Two hours of aikido tonight and my mood has drastically changed for the better. I've been moody. Crying. Sad and silly. Tonight I was tossed about and maybe that knocked some sense into me. Or got my endorphins going.
Watching Sato Sensei demonstrate, I started to feel myself turn all poetical. I thought, tai sabaki is practicing the same pattern over and over again...like love...
You reach for someone, they deflect, they block, they turn you around, spin you on your axis then toss you.
You get up. Go at it again. Maybe believing that the more you fall, the more tenderized your heart will be. Or perhaps because your body is dumb. Or is it your heart, that learns so slow...?
Then, the tables turn. Someone reaches for you. You deflect them, you block, you turn them around, spin them on their axis then toss them away.
Over and over, until the technique changes. Some fancy switch-o-change-o of hands behind your back. Some jazzy snazzy magic thing. You do it over and over just because you like the feeling that you can.
Hmmm....
Then another change. Not so easy. Everything changes when there's a weapon in someone's hand. Or does it? The stakes seem to change. Life is more serious. Life is precious. Take things slower now. Pay more attention.
How silly that a wooden sword or staff should seem so scary. A heart is vastly more frightening, either way.
Showing posts with label aikido. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aikido. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Friday, October 1, 2010
Super Aikido Girl
Super Aikido Girl begins the day in meditation aligning all the energies of the universe within herself. The time taken to do this is a worthy investment because it makes the world clearer. The colors are sharper. Her eyes and ears are more observant. In turn, the universe offers many gifts. She catches sights of great acrobatic squirrels in the tree outside of her apartment. She notices the surprised smile of the CTA worker at the train station when she nods a hello. People make space for her on the train platform. When you make space for the universe, the universe makes space for you. Ahhh, yes, young grasshopper
But it is not all sweetness and light, because I did say she has aligned all the energies that are darker, murkier than others.
She can see pain. The woman with the scrunched up face on the train. She looks constipated. No, she looks wretched. Super Aikido Girl, acknowledges the wretchedness--there's no worse thing to do that to deny wretchedness. Whatever you deny will present itself over and over again, louder and bolder and more forcefully until you acknowledge it. So she does. And she imagines a smoothing out of the lines on the woman's face. A release of weight....
But it is not all sweetness and light, because I did say she has aligned all the energies that are darker, murkier than others.
She can see pain. The woman with the scrunched up face on the train. She looks constipated. No, she looks wretched. Super Aikido Girl, acknowledges the wretchedness--there's no worse thing to do that to deny wretchedness. Whatever you deny will present itself over and over again, louder and bolder and more forcefully until you acknowledge it. So she does. And she imagines a smoothing out of the lines on the woman's face. A release of weight....
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Don't even think about it.
This happened on Wednesday.
So, I'm on the train by 6:15am. Maybe after the Loyola stop, I'm not sure, there's this black man, skinny, tall, older and drunk who keeps talking shit to this woman sitting across from him. The thing is, she keeps talking back to him. I can't tell if he's truly belligerent or not. There is another woman sitting nearby and I'm in the middle of the car. Behind me in the back of the car are two other men. I'm trying to read student work. I have a pen in my hand and I'm really trying to NOT listen to the back and forth. I don't understand why this woman keeps saying stuff back at the dude. Anyway at some point the other woman sitting nearby tells the dude to leave her (the woman who he has been targeting) alone. This goes on for a while. She tells him to shut the fck up. This raises the drama-rama. The man grabs his bottle (conveniently wrapped in a black plastic bag) and makes like he's going to hit her with it. This is when I dump my backpack on the empty seat next to me, and jump up and yell (VERY LOUDLY).
I am unclear the order of what I said, so I will include all the statements that I remember making at some point in this exchange.
don't even think about it.
sit down.
put that away.
don't even think about it.
you will act like a gentleman and either sit down or get off the train
Meanwhile, I should add that I am now standing next to the woman who he is directing his anger at. This is not the woman he was talking to earlier. This was the woman who was sitting nearby and who took up for the other lady. She's young, black, with a puffy fro, and I realize (because she has taken off her jacket like a tough chic ready to throw down on the playground and I can see that she is wearing a security guard uniform) that she is a security guard.
But she is taking the tough chic stance and she is cussing him out. I, on the otherhand, have not sworn once (surprise). I am fixated on his movements and what he's doing with the bottle. (Because he could just be threatening, but because he's drunk, his behavior is unpredictable.) I have already figured out what move to make. (Yay aikido). All I have to do is be there, right up under his armpit the moment he raises his arm and I will topple this man over backwards. And he is drunk and I am not. I am fast, he is wobbly. Anyway, I'm not scared. But I'm very very aware.
