deduced from any other proposition or assumption. In other words, first principles require a certain amount of "faith". What differentiates faith in philosophical first principles from faith in religious first principles is their reliance on logical rigor, deductive in particular, vice emotional or metaphysical desire as is the case with religious first principles. Ethical and just first principles are necessary to guide right action, and, if action is taken, an assurance that just action is taken.
Freedom through the "understanding of ourselves" of which Krishnamurti speaks is a noble and achievable human endeavor, though it cannot be attained, as Krishnamurti argues, through "infinitely pliable" stances which are, by definition, categorically weak due to a lack of ethical authority. Freedom is only achieved through true and unfettered choice, and this choice can only be achieved through the unequivocal denial, and active fight against, any form of enslavement and its consequences.
To ground this particular thought in today's current political battle over the war in Iraq and the larger war with Islamic radicalism, first principles are an absolute necessity. The possibility of enslavement to an authority foreign to our western, democratic sensibilities exists. I ask that we as a country look hard and look deep for what it is we are willing to fight for without hesitation. A line must be drawn and enforced. Succumbing to a fear of outcomes shows a decadent lack of courage and opens the door to vacillation and hesitation revealing weakness and cowardice to our enemy. Courage ensures action without hesitation no matter what the situation or cost.
Only then can we attain true freedom.
Jiddu Krishnamurti, Education and the Significance of Life
Fear permeates the lives of almost all, if not all, people. It leads people to do things outside the bounds of their character. Its visceral pulse can drive people to the depths of human depravity or to the paralysis of unquestioned compliance. It is a powerful force that can destroy any sense of humanity we might feel towards others and towards ourselves. It is the most humbling of human emotions and can, if not recognized, rule a peron's life without the individual ever realizing it.
Jiddu Krishnamurti, the 20th century Indian humanistic philosopher and spiritual teacher, spoke of fear often, and in particular the facing and overcoming of fear, as a gateway to true freedom. Freedom from fear is the human condition sought by all, religious and spiritual adepts in particular. Belief in Jesus as the son of God, for example, claims freedom from eternal damnation. Belief in and practice of the Buddha's Four Noble Truths and the Eight Fold Noble Path claims the end of samsara, the eternal rebirth into a life of suffering. The practice of martyrdom through jihad bis saif, or struggle with the sword (Islamic holy war) claims divine acceptance and victory over the infidel.
But Krishnamurti believed that subservience to any doctrine, religious, spiritual or otherwise, in an effort to free one's self from the suffering of human existence or the possibility of an unbearable afterlife is nothing more than a form of self enslavement. In an effort to understand and overcome human suffering, people enslave themselves to religious ritual and dogma which ultimately binds themselves to a particular course of action. Krishnamurti thus demands an individual be "infinitely pliable" and "free of theories and particular patterns of thought" in order to be truly free.
With this thesis, Krishnamurti descends a slippery slope as he does not go on to describe an ethics commensurate with this stunning proclamation, leaving open the non-sensical, but quite easily drawn, conclusion that one's ethics could be "infinitely pliable", an invitation to a most obscene form of moral relativism.
Moral relativism is reckless, weak, and cowardly. Strength and courage lie in a reliance on and a judicious execution of what students of philosophy call "first principles". To use the commonly accepted definition, first principles are a set of basic, foundational propositions or assumptions that cannot be deduced from any other proposition or assumption. In other words, first principles require a certain amount of "faith". What differentiates faith in philosophical first principles from faith in religious first principles is their reliance on logical rigor, deductive in particular, vice emotional or metaphysical desire as is the case with religious first principles. Ethical and just first principles are necessary to guide right action, and, if action is taken, an assurance that just action is taken.
Freedom through the "understanding of ourselves" of which Krishnamurti speaks is a noble and achievable human endeavor, though it cannot be attained, as Krishnamurti argues, through "infinitely pliable" stances which are, by definition, categorically weak due to a lack of ethical authority. Freedom is only achieved through true and unfettered choice, and this choice can only be achieved through the unequivocal denial, and active fight against, any form of enslavement and its consequences.
