You can’t see ki; can’t touch it, taste it, smell it or hear it. Ki can’t be measured in the physicists’ lab; can’t be shown to have any measurable effects on massive objects. While it is elusive in the manner of dark matter or dark energy ki can be felt by human beings. And it’s at this point where many Aikido practitioners lose their way regarding ki. Invariably they are wont to ask ‘What is ki?’ One might as well ask what is love or hate or envy or any other feeling. For ki is a feeling. It is the feeling one has when one’s mind and body are coordinated (same place, same time, same activity). Relegating ki to the realm of feelings precludes the question of whether ki has independent existence in the physical world.

Released from the burden of having to determine whether ki exists or not, the student is free to develop an understanding of what ki feels like and this is where the use of metaphor comes into play. Human beings use metaphors to explain and make sense of the universe. Metaphors can be simple such as “saving time” (good) or “wasting time” (bad). Metaphors can also be complex such as E=mc² (a mathematical metaphor used to show that mass and energy are inexorably related, the essence of each contained within the other). Feelings are depicted metaphorically all the time “love is sweet” and “the bitter fruit of jealousy”, for example. Indeed, much of poetry is concerned with describing feelings in everyday terms through the use of metaphor. Viewing ki as a feeling allows one to create metaphors that can be employed to develop this feeling, come to an understanding of it and ultimately enhance it.

From what knowledge of ki I have accumulated over the years, I see two fundamental paradigms emerge when it comes to understanding the nature of ki. One paradigm is based on “independent ki” metaphors; the other on “dependent ki” metaphors.

Independent ki metaphors emphasize the cultivation of ki as an external resource.

Concentrate ki at the one point, extend ki, let ki flow freely are all metaphors that invoke images of ki as existing independently of the Aikido practitioner. From this point of view the student is seen to be a vessel for storing and concentrating ki and also a conduit through which ki is able to flow and be directed. Ki is accorded independent existence. It has properties which can be felt by the student; qualities which when cultivated allow the student to perform at a level greater than can be explained by the student’s physical being alone.

Dependent ki metaphors evoke images of ki as being generated within the student’s body by the correct application of principles of movement, ground path mechanisms, fascia and other structural conditioning etc. Dependent ki metaphors remove ki as existing independently of the student and replace it with ki as a generated force.

Let’s look at unbendable arm for a moment in light of both classes of metaphors. When I began Aikido the first thing I was taught was unbendable arm. It was explained that I should relax, keep one point and extend ki from my center through my arm and let it go out and away. I did these things (that is I imagined what I would feel like when these things were happening) and when tested, my arm did not bend. Conversely unbendable arm could have been explained to me in terms of the juxtaposition of opposing muscle groups and how by correctly manipulating them I could keep my partner from bending my arm. Again, if I process the metaphor correctly the result will be that my partner will be unable to bend my arm.

These paradigms are fundamentally at odds. But isn’t the conflict really illusory? Consider the fact that the world you and I experience is experienced via our senses. We don’t experience “reality” directly. We interpret sensory input in our brains and formulate our separate realities based on a host of filters and amplifiers that we have constructed over the span of our lives. The long and the short of it is we see the world metaphorically.

As Aikido students, we learn to build metaphors to explain and understand the concepts ki. Who is to say that one person’s ki metaphor is correct while another’s is incorrect if the observed result of both students’ Aikido execution is the same? If a student is taught unbendable arm using independent ki metaphors and another student is taught unbendable arm via dependent ki metaphors and when tested both students perform unbendable arm, which paradigm is right? Does it matter?

Relativity Theory teaches us that motion is, well, relative and that there is no preferred frame of reference in the universe from which absolute motion can be determined.

Aikido is all about motion. The very heart of the art is revealed in the motion of bodies relative to one another; motion born of conflict (be it staged or real) and resolution. As nage I seek to find a place of calm amid the flurry of movement; a place where my motion is minimized and uke's is maximized. The center about which our centers move is that place. That is where my balance and stability are greatest and where I will expend the least amount of energy to achieve the desired result (conflict resolution). Maruyama Sensei calls this minimum effort for maximum effect.

