01.01.12
Posted in Aikido, Life, Writing at 12:20 pm by Kara
TOKYO — May 29, 2011
As we passed this sign posted on the wall of a shrine, Izawa Sensei paused. “Ah,” he nodded. “Very nice.”
He shared with our group — Blevins Sensei, Steve-san, Kent-san, Kenneth-san — what it said.
Yukkuri yuku kotowo osoreruna…
Tachidomaru koto dakewo osoreyo.
Fear not taking slow steps…
Fear coming to a halt (of not taking steps).
As we paused so I could take a picture, I realized this wisdom applied not only to my Aikido practice but to my life practice as well, and it will be my theme for 2012.
In our dojo, Blevins Sensei shares with us the secret of learning Aikido: getting through the door. If we can master this seemingly simple technique of coming to the dojo, bowing in, and stepping onto the mat day after day, week after week, year after year, we will make progress learning this challenging martial art. If we can’t master this, we won’t.
We also must acknowledge that to progress in Aikido, and in anything, we need to become comfortable with the discomfort of growth — choosing to experience uncomfortableness as we push past edges and self-imposed boundaries of what is possible today. But without taking the essential first step of getting through the door, and repeating it over and over and over and over and over, nothing else can happen.
As human beings, it seems we often want to miraculously travel from Here to There with no steps and no effort. Or we may mistakenly think that if every step isn’t huge, we might as well give up and not try at all. Sometimes we will take huge steps and make rapid progress. We should appreciate and savor these moments, but also revel in the knowledge that there’s power in simply taking a step, no matter how huge, how slow, or how small it is. When slow steps are all we can muster, we can honor the realization that slow steps are steps, not stagnancy, and slow steps are progress. No steps, however, will keep us rooted right here.
In the end, perhaps great progress is the result of the seemingly slow, small steps of commitment to the process and ongoing dedication to moving toward our goals, which are ironically and deliciously never reached because there are always more steps to take.
Fear not taking slow steps . . . fear coming to a halt. In this coming year, may we all embrace the sometimes slow steps that lie ahead and know that slow steps will lead to progress. In Aikido. In life. Step by slow step, we have the power to shape the future into what we envision.
As I welcome 2012, I’m excited about the opportunities awaiting me in my passions of Aikido and writing and the chances to help others however I can. The accomplishments I’ve set for myself this year will come from plain old hard work, focus, dedication, perseverance — all slow steps — combined with the gifts of time and imparted knowledge from the great teachers in my life.
Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu.
Happy New Year.
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09.21.11
Posted in Uncategorized at 4:39 am by Kara
It’s a quiet little day but one that I think deserves a little more attention. (http://www.thegratitudelist.org/archives/359)
I am deeply grateful for:
—the people (and animals) in my life, because every one of them is in my life for a reason. No coincidences that our paths have crossed, in my very humble opinion.
—both the challenging people whose edges have fostered my growth and for those whose mere presence softens my life, uplifts me, and inspires me to reach further than I ever thought I could.
—those who’ve walked with me and those who have allowed me the honor to walk with them through the shadows.
—the experiences of the past that have shaped me into what I am today and becoming tomorrow, and whomever I am a year from now. I just know it will be better in some way, and closer to who I am at the core.
—the pain, the joy, the rain, the sun, the wind, the smiles, the tears, the laughter, the sharing of souls. Every moment, every bit of it.
—the journey. And what a grand journey it is.
In gratefulness, thank you.
What are you grateful for?
When we change our daily lives—the way we think, speak, and act—we change the world.
–Thich Nhat Hanh
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06.19.11
Posted in Horses, Life at 7:38 pm by Kara
A big name for a very little donkey, but not nearly big enough to show the enormity of her heart.
I met little Sophie about three years ago at a crossroads in my life. Through all the changes that followed, she offered a gentleness and deep stillness…punctuated by unselfconscious braying if breakfast was late.