At one point he sees the pen in my hand and makes like he thinks I'm threatening him with it. This I think is funny, because I just never let go of it. I am certainly not thinking of it as a weapon. "You ain't gonna do anything with that," he says to me, like my pen is a wimpy weapon.
"You're right. I'm not," I say implying something far more dangerous and mysterious.
Meanwhile, Security Guard Lady is threatening to pepper spray him (though she doesn't seem to have said spray out.)
Finally (and it seemed like we would never get to the next stop) we approach a platform and we are both telling him to get off the train.
He does. People start flowing in. They have no idea why these two women are standing in the middle of the aisle. He makes like he's going to get back on. Security Guard Lady yells, "I wish you would. I'll put my foot so far up your a$$..." But the doors close and he continues to mouth threats at us through the window.
I go back to my seat. My backpack still open, but unperturbed. I settle back down. Later, I start a coughing fit and realized that I strained my throat.
Let me tell you that my voice filled the entire train car. And my voice must have sounded strong. Because he wasn't quite sure if I was scary or not.
Finally, at Monroe, Security Guard Lady got off the train. She looked for me before she got off, mouthed "Thank you," to me. I called out to her, "You have a good day."
Let me tell you, we shared a moment, that Security Guard Lady and me.
And that was the beginning of my day.
So, I'm on the train by 6:15am. Maybe after the Loyola stop, I'm not sure, there's this black man, skinny, tall, older and drunk who keeps talking shit to this woman sitting across from him. The thing is, she keeps talking back to him. I can't tell if he's truly belligerent or not. There is another woman sitting nearby and I'm in the middle of the car. Behind me in the back of the car are two other men. I'm trying to read student work. I have a pen in my hand and I'm really trying to NOT listen to the back and forth. I don't understand why this woman keeps saying stuff back at the dude. Anyway at some point the other woman sitting nearby tells the dude to leave her (the woman who he has been targeting) alone. This goes on for a while. She tells him to shut the fck up. This raises the drama-rama. The man grabs his bottle (conveniently wrapped in a black plastic bag) and makes like he's going to hit her with it. This is when I dump my backpack on the empty seat next to me, and jump up and yell (VERY LOUDLY).
I am unclear the order of what I said, so I will include all the statements that I remember making at some point in this exchange.
don't even think about it.
sit down.
put that away.
don't even think about it.
you will act like a gentleman and either sit down or get off the train
Meanwhile, I should add that I am now standing next to the woman who he is directing his anger at. This is not the woman he was talking to earlier. This was the woman who was sitting nearby and who took up for the other lady. She's young, black, with a puffy fro, and I realize (because she has taken off her jacket like a tough chic ready to throw down on the playground and I can see that she is wearing a security guard uniform) that she is a security guard.
But she is taking the tough chic stance and she is cussing him out. I, on the otherhand, have not sworn once (surprise). I am fixated on his movements and what he's doing with the bottle. (Because he could just be threatening, but because he's drunk, his behavior is unpredictable.) I have already figured out what move to make. (Yay aikido). All I have to do is be there, right up under his armpit the moment he raises his arm and I will topple this man over backwards. And he is drunk and I am not. I am fast, he is wobbly. Anyway, I'm not scared. But I'm very very aware.
At one point he sees the pen in my hand and makes like he thinks I'm threatening him with it. This I think is funny, because I just never let go of it. I am certainly not thinking of it as a weapon. "You ain't gonna do anything with that," he says to me, like my pen is a wimpy weapon.
"You're right. I'm not," I say implying something far more dangerous and mysterious.
Meanwhile, Security Guard Lady is threatening to pepper spray him (though she doesn't seem to have said spray out.)
Finally (and it seemed like we would never get to the next stop) we approach a platform and we are both telling him to get off the train.
He does. People start flowing in. They have no idea why these two women are standing in the middle of the aisle. He makes like he's going to get back on. Security Guard Lady yells, "I wish you would. I'll put my foot so far up your a$$..." But the doors close and he continues to mouth threats at us through the window.
I go back to my seat. My backpack still open, but unperturbed. I settle back down. Later, I start a coughing fit and realized that I strained my throat.
Let me tell you that my voice filled the entire train car. And my voice must have sounded strong. Because he wasn't quite sure if I was scary or not.
Finally, at Monroe, Security Guard Lady got off the train. She looked for me before she got off, mouthed "Thank you," to me. I called out to her, "You have a good day."
Let me tell you, we shared a moment, that Security Guard Lady and me.
And that was the beginning of my day.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
What I learned from a cup of Nicaraguan coffee.