The linking of nage's and uke's individual centers with the common center to form a unified whole is a manifestation of Ki energy. My ability to feel, occupy and control the common center (extend Ki), forms the basis of powerful, effective technique. The internalization of the notion that the common center is continuous and ever returning is the goal of my practice.

I always wondered why no one could see Maruyama Sensei move with the jo staff or bokken. I came to this conclusion because weapons work as taught by his students looked decidedly different from what he was doing when he demonstrated. His movements flowed naturally from one to another, the weapon never stopping. Changes of direction were along arcs that didn’t retrace themselves. Sensei never taught how he moved, never said correct movement is achieved by doing this or that, he merely demonstrated. And no one seemed to see.

Many years into my training, one night while alone in the dojo, I picked up a jo staff and began to move. I didn’t try to perform any of the katas I had learned, just moved with the stick leading it and following where it led as we traveled about the mat. As I struck and blocked and parried and evaded and turned I noticed that my movements were seamlessly connected and that all the techniques were flowing and following each other in logical sequence based on the larger context of the overall form we were rendering.

Sometime during that half hour of continuous movement realization of what Sensei had been doing all these years hit me like a freight train. The effect on me was profound. It was at that point that I realized that my Aikido was about to take a quantum leap forward and that henceforth I would cease being taught Aikido and begin to learn Aikido.

 Berkshire Hills Ryu Aikido was born that night.

Things for me to beware of:

Beware of thinking I have all the answers. I don’t. And thank goodness for that. Can you imagine the responsibility?

Beware of others who claim to have all the answers. They don’t either.

Beware of accepting students’ power. Students are always trying to give away their power to their instructors. I have plenty of my own power and don’t want anyone else’s. When I sense a student doing this I go out of my way to give it back. If you’re an instructor and don’t know what I’m getting at, you should.

Beware of needing recognition for my efforts. Being an independent and no longer affiliated with an organization sometimes has me missing that nth dan designation after my name and looking forward to my next promotion. When I feel this way I realize that I’m just looking for a way to be mean to myself, feel sorry for myself or succumb to the fear du Jour.

 Beware of falling into the I’m tough trap. I am capable of hurting people. The skills I have acquired over the years give me the ability to do this. Fortunately those same skills have tempered my temper, have shown me that tough is a relative thing and that as tough as I may be there will always be someone tougher.

Motion is at the heart of Aikido training.

Motion is one aspect of Aikido that people are referring to when they speak of a particular style of Aikido. My ‘style’ of Aikido is largely defined by how I move with respect to uke. Aikido technique, throws, joints locks and the like, while differing in subtle detail from practitioner to practitioner is nevertheless fairly consistent across the spectrum of Aikido styles. That is to say, a shihonage executed by an Aikikai student and a shihonage executed by a Berkshire Hills-Ryu student will both be recognizable as shihonage by any aikido student. Where styles diverge noticeably is in the lead-up to the applied technique and the follow-thru movement once the technique has been executed.

My technique flows naturally from my movement in relation to uke. During randori I never ‘think ahead’ and try to choreograph my techniques, I simply move and let the technique happen itself as a result of my interaction with uke.

Training. Training. And more training.

There isn't much about Aikido that lends itself to intellectual discourse. This is not to say that Aikido is bereft of concepts and ideas that run no more than surface deep. But unlike say, mathematics, the ideas of Aikido are best discussed on the mat through the interaction of the participants. Aikido is a form of `do-ing', it is learned via performance. I can sit and talk about it all I want, but learning the words is meaningless without the practical knowledge gained from training.

It as been said that one must be shown each and every nuance of Aikido in order to `correctly' perform the techniques and, as a consequence, grow. Otherwise the student will just continue to practice incorrectly forever. This is nonsense. Learning Aikido by
practicing is a self-correcting process. Continued training allows the student to learn the principles from the inside out. The student's body, mind and spirit are simultaneously affected during practice. As a result all three are tuned to the movement of the techniques and adjusted as the student gains experience. The student thereby performs the techniques more efficiently with the passage of time.