Her dark eyes under fringy eyebrows sparkled with a subdued mischieviousness. She was a model donkey in every way–great for the farrier, the vet, never any trouble, just wanting to be a quiet piece of a loving group.
Yet there was always a sense that Sophie struggled with something. She had phases of good months, healthy and spunky and bright, followed by phases of depression and little interest in eating.
She came out of winter hard this year. Thinner, somber. The sparkle was sporadic. This past week she had little interest in eating. I’d sit with her in the evenings, offering handfuls from a bucket of yummy food she normally loved. A hour later, she’d eaten maybe a couple cups.
My wonderful vet came and drew blood for lab work. He took it straight to the clinic and called a few hours later, saying the sooner she could come in to the vet clinic, the better. The results weren’t good. Always such an easy donkey, she loaded right into the trailer and we headed to the clinic.
I was really hoping, praying, that a long “spa weekend” being pumped full of IVs and whatever else she required would bring her back to her old self. I tried to ignore the voice that said the horse trailer would be empty when I drove home later.
Vets aren’t much for drama. They’re usually quite understated and matter of fact. The vet on call ran the ultrasound over Sophie’s thin sides, made even thinner being soaked wet with rubbing alchohol, and showed me her kidneys. She said they were the worst she’d ever seen, said in the same tone and with the same emotion as one might share the time of day or temperature at which to cook a stewing chicken. Even to me, I could tell these were not healthy organs.
Little Sophie was in renal failure, and the vet said this sort of damage didn’t happen quickly. She’d been compensating with kidney disease for many many years. Nothing we could do would fix it, nothing we could do would help her be healthy. Nothing we could do…except I suppose that hardest, most difficult yet perhaps most gracious decision to offer the one gift we can at these times. To give our loved animals a quicker way out of pain.
The sunset was particularly complex as we said goodbye. Strands of light reaching down to the mountains and reflected back up through layers of clouds and colors.
Sophie O’Hagan Murphy Stewart, it’s been a joy to know you. So much heart and courage in such a little donkey. Now you’re belly deep in green grass with new friends all around. Until we meet again, sparkle little one.
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04.25.11
Posted in Life, Uncategorized, Writing at 1:22 pm by Kara
Sometimes, I stumble upon a piece of writing that speaks so deeply to a part of my soul that I feel it was more a gift than coincidence. Here is one such piece. Thank you, Ms. Shihab Nye, for capturing this so beautifully.
Before You Know What Kindness Really Is
by Naomi Shihab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.
–Naomi Shihab Nye, from The Words Under the Words
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01.04.11
Posted in Life at 2:07 pm by Kara
The unmistakable clunk of clean tennis shoes in the dryer punctuates the otherwise quiet house as I go about my post-holiday straightening.
A few days ago, a good friend and I met for lunch and then we went for walk. Being as it’s winter, and it was a very cold day, I wore my favorite down jacket. Mind you, this isn’t a 1970s puffy quilted down jacket. I think it’s rather classic and refined, and it’s my favorite teal green color, with purple sleeves and an orangey-yellow collar lining.
I chose to wear it that day because growing up in the mountains forged in me the notion that being warm is way more important than being fashionable. Back then (in the days of rear-wheel-drive everything), you never knew when you’d get stuck in a snow bank and have to dig out your car, or your friend’s car, or walk uphill both ways to school, for heaven’s sake. Life and death rested on the choice of one’s coat. Or so we were taught.
As I was putting on my coat to leave the restaurant, my friend got a look on his face.
“What?” I asked. He was looking at my coat, which I admit was in need of a wash. We walked out to the parking lot. The look on his face got more serious.
“You know, maybe it’s time for a new coat.”
I agreed it needed to be washed and thought that’s what he meant.
He got more specific. “I think you need a new coat.”
“Why, what’s wrong with my coat?! It’s just dirty!” I was laughing, realizing perhaps he had a point, and a little embarrassed at my lack of housekeeping in the down coat department.
We got to the park for our walk and the topic came up again. OK, I was listening now, and I was starting to listen with more than just my ears.
