How I Found Aikido on the Way - by Marie-Claire Dubé

Ever since the 70's, I have been fascinated with the martial arts, specifically the Chinese martial arts.  Perhaps it was the cultural appropriations of the Kung Fu series, starring David Carradine, which was also to defer, for a little while, our discovery of Bruce Lee.  Perhaps it is something about the Chinese people themselves.  I like their ready smiles and sense of fun.

I cannot explain in any rational way the pull that the Chinese martial arts have had on me over the years.  I have realized-and accept-that my attractions function at a purely intuitive level.  Like a pollinating insect attracted to the bright color or the scent of a flower, I am drawn in, flutter about, fly off, double back, and eventually light and investigate.

Towards the end of the last century (sic!), we lived close to a park where more than a few Asians practiced tai chi every morning. Captivated, I always scheduled my walks to coincide with their practice.  In February 2000, my son came back from his Hsing yi class and announced that his sifu also taught chi gong and tai chi to "a bunch of old people" in the corner of the gym where his classes were held. "You should come, Mom."  (You've got to love a son who wants to bring his mom to his kung fu class!!) It took me a while, but in September, I tentatively entered the gym and was greeted by a warm smile and a chuckle-and an immediate admonishment.  Sifu looked me up and down and announced that my posture was all wrong. (Who knew?)  He immediately gave my earlobes a jerk. (The beginning of the Great Reversal, I suspect, wherein I was to lose all the bad habits that my western body had acquired.) There is a saying in Chinese that when the student is ready, the teacher appears. We worked on my posture, stance, and breathing for six years. I was introduced to chi gong,  learned the short form of tai chi, and worked at developing internal strength. I even participated in the kung fu workouts, during which we had to stand for long minutes at a time in a just-so horse stance.  To this day, when I meet up with sifu, he looks me up and down and, thankfully, nods approvingly. 

But the butterfly had once again begun to flit about. I was enticed by another attraction: swordplay.  And that is how I ended up at Jiseikan, where I was fortunate enough to find not just a second, but a third teacher.  I began to study the long form and was eventually introduced to swordplay. I was very satisfied with things as they were, but one day, Lau Sensei, seeing the Things I Couldn't See, suggested I sign up for Aikido.  Everything I knew was mere theory, said he. I needed to apply the theory, he added. He was right, of course.  It made sense: I never had a brother; I had never thrown a punch in my life; I had only recently learned how to make a fist.  But Aikido?  That was a little intimidating.

Oh, I was not without some preconceived ideas: compared to the Chinese martial arts, the Japanese martial arts seemed stifling, formal and ritualistic, too serious-stern, even…not something I was accustomed to; most objectionable, there were belts and gis!  There had been no grading in the my sifu's kung fu classes, and we simply wore… whatever. Plus, I could not conceive of administering strikes. Sensei simply asked me where I got my ideas. It was the first of many times that I would hear him say, "Just do it."

That was in early 2007. I am now 61; I wear a gi and, yes, I have a colored belt.  I went on to discover a great deal of playfulness in my Aikido classes-as well as considerable thought in those stylized gestures and ritual. As it turns out, Aikido is the perfect complement to tai chi and shares the same Taoist principles. Tai chi introduced me to those principles, but Aikido is pointing the way to broader applications.

No-Thingness (wu wei)

The principle of no-thingness (also, emptiness) is reflected in the first position of the tai chi form. On a philosophical level, it is how one harmonizes with the world, letting things that come, come, and things that go, go. It is easy-I would say quite normal-to confuse wu wei with passivity. Aikido has taught me that no-thingness is NOT passivity or inaction.  On the mat, the principle translates into being sensitive and receptive to whatever "attack" may come.  This emptiness opens the mind to all the possibilities for self-defense that exist at that particular moment. Pre-conceived ideas, agendas, plans do not work here. What works is a heightened awareness of my partner, of her actions, and of the space around me.  Most of all, I need to be attentive to the possible "solutions" that are part of my creative horizon at any given moment. This actually means avoiding useless, ineffectual moves, and making the right move at the appropriate time. Far from passivity, it is complete involvement, and wu wei is preparation enough.

The Circle (enso)

I love watching an experienced aikidoka run circles around his opponent. The sheer beauty of his movements is distracting. When I can manage to see through the distraction, I realize that the opposite is actually happening:  the aikidoka is staying at the centre of the circle. Certainly the most famous "circle" is the tai chi symbol, with its black and white swirls representing yin and yang: things come and go; what has gone gives rise to the new. It is a metaphor for life, of course, but it is also a metaphor for what happens on the mat. The experienced aikidoka is actually staying at the centre of the activity swirling and twirling around him. Balance. Harmony. Sensitivity. Receptivity. The soft conquers the hard. The Centre of the Circle. Back to tai chi.

Such are my musings on Aikido.  There is a wonderful saying in French :  il y a loin de la coupe aux lèvres… Literally, it means the cup is far from the lips. In my case, it means I have a long way to go before I can either stay at the centre of any circle or select the suitable technique at the appropriate time when required, but I am a committed lifelong learner. I am comfortable with my own learning style and am confident that understanding follows bewilderment. As a teacher, I also know that confusion is an essential first-step to understanding. I worry when a student is NOT confused and has no questions. The uncertainty, hesitations, doubt, and insecurities that I feel with respect to Aikido represent no less than an exhilarating challenge. The path is long. I have many things to straighten out and plenty of work to do.  Where will all this lead?  Who cares? Does it even matter? It is all about the journey and the discoveries you make along the way. One will become two and two will become three and three will become ten thousand things.