I think it is fitting that a few days before I leave for Nicaragua, I am at the Common Cup, meeting with Polly, getting into some heavy philosophical discussions about ejamakation in this country and what do they have here? Nicaraguan coffee. Of course I partook.
And this makes me think about my weak-ass, non-existent role in the Nicaraguan revolution. I am speaking of the ideals of the revolution, not what it has become. I'm taking about agrarian reform and education and opportunities. Here I am, a teacher of writing, but when I go to Nicaragua, I am forever a child. I am daughter of Herman and Sylvia, completely at their mercy. Have I ever thought to rent a car in Nicaragua and go about on my own? Or simply hop on a bus? I've done the bus thing before. I survived. Now I hear all kinds of horror stories. Maybe I should not listen to them. On the other hand, leaving my familia for a moment of my short (or long visit, depending on your interpretation) visit would be considered an insult. A great wounding insult.
So, there are two things I'd like to check out while I'm there. A cafe in Granada that serves as a job training program for street kids. And something Amanda Lichtenstein sent me about theater ed. But who knows. I'll be there during the Christmas season. We'll see who's available to talk and what not.
And anyway, I often wonder at my own level of dedication to this work. Am I dedicated? And to what? Do I believe in the power of education? Yes. Am I willing to put my heart and soul into it? I'm not sure.
I participated in Sensei David Rose's aikido class last night at Clemente H. S. He had a 7th kyu test set up for the kids. Sensei Garza showed up to administer the test. The kids were scared witless. They were funny. They were stiff and awkward. As I watched them, I found myself talking under my breath at them. "Don't stop. Don't stop. You can do this." I remembered how scared I was for my first test, though I don't remember the test itself. Later, David Rose talked to the boys, telling them that they exhibited a new level of dedication to the art, and that because they've shown this new level of dedication, that he would put more of an investment in them. And I thought about that and about teaching in general. It is an investment. It has been good for me to be in David's classes, because he's not just a good sensei, he's a good Social Studies teacher. I've sat in on his classes and I'm continually aware of his passion and dedication. I lack that kind of gusto. I wonder if it has something to do with belief, or what?
Anyway, he said that it matters...that even if you touch a few people it matters. I guess I needed to hear that.
So, when class was over and we bowed to each other I thanked each of the boys and said, "Congratulations." And I felt it. I felt that I was truly congratulating them and I felt that they'd been initiated into something. It's kind of like when you go through the Fiction Writing program, and after you've been through Fiction I and you turned in your 60+ pages, you've done something. And you know the semi-circle and the sense of it. And when you run into people that you sat in a semi-circle with before, you feel like you've run into long lost family; a tribesman.
And David Rose, for those of you who do not know him, is a scary looking man. I mean, he is someone I have feared on the mat for a long time. I never took an aikido class with him, because of my schedule and because I was afraid of him. He looks like a football player and when he attacks he comes at you all hardcore. He was one of my ukes for my last test and as soon as I saw that he was going to be my uke, I felt my stomach sink. I thought, "Oh shit." But, he looked like he was going to cry after the kids' test. I called him a sweetheart. It was a revelation to me. He took it well.
Anyway, he's one of those people who I can say has a calling to teach. I still doubt whether teaching is my calling. I can do it well, but I don't think I make the emotional connection to my students that I see in really really dedicated teachers. Whatever.
I think I'm more dedicated to story. And sometimes I teach story. Is that the same as being dedicated to the art and not the student? Can you do that and get away with it? For how long?
Maybe aikido is the best example of dedicated teaching. You've got people who do all this teaching, that they do not get paid for, and they do it for the love of the art and what the art gives people. So, people like Sensei Garza who works for the phone company, then goes to the dojo, and makes friends with everyone, and calls people when they stop coming to see what's up, and tries to make everyone welcome...this is dedication.
But I want to do what I want to do. And my wants are very simple and petty...I want to write. I want to read something other than student work. I want to be able to read something, just because it takes my attention (like Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks--I recommend it). I want to crochet and I want to sew clothes and I want to go out and go to concerts. Basically, I want to be on vacation. Really, this is my GLAMOROUS idea of a vacation...reading what I want when I want, crocheting, sewing, writing, aikido, yoga and sleeping until noon. Did I mention sleeping until noon? SLEEPING UNTIL NOON, without the least hint of shame. I'll make up for it by reading until 3 am, believe me, that's my internal clock. It's so hard to make my body function on normal people time.
Ok, as I write this I can see where I am at. I am ready for the semester to be over. That's what this is. I taught two classes at Columbia and I'm exhausted. I still have student work to read and grades to enter, but then I'm done for several weeks and I think I will need those weeks to recoup for the next round.