Still, in my head I ran through the reasons why it’s a perfectly good coat. It’s certainly not worn out, and it’s still as warm and bright and refined as they day I bought it…. As if reading my thoughts, my friend then asked, “Just what year did you actually buy that coat?”
I had to really think. Maybe 1994. Or 1996. All I knew is it was well before 2000, because for some reason I could remember where I worked when I bought it at the Presidents’ Day sale at the Woolrich outlet store, and that told me the general year. Ahem, or at least the decade. OK, that was a looooong time ago. I was getting the hint.
We kept walking. Interspersed among other topics of good conversation, the coat came up again. Maybe I could get something a little more up to date, he suggested. A little more current.
He might have been sharing his comments on a completely superficial level—truly about the appearance of my coat and nothing more. But he’s a very thoughtful and perceptive person, so I think his thoughts may have had a little more depth to them. Without saying as much, maybe he was telling me that the person who’d bought that coat on sale more than a decade ago no longer existed. I was a different person and maybe it was time to find a coat that suited this new person I had become and am still becoming.
Interesting how it took a friend’s awareness and unclouded perceptions to help me realize that the coat just might be a symbol of (or maybe an anchor to) the past. It was time to let it go and move forward.
And so the next day began The Coat Project 2011: finding a new coat that better reflects the me who greeted this fresh new year with an open heart, quiet strength, and uplifted emotions, the me who is ready to face — and instigate sometimes 
— lots of changes and growth in this glorious year that awaits.
When the tennis shoes quit clunking and the dryer buzzer sounds, I’ll know my clean and fresh down coat is dry, fluffy, and ready to make the trip to my local thrift store. There, it will find another owner who loves teal green as much as I do, and I will say goodbye to a reminder of a past that’s long gone and has been replaced by much better things.
I’m on the hunt for a new coat now. It will be something more current, more suited to me, and one that fits in more ways than just sizing. With any luck, it’ll be on sale, too.
Thanks, my friend, for helping me shed another layer.
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06.28.10
Posted in Life, Uncategorized at 9:20 pm by Kara
A couple months ago. I read the following quote in a book that has helped me tremendously. “Broken Open: How Difficult Times Can Help Us Grow,” by Elizabeth Lesser, suggests that the challenging times we all face, to one extent or another, are not times to be shunned or run away from or pushed under a facade of happiness and “I’m just fine”ness. Rather, these are times to be embraced, cherished, and explored for the gifts they can offer in learning how to face our fears and deal productively with pain.
But this isn’t about facing fear with a defiant, angry, I Will Win No Matter What sort of mindset. It’s about nurturing and developing the strength to face our fears with a soft heart. That is true fearlessness.
I share this quote in hopes it helps another soul who’s navigating a rocky part of the journey.
The Heart of the Warrior
Going beyond fear begins when we examine our fear: our anxiety, nervousness, concern, and restlessness. If we look into our fear, if we look beneath the veneer, the first thing we find is sadness, beneath the nervousness.
Nervousness is cranking up, vibrating all the time. When we slow down, when we relax with our fear, we find sadness, which is calm and gentle. Sadness hits you in your heart, and your body produces a tear. Before you cry, there is a feeling in your chest and then, after that, you produce tears in your eyes. You are about to produce rain or a waterfall in your eyes and you feel sad and lonely and perhaps romantic at the same time.
That is the first tip of fearlessness, and the first sign of real warriorship. You might think that, when you experience fearlessness, you will hear the opening to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony or see a great explosion in the sky, but it doesn’t happen that way. Discovering fearlessness comes from working with the softness of the human heart.
For the warrior, the experience of sad and tender heart is what gives birth to fearlessness. Conventionally, being fearless means that you are not afraid, or that if someone hits you, you will hit him back. However, we are not talking about that street-fighter level of fearlessness. Real fearlessness is the product of tenderness.