It is obvious from the popularity of Aikido discussion boards such that the exchange of ideas regarding Aikido is very interesting and thought provoking. In this case, however, the acquisition of knowledge gained thereby is for reference only. Real useable knowledge of Aikido is acquired for the price of sweat and exertion in the dojo.

I have said it before but it is worth repeating; all of Aikido's ideas and concepts are within each of us. O-Sensei opened the Way and illuminated the path initially, passed his light on to others who have, in turn, passed it on again. Learn by doing and then pass your light on to others and keep the magic that is Aikido growing and evolving.

Weapons practice affords me the opportunity to perfect my movement, strengthen my center and perform complex motions employing all my tools simultaneously. Working with the bokken and jo staff from the inside has had a profound impact on my approach to teaching/learning Aikido and my technique; so much so that it is the primary reason for my leaving Kokikai and going out on my own.

I don’t teach the weapons katas I learned in Kokikai. In fact, I have dispensed with katas altogether. Instead I employ short 3 or 4 step temporary forms that I make up as I go along. We practice them for a while, concentrating on the motion, not the specific blows and blocks. We’ll then move on to something else. I tell my students to forget the specifics and feel the dynamic that arises between them and their weapons. I don’t want them memorizing long sequences of prearranged movements. This kind of rote learning stifles spontaneity and creativity. The student concentrates on learning the moves and as a result loses the meaning of the motion that connects the individual techniques.

In weapons practice the emphasis is on the motion and locating and occupying the center that is common to both the me and the weapon. This gets really interesting in multiple person drills where the geometry of the motion becomes more complex.

Time is the ultimate dichotomy. Consider; the moment, discrete, standing alone, is all there is yet I perceive moments continuously giving rise to past and future. It is the stringing of moments together that forms the continuum. My body is locked into the moment; its very physicality guarantees that it can only be in the moment. My body is constrained by the laws of physics. My mind, however, is relatively boundless, constrained only by the limits of my imagination. The continuous nature of my mind creates the illusion of the "passage" of time. The dual nature of time, discrete and continuous, provides the framework upon which the dual nature of my self, body and mind, is able to exist.

Aikido training allows me to experiment with the nature of my perception of time. Using G. Spencer Brown's observation:

"In general, a contraction of reference accompanies an expansion of awareness, and an expansion of reference accompanies a contraction of awareness." The Laws of Form by G. Spencer Brown page 10.

As a starting point I recast it as follows:

In general, a contraction of reference accompanies a slowing of time, and an expansion of reference accompanies an acceleration of time.

In theory, if I could become completely centered, achieve perfect mind/body, time should, as perceived by me, come to a standstill since one point is without dimension and my frame of reference would also be without dimension. That is to say I would have to integrate my mind totally with my one point. As I continue to train I continue to shrink my frame of reference relative to my one point. I suspect that I can close in on my one point without limit, but never quite get there.

Now does not permit motion. Now has no extension either into the past or into the future. Now is the dimensionless present and the motion I perceive occurs because I can never experience now in its completeness. If I could, then all motion would cease and time would stand still. It follows that I must exist close to now but never quite reaching now in its fullness. It further follows that if I cannot exist at now I must exist all around it. Around now are past and future wherein I exist both forward and backward from now. Since past and future are creations of my mind, necessary to make sense of now that changes continually, I am led to conclude that motion through time is an illusion. What I perceive as motion is remembrance of things past and anticipation of things to come.

Via Aikido, I am able to approach now in an ordered way. I can approach now without limit but as long as I am aware I cannot reach now in any real sense. I will be forever locked out of now, existing in past and future to some limitled degree. Training allows me to make the limit smaller and smaller as I learn to lose myself in the moment and consequently become less and less aware of my self.

For an attack to be “real” it must be composed of three elements: strategy, tactics and intent. Strategy and tactics of an attack can be easily simulated in the dojo. It is the intent of an attack that is necessarily missing from all practice in the dojo. An attacker’s intent is to maim, disable or otherwise harm the one being attacked for whatever reason. For a dojo to function without rancor and internal conflict intent must be left out of all attacks. This is so obvious I almost feel silly writing it. Until, that is, I read how some students boast about how in their dojos the attacks are always real attacks. I have been to many Aikido classes, seminars and camps over 30 years and I have yet to see anything that can be termed a “real” attack on the mat.

