learning

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One of the yudansha who teaches at our dojo, Cyril, uses a variety of people as Uke when he demonstrates techniques. It makes classes that much more intense, because you never know when or if you’ll be called up, so you’d best pay sharp attention.

Learning to be a good uke is really important to me, for a lot of reasons. A lot of the most valuable learning in Aikido comes from ukemi. Like learning to move with and into the energy and situation, rather than fighting against it, for instance, not as a way of giving up, but to keep one’s center and regain balance. Being a good uke isn’t just falling, it includes providing committed attacks so one’s partner can practice effectively. Ukemi seems to be where I find growth and discovery happening, more than in practicing techniques as Nage.

So I’m grateful every time I’m called up to help demonstrate a technique. Even when (and it seems to be the case more often than not) I screw it up in some spectacular way, and have to be shown what was wanted. Although he is incredibly gracious about it, I hate being incompetent. Crawling under a rock has sounded like a good plan on a few occasions.  

I learned early on, however, that abject humiliation, even in front of the whole class, will not kill me. The only thing to do is shake it off, note the correction, focus, and do better the next time. 

Actually, I’m grateful for the correction, and for the fact that even after I screw something up pretty thoroughly, I’m called up again. He doesn’t get mad, and he doesn’t give up on people. I thanked Cyril last night for his “persistent and good-humored attempts to help me become a better uke.”

If I pay close enough attention to how he gently guides and redirects students it could help me become a better teacher, and better person, too.

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The Meaning of “Sensei”

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I got the book “Holding the Center – Sanctuary in a Time of Confusion” by Richard Strozzi-Heckler recently. I finally picked it up to begin reading it last night, and randomly opened it to this paragraph, in the chapter on Teachership [emphasis mine]:

“The kanji for sensei is a man leading an ox by a nose ring. This indicates that through wisdom and intelligence a teacher is able to guide even that which is difficult and resistant. Sen depicts the earth giving birth to a plant, which in turn yields a flower or fruit. From this image we are reminded that life comes from life, that learning and growth come from a living transmission. Sei is often spoken of as Heaven, Human, and Earth united to create something new and useful. With the symbols placed together, sensei or teacher is someone who has more experience than us, whose consciousness is more expanded, who has walked before us on the path that we are now on, and who embodies a vision of the world that is more powerful than the one we now live in. Sensei is able to guide students on the steps that are necessary for them to gain proficiency in a specific discourse. A teacher is someone willing to cultivate our own life so that it will bear fruit.” 

Richard Strozzi-Heckler
Holding the Center: Sanctuary in a Time of Confusion

While the explanation of the symbols escapes me, the sentiment rings true. The entire chapter is an interesting look at what it means to be a teacher.

[This is not an affiliate link. I’m only providing it for your convenience.]

More About Being a Sensei

Sensei – What It Means to Have a Teacher, from this series of 26 posts, one for each letter of the alphabet. Not just about teachers, but what it means to be a student of a teacher.

Some selected bits of wisdom from my teacher, Dave Goldberg Sensei, that apply to life outside the dojo as well as to Aikido training: Off-The-Mat Aikido —Things Sensei Says.

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The other day in a weapons class Sensei wanted to work with bokken, and before class was considering what to focus on that day. The class ended up being an intensive little workshop, essentially, with lots of emphasis on breathing, correct technique, and incorporating weapons into familiar techniques, such as ikkyo.

Sensei’s classes are frequently, no, usually, like that.  "Just a regular weeknight class" is never “just” anything.

After class I usually thank Sensei, if he’s not busy talking to someone. "Thank you, Sensei,“ I say, adding something like "I really enjoyed the class,” or “that was really interesting." Even, maybe especially, when the class was challenging, or even frustrating.

It’s polite to thank your teacher, and sometimes I feel like it might come across as only that. Just being polite. But there’s nothing contrived about my gratitude. I deeply mean every word. (And I’ve told him so.)

Classes are always inspired, never rote or perfunctory. Familiar techniques are presented in fresh ways, new subtleties explored. Sensei considers the response his words might elicit in a given student, knows just how much pressure or breathing room each person might need that day. He gauges the mood and abilities of the assembled students, and tailors the content of the class accordingly, on the spot. He sees endless detail in the mass of movement on the mat and offers strategic corrections, all while planning the next technique, managing the energy of the group, and keeping track of the time.

It all looks perfectly natural. For Sensei, it probably is. Just like it’s perfectly natural for a hawk to swoop at blinding speed through the branches of a tree, appearing on the other side with dinner in its talons. Perfectly natural from a lifetime of practice, and amazing to witness. It is as interesting to observe the teaching as it is to learn and practice the Aikido.

But as a student each class is a tremendous opportunity – to improve my Aikido of course, but also to examine my way of being, and to discover how I might take Aikido with me into the world. I am consistently blown away by the care and attention that goes into each class, and I am grateful for every opportunity to train under such a remarkable teacher.

Domo arigato gozaimashita, Sensei.

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A note from the next morning after I wrote the above post:

I just went out to feed, and a hawk flew between the trees, at eye level, right in front of me, and across to the neighbor’s yard where it scattered a flock of small birds that were sitting in a tree.

I haven’t seen a hawk hunting in my yard in years.

There’s something really weird about the universe.

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I’ve just read Terry Dobson’s book “It’s a lot like dancing…” for the first time. I usually read with a highlighter in one hand, but this is the kind of book you don’t want to deface. Besides, nearly every page would be highlighted in its entirety. Here is one of the many beautiful things he said:

What is more important than anything I say is that I touch you. Through me, through my touch, comes the touch of the founder of Aikido. There is no Bible you can buy that says, “This is what Aikido is.” It is transferred from person to person. These vibrations pass among us.

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