– Chogyam Trungpa
from “Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior”
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04.12.10
Posted in Life at 9:31 pm by Kara
A good and wise friend of mine, who also is a computer expert, shared an idea that has helped me a lot recently. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will help me a great deal in the future as well.
The notion is simple and powerful in its simplicity.
When it comes right down to it, perhaps most decisions in our lives can be approached the way computers use ones and zeros to create a plethora of resulting information, from complex equations to the most elaborate video games. Every piece of data is a one or a zero, not a 1.75 or a 0.3987. It’s a one, or it’s a zero. Plain as that.
He shared with me this notion and how we might apply it to our lives. Perhaps ones and zeros can simplify decision making and help us move beyond agonizing about something, endlessly weighing pros, cons, potential effects on other people, other people’s reactions, or the grandest folly of all: that we
think we can actually control outcomes.
Something is or something isn’t. It’s a one or a zero. Next time I have a decision to make or information to weigh, I will ask myself, “Is this a one or a zero?” And I’ll go with the answer.
When I wake up in the morning, eyes opening to the waxing light in the east, my gut tells me whether what I’m contemplating is a one or zero. It’s simply:
I want it: One.
I do not want it: Zero.
It can’t be 0.5: “It would be a lot easier if I continue to suck it up, settle for the status quo, and let this thing take up space in my life that I’d rather keep open for things I do want. Settling may feel like a slow death, but settling is a lot easier than actually changing the situation.”
Along these same lines, another friend shared her belief that when we flip a coin, we actually are hoping for either head or tails. If we listen to that deeper voice, we will hear the whisper of what we want the outcome to be. We want the coin to land one way or another based on the answer we want to be
given. We really don’t want a random outcome. Our preference for heads or tails shows us what we really want, and it might be good to listen to that.
So is it a one or a zero?
When I wake up and I know I want this in my life, I willingly and openly agree to all that I need to do to allow it into my life. I also am fully aware that just because I want this doesn’t necessarily mean it will be easy. Sometimes the right thing to do is the hard thing, not the easy thing.
Going back to college while working full time, building a business on the side, adopting a child, making plans to travel or live in another country…. All these potential decisions encompass challenges and even struggle, but the end results are worth all the effort if it’s a one and it’s something I choose to have in my life. Alongside the reality of hard work, there’s an unshakeable excitement about taking the steps to get there.
When I wake up and realize I don’t want something, or if I’m considering it because of shoulds or oughts or because of someone’s expectations, that has a whole different feel. Heavy, weighty, like drudgery might feel if it embodied a physical sensation. When that feeling prevails, especially dawn after dawn, it’s time to listen to it.
Is it a one or a zero? Do I want it in my life more than anything, and I’m happy and willing to take the sometimes difficult steps to accomplish it? That’s what I need to do — grab this one with conviction.
If I don’t get that feeling, it’s better to let go of this zero and move forward.
When I’m ready, the next one will appear.
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11.24.09
Posted in Aikido, Life at 6:05 am by Kara
Kokyu Nage
One of my favorite things in the fall is finding a deciduous tree with one branch turning yellow while the rest of the tree remains green. Or one leaf smolders orange amongst its still-green siblings.
To me, this signifies endings and beginnings in one simple, elegant statement. Where does summer end and fall begin? For a space in time, endingsandbeginnings are inseparable.
On Saturday, November 7, 2009, I tested for my first degree black belt in Aikido. Known as “Shodan” — the first of the black belt ranks — it’s an important step on the path of this martial art. And yet it’s not really a step at all but an endingandbeginning — a natural and essential progression on this path, resulting from hard work, dedication, commitment, and immense help from one’s teacher and dojo, and leading to more steps on this life-long journey that never ends.
Les-san's beautiful ukemi.
One season flows into the next, one year of practice flows into the next. Leaf colors and belt colors may change, but the practice and the process continue.