Yes it's a battle. Round 2!
And this makes me think about my weak-ass, non-existent role in the Nicaraguan revolution. I am speaking of the ideals of the revolution, not what it has become. I'm taking about agrarian reform and education and opportunities. Here I am, a teacher of writing, but when I go to Nicaragua, I am forever a child. I am daughter of Herman and Sylvia, completely at their mercy. Have I ever thought to rent a car in Nicaragua and go about on my own? Or simply hop on a bus? I've done the bus thing before. I survived. Now I hear all kinds of horror stories. Maybe I should not listen to them. On the other hand, leaving my familia for a moment of my short (or long visit, depending on your interpretation) visit would be considered an insult. A great wounding insult.
So, there are two things I'd like to check out while I'm there. A cafe in Granada that serves as a job training program for street kids. And something Amanda Lichtenstein sent me about theater ed. But who knows. I'll be there during the Christmas season. We'll see who's available to talk and what not.
And anyway, I often wonder at my own level of dedication to this work. Am I dedicated? And to what? Do I believe in the power of education? Yes. Am I willing to put my heart and soul into it? I'm not sure.
I participated in Sensei David Rose's aikido class last night at Clemente H. S. He had a 7th kyu test set up for the kids. Sensei Garza showed up to administer the test. The kids were scared witless. They were funny. They were stiff and awkward. As I watched them, I found myself talking under my breath at them. "Don't stop. Don't stop. You can do this." I remembered how scared I was for my first test, though I don't remember the test itself. Later, David Rose talked to the boys, telling them that they exhibited a new level of dedication to the art, and that because they've shown this new level of dedication, that he would put more of an investment in them. And I thought about that and about teaching in general. It is an investment. It has been good for me to be in David's classes, because he's not just a good sensei, he's a good Social Studies teacher. I've sat in on his classes and I'm continually aware of his passion and dedication. I lack that kind of gusto. I wonder if it has something to do with belief, or what?
Anyway, he said that it matters...that even if you touch a few people it matters. I guess I needed to hear that.
So, when class was over and we bowed to each other I thanked each of the boys and said, "Congratulations." And I felt it. I felt that I was truly congratulating them and I felt that they'd been initiated into something. It's kind of like when you go through the Fiction Writing program, and after you've been through Fiction I and you turned in your 60+ pages, you've done something. And you know the semi-circle and the sense of it. And when you run into people that you sat in a semi-circle with before, you feel like you've run into long lost family; a tribesman.
And David Rose, for those of you who do not know him, is a scary looking man. I mean, he is someone I have feared on the mat for a long time. I never took an aikido class with him, because of my schedule and because I was afraid of him. He looks like a football player and when he attacks he comes at you all hardcore. He was one of my ukes for my last test and as soon as I saw that he was going to be my uke, I felt my stomach sink. I thought, "Oh shit." But, he looked like he was going to cry after the kids' test. I called him a sweetheart. It was a revelation to me. He took it well.
Anyway, he's one of those people who I can say has a calling to teach. I still doubt whether teaching is my calling. I can do it well, but I don't think I make the emotional connection to my students that I see in really really dedicated teachers. Whatever.
I think I'm more dedicated to story. And sometimes I teach story. Is that the same as being dedicated to the art and not the student? Can you do that and get away with it? For how long?
Maybe aikido is the best example of dedicated teaching. You've got people who do all this teaching, that they do not get paid for, and they do it for the love of the art and what the art gives people. So, people like Sensei Garza who works for the phone company, then goes to the dojo, and makes friends with everyone, and calls people when they stop coming to see what's up, and tries to make everyone welcome...this is dedication.
But I want to do what I want to do. And my wants are very simple and petty...I want to write. I want to read something other than student work. I want to be able to read something, just because it takes my attention (like Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks--I recommend it). I want to crochet and I want to sew clothes and I want to go out and go to concerts. Basically, I want to be on vacation. Really, this is my GLAMOROUS idea of a vacation...reading what I want when I want, crocheting, sewing, writing, aikido, yoga and sleeping until noon. Did I mention sleeping until noon? SLEEPING UNTIL NOON, without the least hint of shame. I'll make up for it by reading until 3 am, believe me, that's my internal clock. It's so hard to make my body function on normal people time.
Ok, as I write this I can see where I am at. I am ready for the semester to be over. That's what this is. I taught two classes at Columbia and I'm exhausted. I still have student work to read and grades to enter, but then I'm done for several weeks and I think I will need those weeks to recoup for the next round.
Yes it's a battle. Round 2!
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