Often Aikido students mistake speed, strength and resistance for reality when attacking. These are all components of an attack, but in and of themselves do not constitute a “real” attack. For the attack to be real the intent to harm must be present. The attacker must forego all restraint and really want to hurt the defender. This is what happens in uncontrolled situations that occur outside of the dojo.

For me, the reality of Aikido training is learning to ignore uke’s intent. How can this be accomplished in the dojo when intent is totally absent from an attack? Exactly! Constant training in the absence of intent allows me to see and react to the mechanics of an attack without the emotional baggage that fuels the intent. Aikido has taught me that there is no distinction between uke and nage and hence, no conflict. An attack is an opportunity to practice my art.

It is only through motion that the concept of time derives any relevance. Time is a construct I use to order the events of my life. It is how I construct my past and delineate my future. It has been said that time is what keeps everything from happening all at once. The fact is that everything that happens does happen all at once, at now.

Motion occurs because I remember now as the past and anticipate now as the future. The connectedness of my memories and anticipations gives rise to the illusion that now moves from past to future and that events follow one another in ordered sequence.

I am always centered at now. There are, however, degrees of centeredness. My body remains perfectly located at now. My mind defines the radius of my center. Dwelling on the past and future increases the radius of my center. When I let go of past and future the radius of my center shrinks. As the radius of my center becomes smaller, my mind and body grow more coordinated. Aikido training is the method I have chosen to help me realize coordination of mind/body and hence reduce the radius of my center.

What does the world look like when the radius of my center is zero and my mind and body are perfectly coordinated?

Can self awareness exist when the radius of my center is zero?

Moving from a standstill is far more difficult than changing direction. The weight of an immobile body tends to sink to the feet and must be redistributed before motion can begin. A body in motion can change direction with relative ease.

When practicing I always keep moving. Having thrown my partner, I make it a point to continue moving while he gathers himself for another attack. In this way I'm never caught flat-footed. Strangely, it's not necessary that I keep my feet moving for this to work. Any part of my body will do. I find that as long as I'm moving something, my weight will remain off my feet and concentrated at my center. This enables me to move easily in any direction without time-wasting weight redistribution prior to moving.

Being constantly on the move also presents Uke with a more difficult target to hit or grab. I am always presenting Uke with little openings that appear and then go away and I try to keep my tempo varied and non-rhythmical. My motion, while smooth and flowing, is peppered with sudden changes in direction and/or speed.

To get students used to this type of moving I rely heavily on the bokken and jo staff. I devise short combinations of strikes and blocks that employ changes of direction and varying speeds. I have the student vary her tempo within the exercise at different points and then change when the tempo varies the next time through. All the while I remind her to move, strike and block from her center and allow some of herself to flow into the weapon thereby blurring the distinction between her and it.

I also teach technique from static positions. Static technique practice allows the student to work slowly and methodically when learning the technique. Static practice also gives the student the opportunity to develop correct feeling and strengthen Ki.

In a universe consisting of a single point, motion and stillness cannot be distinguished. Introduce a second point into that universe and motion/stillness are instantly differentiable.

I have noticed that when I am moving with a partner on the mat there comes an instant in the execution of a technique where all motion seems to stop yet we are not still relative to one another. It is at this point that we become a single entity, our motion in concert such that we seem to be standing still. Our centers meet and merge at the center of conflict which nage has occupied and uke and nage disappear. The center of conflict is the anchor point at which stability and resolution are brought about. The restoration of order from the chaos of the attack results in the dissolution of the conflict and hence the disappearance of the center of conflict. Correctly executed, Aikido resolves conflict without decision, without a ‘winner’ and a ‘loser’.

I seek always to occupy the center of conflict as nage. Drawing uke into my sphere, our integration removes the internal reference point that defines our motion relative to one another. The center of conflict becomes simply the center that is ours in mutuality. We are one, if only for the moment, and our conflict ceases to be.