Many years ago, I heard it said that earning a black belt only means you’re a serious student, nothing more. I may have first heard it from my horse teacher Mark Rashid, who also teaches Aikido. It’s because of Mark that I started Aikido, and I thank him for bringing me to this path that is now an integral part of my life.
To many people, especially in America, a black belt seems to mean that you’ve attained the pinnacle of your martial arts achievement. The hard work is over. Now, as Steve Martin once said, “You are somebody!” Now you can coast a bit on the knowledge you’ve gained. Some people even quit after earning a black belt.
But really, the journey isn’t over, it’s just beginning. My teacher, Andrew Blevins Sensei, shared that in Japanese, “Sho” in Shodan means “beginner, beginning, fresh, new” — ah, not quite the pinnacle of achievement, now is it?
The more I train, the more I fully understand this notion. Only now do I understand some of the basics and can apply them more freely both on and off the mat. Only now, with some knowledge of the basics, can I start really learning about Aikido: we have to learn to walk before we can run. Only now is more of my Aikido being done from muscle memory and feel instead of thought and mental processing. I’m also starting to see that only now can I start to make my Aikido my own, based on my body type and approach.
Yes, I’ve worked hard to come to this place on the path. The process of being ready to test for Shodan didn’t start a couple months ago; it started the first time I bowed in at Kiryu Aikido with Blevins Sensei. It took a lot of hard work, struggle, commitment, and focus from the very beginning. Testing for Shodan was not my goal, but I knew it was a step I would need to commit to on this journey.
As Blevins Sensei shared with me a few tests ago, this is not an easy path, but the rewards are immeasurable if you choose to continue to push forward and do the hard work required. I think Aikido is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. It hasn’t come easily to me but I think I make up for it with determination, dedication, and sometimes stubborn commitment to persevering and keeping with it. And along the way, I discovered the joy that comes from practice for practice’s sake and the deep changes that come simply from staying on the path.
Jo Dori
There have been a lot of challenges along the way; polishing off ego and smoothing off the rough edges from a human being are painful processes, and I’ve got a long way to go. And along with hard work there is indescribable joy and boundless contentment. And huge, positive life changes. Perhaps it’s the hard work and the getting up one more than we’re thrown that makes the lessons so deep and profound.
While testing for Shodan is important as a necessary step to continue on, I’ve come to see it as similar to working toward a diploma, whether high school, college, or graduate school. I study hard, put in the time and the effort, earn good grades, stay focused, keep committed to the outcome. If I do that and stay on track, I will earn the diploma.
But a diploma means nothing as it hangs on a wall. I may be finished with that stint, and be proud I stuck it out, but the work isn’t over. It’s not the diploma that has meaning; it’s what I do with it, where I go from there, and how I build on that knowledge to open doors to new horizons. Yes, earning it is important, but it’s only one step of many to come. A degree from Harvard doesn’t help much if the recipient chooses to sit in the coffee shop and Tweet instead of look for a job…. With my Aikido practice, I’m proud of the work I’ve put in and the challenges I’ve faced and overcome to reach this place. And now I look forward to using this basis of education to apply to my future learning and continue polishing the spirit. It doesn’t end here. It starts here.
To me, a Shodan test also underscores how “it takes a village” (the dojo) to get a student to that place. The student may be the one testing, but he or she wouldn’t be there, period, without the immense generosity in time and guidance given by the student’s teacher (Sensei) and senior students (Sempai). I’ve
been so blessed to have found a strong, healthy dojo from the first day of my practice at Kiryu Aikido. I’ve always known in my heart this is vital to a student’s growth.
Kotegaeshi
The hours my Sensei and Sempai have spent with me are humbling, and it’s not just about sheer time. It’s about their selfless giving of their knowledge and their hearts, and their dedication to push me past my own boundaries in a safe way rather than letting me continue on the same plateau…that is a true gift.
As I finished the test and bowed out, first to Les-san (my Sempai who gave me the honor of being my Uke), then to our senior Aikido advisors Kei and Mariquita Izawa Sensei, and finally to Blevins Sensei and Albright Sensei, I realized something.
