Beth's Letter
To a Master Aikido Teacher
Write What You Know
"The key to good fiction is conflict" was my fiction writing instructor's mantra. Every fiction writer builds architecture for characters to inhabit while creating conflicts, making sparks fly and providing resolution. It is the flying sparks that seem to fascinate the reader most. She said my characters were too nice, that there was not nearly enough conflict in my work and sent me home with special homework: to watch WWF on television.
A friend suggested I take up martial arts instead, but being a woman in my mid-forties who had never been athletic, I couldn't imagine myself in such a physical, seemingly violent environment. A few days later, I was walking down the street in a snow storm, when for no apparent reason, I looked up to see the banner for the New York Aikikai, and to my left, a sign on the door that said "visitors welcome." I climbed the stairs and as I got closer to the top could hear the crash of breakfalls in an otherwise silent setting. That evening I bowed onto the mat for the first time.
I cried for three of the first four classes, weeping through the entire hour. I had lived in NY for 20 years and although I had never been mugged or otherwise attacked, there was always a vivid fear I carried with me. Here was the strike, again and again, the strike I had feared for 20 years. I had no idea how much it cost me to carry all that fear around. Although I'm not so sure that Aikido techniques will prove effective if I ever am attacked, what I do know is that the fear of being attacked, and the accompanying emotional undertow, is no longer part of my shadow.
I continued to go to class a couple of times a week, when I wasn't too black and blue to roll. The NY Aikikai has about 300 members, of which there are about 40-60 students per class, in five classes per day. All of the classes are mixed levels; you steal what you can learn, rather than being taught. About 80% of the dojo members are men, and there is a very high level of physical energy. It is a very yang place. As I bowed onto the mat, I would say a little prayer for protection. It scared the wits out of me, but as the weeks went by, I was less and less intimidated as I learned how to take better ukemi. Endless lessons of how to roll, how to fall and roll, how to break fall and how to get up again.
By the end of April I had lost 20 pounds, and had clarity and balance I had never known before. Having never been an athlete, I was amazed at what my body was doing, although my proprioception was still nascent at best. My mental health was better than it had been in years, and my meditation practice was stronger than ever. I had much less fear on the mats, and craved the high from class, which I attributed to being thrown and rolling out, head over heels. Aikido was a wonderful sport.
In July I went to California on business for a month. The first week I was there coincided with the West Coast Aikido Summer Camp at Menlo College just down the block from where I was living. I didn't train that week, but watched several classes taught by Robert Nadeau Sensei. During the first class, a student asked for advice about anticipating a roll when taking ukemi, and not waiting to be thrown by nage. I heard Nadeau say, "If you don't know where you are, you can't know where you're going." My ears grew about three inches. I suddenly realized that the practice of Aikido was not a sport at all, but the practice of life. It was redolent with metaphor, with lessons, and with guidance if I chose to listen.
That month in California, not only did I attend beginner classes for the first time under Frank Doran Sensei and work on the basics, but I also drove into San Francisco twice a week to study with Nadeau. He talked about Fred and Ginger dancing as we worked on blending, which I didn't completely understand, because although I got the concept, I couldn't feel the energy. I started to read about Aikido-philosophy and essays- and felt the words leap off the pages. I had spent my whole life looking for this philosophy; it was as if it was written just for me, or for that matter, I had written it myself.
I returned to NY Akakai in August and focused on technique in order to test for 5th Kyu in the end of September. I memorized the language and memorized the dance. Although I rationally knew Aikido was about a flow of energy, all I could do was to focus on nailing the technique. I took a class for the first time I could remember with Yamada Sensei, who travels extensively, and made it a point to introduce myself. He said with a chuckle, "I know who you are, you're the Crying Girl." I was mortified, but then realized how far I had come in seven months.
On the day I tested for 5th Kyu, I pulled my psoas muscle and it kept me off the mats for six weeks. Two different healers said that with the changes I'd been going through, it was no wonder I had tweaked my psoas. It is the longest muscle in the body, the core of the proprioceptive nervous system. Known as the Identity Muscle, it has a profound influence on the mind, body and emotions. While I was healing, I continued to research Aikido, specifically with regard to a winter escape in a warm place. I discovered Mutsuko Minegishi Sensei, a 6th degree Japanese lady black belt, which is the highest rank women have obtained in the art. She ran dojos in Saipan and Guam.
