Know Where You Stand.

By Simon Shadowlight

It’s Saturday morning, March 18th, 2006, when I arrive at the dojo for the White, Yellow, Green Belt Seminar. Already there are a large number of students clustered around the entrance, waiting for the doors to open. I park and, as I approach the group, I make a few jokes with the students who greet me. Is this for their benefit or mine? There seems to be an air of tension that comes from not knowing what to expect nor knowing what will be expected. Within a short time, the door opens and we begin to file in. As always, the students helping with the check-in are a model of efficiency and we move quickly through the various stations.

I notice that I am both eager and apprehensive at the thought of the seminar. Eager because I am looking forward to the opportunity to have this time with Homma Sensei, yet apprehensive for, as a green belt, I will presumably be one of the senior students in attendance. Will my kohai be looking towards me for direction? Can I provide it? Do I set a good example? Have I been paying attention?

Arrgh… too much thinking! As I proceed through the check-in process, I wonder if there is a place that I can dump all this mental baggage for a while. In Buddhism, this internal chatter is frequently referred to as monkey-mind. Perhaps if I tossed the little fella a banana he would leave me alone for a while.

As I complete the check-in, Randy-san asks Steve-san and I if we would write articles on the seminar for the web site. Nothing fancy… he gives us a fair amount a leeway. He requests that we simply give our impressions. We, of course, agree and take a few moments to discuss how we might approach this impromptu assignment.

If my monkey-mind had been active prior to Randy-san’s request, now he is throwing a full-blown fit: “Okay, I have to really pay attention now. Let’s see… how many students are here? What’s the schedule for the day—oh, I have that on the flyer. Perhaps I can get a break down on the number of students by rank from the front office. Geez, I wish I had a small notebook with me so I can take notes during the seminar.” As I take my place on the mat, my mind chatters on and on.

Sensei comes out and the seminar begins. After we bow in, he begins by explaining that the money from the seminar will be used through AHAN to purchase rice for a temple in Bangladesh at which over 500 children must be fed everyday.

Sensei’s conversation helps to relieve what I perceive as a tension—a heaviness—in the dojo. I find myself personally relieved that three uchideshi (Jason-san, Hector-san, Joshua-san) are attending as I feel confident that Sensei will use them for demonstrations. Much to my surprise, Sensei suddenly calls me up! He demonstrates a game (the “mirror ghost” from Children and the Martial Arts: An Aikido Point of View) in which the object is to stand facing a partner and, using only the palms of one’s hands against your partner’s, try to make them move. As people break into pairs, you can hear the laughter and feel the tension in the room diminish.

Sensei provides additional examples, demonstrating that it is not really our partner who is “taking” our balance but we who are giving it away. As we continue to practice, more then once he stops us and exaggerates our motions. This brings about laughter and, again, the tension dissipates further. I gain a greater appreciation in Sensei’s teaching style and see it as an expression of his aikido. He seems to know exactly when and how to redirect the energy in the room, getting us all to loosen up a bit more.

During one of our discussions, Sensei refers to the small wooden sign with four Japanese characters on it that is usually found on the floor near the shoe changing area. It means (as I recall) “know your underfoot” which Sensei explains refers to knowing where you stand; keeping your focus on where you are at; knowing yourself.

At this point, I begin to realize that I am approaching this article the same way I approach my aikido techniques and, as it turns out, many aspects of my life: Am I really paying attention or am I merely thinking about paying attention? I analyze things… break them down into steps. I find myself frequently so focused on the details and the minutia that I become overwhelmed. I seem to have an operating belief that in order to master something, I need to understand it intellectually. I find it ironic that Sensei is talking about being focused on where one is at and here I am half focused on the future, trying to write the rough draft of an article for a web site. The very attempt of trying to “get it all” is preventing me from being present.

Sensei shares that there is a process one must go through; that the importance is in getting from point A to B rather than merely arriving at B. I suddenly realize that I must relax and forget about the article. I don’t want to be so focused on the destination that I miss the journey.

The rest of the day, we work with many of the basic techniques (iriminage, shihonage, and kotegaeshi). We alternate between grabbing our partners and not grabbing but instead applying pressure and maintaining contact by focusing on the touch. This requires that, as uke, our partners must pay attention and actively participate, which in turn reinforces the importance of feeling the initial force of the uke’s technique and responding by moving and redirecting their energy.

We break for lunch and then continue with two more sessions, each building on the previous. At 5:30, following the seminar, the welcome party begins and I am pleasantly surprised to find that many of the senior students (instructors and assistant instructors) are joining us. I appreciate the opportunity to talk with them in a less formal setting. The food and the hospitality are top notch and, during dinner, we enjoy slides from Sensei’s recent trip (along with a number of students) to India and Nepal.

As I leave for the evening, I reflect on how fortunate I am to attend a dojo with students of such high character, directed by a man that I perceive to live his aikido, both on and off the mat. He knows how to harmonize with those around him, directing energy and resources out into the world as a positive force truly making a difference. Whether it’s iriminage, feeding the homeless, or sharing his hospitality with his newer students, he is an accomplished master.

I do not have adequate words to express my gratitude for my good fortune. Thank you, Homma Sensei. Domo arigato gozaimashita.

Postscript: Oh, and by the way, least I forget, there were 52 students in attendance.