To ground this particular thought in today's current political battle over the war in Iraq and the larger war with Islamic radicalism, first principles are an absolute necessity. The possibility of enslavement to an authority foreign to our western, democratic sensibilities exists. I ask that we as a country look hard and look deep for what it is we are willing to fight for without hesitation. A line must be drawn and enforced. Succumbing to a fear of outcomes shows a decadent lack of courage and opens the door to vacillation and hesitation revealing weakness and cowardice to our enemy. Courage ensures action without hesitation no matter what the situation or cost.
Only then can we attain true freedom.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Haiku
-----------------------------
Fog masks the city.
I walk along Sutton Street.
I have no rain coat.
-----------------------------
Distant rumbling.
The summer's first thunder storm.
I am just a boy.
-----------------------------
Fog masks the city.
I walk along Sutton Street.
I have no rain coat.
-----------------------------
Distant rumbling.
The summer's first thunder storm.
I am just a boy.
-----------------------------
On Renewing Commitment
"When force of circumstance upsets your equanimity, lose no time in recovering your self-control, and do not remain out of tune longer than you can help. Habitual recurrence to harmony will increase your mastery of it."
-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
I have never been one who tends toward the "mastery of harmony", especially harmony of the spiritual type spoken of here by the Stoic philosopher and Roman emperor, Marcus Aurelius.
The spiritual path for me is truly like "a razor's edge" (to use a reference from the Katha-Upanishad), narrow, difficult, and painful to walk. This is even more true when I try to follow the spiritual path amongst the infinite diversions offered by modern everyday existence vice, say, the exquisite beauty, spartan environs, and ritualized existence associated with life in a Himalayan monastery. Life down here amongst the ugly and coarse certainly does not aid in understanding one's true nature unless one is armed with the years of spiritual training required to be able to see through this vulgar exterior without becoming jaded by it.
Because this path is difficult, it is easy to slip off it into the labyrinth of sensual diversion. Modern, western humanity is after all, like water: highly susceptible to the path of least resistance. Our progress has made us lazy. Sure, many of us are working longer hours, but for what? Money? A mortgage? A promotion (ie. more money)? Status? It is easy to put in 12-16 hours of work a day. What is not easy is binding oneself to a disciplined life, to control one's emotions and appetites, and to live with character and integrity.
I have neglected my martial arts practice for the past 6 weeks or so. I was recently (in Feb) diagnosed with Crohn's disease. Certainly not a life threatening condition, more of a nuisance than anything, but it has effected my self-discipline. Side effects of the disease that seem to effect me are extreme fatigue, arthritis, and abdominal pain. After a full 10-12 hour day at work, it becomes difficult to muster the energy to practice thus placing the stress of guilt on my mind for not attending. According to the professionals, undue stress will worsen my Crohn's, something I have found to be true in my case. Work is necessary. Practice is not. Therefore, practice must go. Or so the rationalization goes.
But I have found that without my martial practice, which for me cultivates a disciplined existence, life dissolves into a meaningless daily plod. Without the self-discipline acquired through martial practice, I search out other, less beneficial and often empty, ways to spend my time: watching movies, reading books or magazines, aimlessly surfing the internet, etc. Some of this is certainly worthwhile (reading Clausewitz most recently, for example), but for me, spiritual progress through a disciplined existence is hindered without rigorous daily martial practice. In other words, I need a constant reminder of the benefits of self-discipline, of walking the razors edge. As I said before, my personality (read "ego" here) is just not predisposed to a disciplined path by martial or any other means. It's predisposed to things more along the lines of drinking fine scotch whiskey, sometimes to excess, in the upscale establishments of Edinburgh, Cape Town, or Dubai, for example. It is very difficult for me to maintain self-discipline in spiritual matters, and I need a tangible measure of progress in order to push myself along. Using a martial art as a spiritual tool has helped me see that progression and the benefits that come with it, therefore driving me along this narrow path. Without it, I lose the drive and the discipline to continue. Sad but true.
I find some solace in that we who walk this disciplined spiritual path will always deviate from it. Alas, we are human and this act of deviation is a natural part of any spiritual progression. One learns about oneself and about life provided one does not stray beyond the point of no return. The real test of character is not one's conduct after straying from this path, though this certainly matters, but whether or not one recognizes their own act of straying and, if so, choses to return to the path.