By January, the journey to Guam had become especially important. I had decided over the Christmas holidays, after flirting with the idea for a year, to finally leave New York City and move home to Nantucket. I had moved to New York from Nantucket in 1983 to help open the DeMarco Restaurant, and subsequently over the course of 15 years, founded, built and sold a construction consulting business. Five weeks in Guam was to be a physical and spiritual retreat in preparation for breaking my bonds with Manhattan.
I entertained the idea that on a Micronesian Island they would practice a softer Aikido than the style taught by the NY Aikikai. I had the idea that a woman's interpretation and teaching style would be more fluid, more flowing. That the further west I went, the softer and more graceful the style of Aikido would be. I had this idea that I would be working on breathing, and moving energy, especially now that I had some familiarity with the vocabulary, the footwork and the techniques.
I could not have been more wrong. Minegishi Sensei is a force of nature, and out to prove that she is not a little old lady although she is under 5' tall, almost 65 and female. She was very physical, very tough and very forceful. She had extremely high standards, tiny classes (2 to 8 people) and watched my every move. She thought nothing of yelling through most of the class, mostly in Japanese, although her English was impeccable. She was a stickler for technique, and wouldn't let me continue if my grip was wrong to begin with. She taught posture, extension, angles, and geometry. She taught discipline and attention. She spoke in metaphors and demanded improvement. She ordered me to use my center, but wouldn't teach me how to use it. It was a battle of her determination against my cluelessness.
It was a harrowing experience to train with her, but I went six days a week, one to three classes a day. I was physically challenged and was in Epsom salts every night followed by Tiger Balm. But I was determined not to give up. During the fourth week I had a major breakthrough, which resonated not just in my Aikido, but also in my life. It was as if I finally lost all fear of being annihilated and if I were to be annihilated, then so be it. With that barrier down, the effortless power began to flow. It was an incredible feeling. It was worth the trip.
It's that flow of power I'm interested in studying now?the energy part of Aikido, and hopefully, to figure out how to fuse it with the techniques. I felt it briefly in February; I know what it feels like to listen with my skin, through my touch. And it was healing, cleansing, energizing. I felt plugged in to the energy of the universe. I felt I was in the right place at the right time, and not only felt completely present, but completely composed. I want to learn how to access this energy, how to have it in my life on a daily basis.
One of the things I realized when I moved to Nantucket two weeks ago, is that it is a much less difficult place to live than New York City. A subtle projection of energy can go a long way, and it reverberates in a small community. As well, the first few Aikido classes I attended before you were back, Lou, I discovered that my energy was overpowering as I was used to a much more aggressive atmosphere. I discovered my Aikido here could be much more subtle, my footwork more precise, my technique far more clean as it didn't need to contain as much force. Once again, my Aikido practice mirrored and reflected my life. The lesson was there for me if I chose to notice.
The reasons I choose to practice and dedicate myself to the discipline continue to evolve. It is the depth of possibility in what I can learn and how I can evolve through Aikido that excites me. As long as Aikido will serve as a companion and a guide along the way, as well as provide a path to physical, mental and spiritual well-being, I will seek Senseis and practice the art. If through Aikido, there is a possibility with blending with the will of the universe, then it is the path for me.
After all, in fiction writing classes, they always say you write what you know. Last year, I wasn't very good about writing about conflict. I was too afraid of it, worried about how many ways I could get hurt, so preferred to avoid discord at all costs. Through Aikido, I've become able to stand in the face of conflict, step off the line, and let it go by. I've learned to transform the attack in a non-violent way without escalating the situation and have applied it to verbal as well as physical situations. I haven't written fiction since I began to study Aikido, but plan to do so while here on Nantucket. I am curious to employ my new tools to my imagination and see what emerges.
It is a gift to be a peacemaker in this world. If I can learn to align my energy with the energy of the divine and as a result bring understanding, through understanding there can be peace. If I can learn to do this, then it is not just a gift, it is my responsibility.
We are all on our own path and in the end we all have to find our own way. We are lucky if we can occasionally find teachers who can show us a thing or two. I would be honored if you would take me on as a student while I am here on Nantucket. I look forward to the opportunity to learn from you.
Beth Lochtefeld, Spring of 2004