A Shodan test is a snapshot of where a student is on the path for that day and in that moment. The test pulls back the layers and shows what the student truly knows and has been learning. The test probably won’t be perfect; there will be things that could have been done better. But the test will bring out what the student knows and has been practicing all along.
As Sensei, Les-san, and Mark have shared with me many times, we are what we practice. A test shows what we know, today. Raw, unfettered, exposed. If we’ve been practicing as hard as we can and as focused as we can, we will bring some of that to the test because it reflects how we’ve been practicing and the expectations of our teachers every class.
In contrast, if we’ve been practicing with sloppy techniques or lack of Zanshin, our hopes to improve that in a test probably won’t happen. In my experience, it’s not possible to bring in the “I WANT to bring X, Y, or Z to my test.” We bring what we know and what is true for us — we bring what we’ve been practicing. In my test, I would have loved to have brought huge round powerful elegant dynamic flowing movement to every single bit of it. I daresay I didn’t — and how cool that I have all these things to work on for the next part of this journey.
I felt good about my test. I know that I gave it my all, 100%, and I had the best test possible I could have on that day. Was it perfect? Naaa. And my Aikido’s not perfect in the dojo. And that’s why I think it’s great that the test captured where I am in my Aikido journey now. It showed some of the strengths and the many things I will be working on in the coming years. That is the beauty of this. It’s never over; the polishing and the growth never stop. That is an immense gift and one I’m so thankful for.
As I bow into practice a few days after the test, I start the next steps of this journey with my Sensei and Sempai and dojo. I look forward to repaying a tiny bit of their kindness to me by helping others find the joy that results from the hard work, commitment, and dedication to their practice. It doesn’t happen overnight, but class after class, day after day, year after year, practice can lead to amazing things and spending time with wonderful people.
Endingsandbeginnings. I look forward to getting to work and discovering what lies ahead.
Arigatou gozaimasu, Sensei, Les-san, Cory-san, and John-san, for all your help. And Keith-san and Bob-san for the gift of practicing with you. It’s an honor to share this path with all of you.
Kiryu Aikido dojo: Keiko Osame 2008
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10.07.09
Posted in Wednesday's Wonderful Word, Writing at 5:54 am by Kara
Yes, it’s back!
Most every Wednesday, I’ll share a word that’s unusual, unfamiliar, or otherwise interesting (well, from my point of view, anyway).
When I attended the A Room of Her Own Foundation’s writer’s retreat in August at the Ghost Ranch, I heard a new word that resonates with me on many levels. I simply love it.
Today’s word:
liminal (adj):
1. of or relating to a sensory threshold
2. barely perceptible
3. of, relating to, or being an intermediate state, phase, or condition; in-between, transitional
usage: The old man was in the liminal state between life and death
Wikipedia describes it quite well (below). At AROHO, we also talked about it being like a snake shedding its skin. It’s vulnerable, open, raw. And absolutely an essential part of life with the transitions, passages, and events we must experience to get further on our journeys. Either that, or we stay in a shell and stop growing.
Wikipedia:
Liminality (from the Latin word līmen, meaning “a threshold”) is a psychological, neurological, or metaphysical subjective, conscious state of being on the “threshold” of or between two different existential planes, as defined in neurological psychology (a “liminal state”) and in the anthropological theories of ritual by such writers as Arnold van Gennep, Victor Turner, and others.
In the anthropological theories, a ritual, especially a rite of passage, involves some change to the participants, especially their social status.
The liminal state is characterized by ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy. One’s sense of identity dissolves to some extent, bringing about disorientation. Liminality is a period of transition where normal limits to thought, self-understanding, and behavior are relaxed – a situation which can lead to new perspectives.
Do you have a favorite word that needs a little publicity? Send it on over!
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08.23.09
Posted in Aikido, Horses, Life at 8:52 pm by Kara
Many thanks to Crissi McDonald for permission to use her photos.