Renewing commitment to a disciplined life is an essential element of growth in a life-long and committed martial or spiritual practice. Actions upon renewal can reveal the depth or shallowness of one's practice up to that point in time. A fresh look from a different perspective can often times reveal a facet of character or congruence of reality not seen before. These determinations, if heeded, can point the practitioner in a new direction aiding future growth and bring them closer to that ever elusive mastery of which Marcus Aurelius speaks.
-Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
I have never been one who tends toward the "mastery of harmony", especially harmony of the spiritual type spoken of here by the Stoic philosopher and Roman emperor, Marcus Aurelius.
The spiritual path for me is truly like "a razor's edge" (to use a reference from the Katha-Upanishad), narrow, difficult, and painful to walk. This is even more true when I try to follow the spiritual path amongst the infinite diversions offered by modern everyday existence vice, say, the exquisite beauty, spartan environs, and ritualized existence associated with life in a Himalayan monastery. Life down here amongst the ugly and coarse certainly does not aid in understanding one's true nature unless one is armed with the years of spiritual training required to be able to see through this vulgar exterior without becoming jaded by it.
Because this path is difficult, it is easy to slip off it into the labyrinth of sensual diversion. Modern, western humanity is after all, like water: highly susceptible to the path of least resistance. Our progress has made us lazy. Sure, many of us are working longer hours, but for what? Money? A mortgage? A promotion (ie. more money)? Status? It is easy to put in 12-16 hours of work a day. What is not easy is binding oneself to a disciplined life, to control one's emotions and appetites, and to live with character and integrity.
I have neglected my martial arts practice for the past 6 weeks or so. I was recently (in Feb) diagnosed with Crohn's disease. Certainly not a life threatening condition, more of a nuisance than anything, but it has effected my self-discipline. Side effects of the disease that seem to effect me are extreme fatigue, arthritis, and abdominal pain. After a full 10-12 hour day at work, it becomes difficult to muster the energy to practice thus placing the stress of guilt on my mind for not attending. According to the professionals, undue stress will worsen my Crohn's, something I have found to be true in my case. Work is necessary. Practice is not. Therefore, practice must go. Or so the rationalization goes.
But I have found that without my martial practice, which for me cultivates a disciplined existence, life dissolves into a meaningless daily plod. Without the self-discipline acquired through martial practice, I search out other, less beneficial and often empty, ways to spend my time: watching movies, reading books or magazines, aimlessly surfing the internet, etc. Some of this is certainly worthwhile (reading Clausewitz most recently, for example), but for me, spiritual progress through a disciplined existence is hindered without rigorous daily martial practice. In other words, I need a constant reminder of the benefits of self-discipline, of walking the razors edge. As I said before, my personality (read "ego" here) is just not predisposed to a disciplined path by martial or any other means. It's predisposed to things more along the lines of drinking fine scotch whiskey, sometimes to excess, in the upscale establishments of Edinburgh, Cape Town, or Dubai, for example. It is very difficult for me to maintain self-discipline in spiritual matters, and I need a tangible measure of progress in order to push myself along. Using a martial art as a spiritual tool has helped me see that progression and the benefits that come with it, therefore driving me along this narrow path. Without it, I lose the drive and the discipline to continue. Sad but true.
I find some solace in that we who walk this disciplined spiritual path will always deviate from it. Alas, we are human and this act of deviation is a natural part of any spiritual progression. One learns about oneself and about life provided one does not stray beyond the point of no return. The real test of character is not one's conduct after straying from this path, though this certainly matters, but whether or not one recognizes their own act of straying and, if so, choses to return to the path.
Renewing commitment to a disciplined life is an essential element of growth in a life-long and committed martial or spiritual practice. Actions upon renewal can reveal the depth or shallowness of one's practice up to that point in time. A fresh look from a different perspective can often times reveal a facet of character or congruence of reality not seen before. These determinations, if heeded, can point the practitioner in a new direction aiding future growth and bring them closer to that ever elusive mastery of which Marcus Aurelius speaks.
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