Ah, what could be better than a long weekend combining Aikido, horses, good friends, great teachers, and the stellar setting of Estes Park, Colorado?
Not much!
All this and more was wrapped up into the first-ever “Aikido for Horsemen” workshop August 1-3. This weekend was such a success that more workshops have been planned for this fall and winter.
Mark working with several of us during our day with the horses.
As you may know, Mark Rashid (www.markrashid.com) has been practicing the Japanese martial art of Aikido for several years and brings many of its tenets to his horsemanship, teaching, and life…it’s all related, after all.
Bless the Teachers
Before I share a little of what I learned, I want to give thanks for the great teachers in my life. Interesting thing about teachers…the good ones can affect you in more and deeper ways than just the subject matter they teach. I’ve had the honor of working with Mark for more than a decade, and it’s been a gift to see and feel his work transform over the years. Knowing him and working with him has changed my life for the better in so many ways. And now I’m blessed to have another great teacher in my life, Andrew Blevins, my Aikido teacher at Kiryu Aikido. Truly, I’m becoming a better person because of their help, their time, and what they’re teaching me.
Aikido and Horses: Strange Bedfellows?
So, how does Aikido relate to our work with horses? Before I left for the weekend, one of my Sempai (senior students in my dojo) was kidding with me. Would we be doing a Yonko on a hind leg? Perhaps an Irimi Nage around the horse’s neck? Or would we be practicing our ukemi skills from atop a cantering horse, launching into a lovely forward roll? I wasn’t exactly sure what Mark would cover, but I knew whatever it was would get me a little further on my path.
Katie and Jack working beautifully together, illustrating Aikido for Horsemen.
Thirteen students arrived at the Estes Park dojo Saturday afternoon for the inagural Aikido for Horsemen workshop. With name tags on t-shirts or gi tops, we introduced ourselves and got to work. In addition to Mark and Crissi, we were honored to be learning from Mark’s teacher, Shihan Adams, and Joel York Sensei. They were so kind to give us their time and their focus for the weekend. Shannon Brown, one of Mark’s student teachers, also helped out.
Aikido for Horsemen workshop teachers: Joel York Sensei, Shihan Adams, Mark Rashid Sensei, Crissi McDonald, Shannon Brown
Because half of Aikido is ukemi — learning how to fall, roll, and protect oneself — we spent much of the next 4 hours doing back falls, side falls, forward and backward rolls, and of course slapping and tucking our chin. The benefit of this work for riders is that learning to fall and roll safely can help decrease the fear some riders have of falling off. If they can roll in the dojo and not get hurt, if they can learn to fall and slap and not get hurt, this will translate to their confidence in riding.
Between this first class and the end of the second day in the dojo, even students who had never practiced Aikido before were feeling much more confident in their abilities.
Shannon and I explore synchronized ukemi...perhaps a new Olympic sport.
On the third day, we took these experiences to the barn to explore with Mark and Crissi’s wonderful four-legged teachers. Over the long weekend, I learned or became more deeply aware of a lot of life lessons. Here are just a few of my ruminations.
Fitness and Empathy
If we’re asking our horse to do physically difficult things, we should be able to do them as well. Or, at least, have empathy for what we’re asking our horse to do.
To help us with body awareness and to introduce a way to incorporate fitness into our lives, we did some CrossFit workouts and exercises, including pushups, pullups, squats, and a really fun one called the Hollow Rock — the perfect example of bringing a better balanced, more fit human body to our horse so he can better do what we’re asking.
The Hollow Rock starts with us lying on our back, arms stretched overhead and toes pointed. From there, we engage our abs and keep our back flat on the floor. Working from our center, we raise our head/arms/shoulders and feet off the floor. If we’re strong enough and correctly positioned, we can start rocking like a rounded rock, gently back and forth.
For most students, even lifting legs and shoulders was a challenge. For those of us who could rock, it was much less round than it should have been.
Mark walked by as we were exploring this and casually (yet not accidentally) mentioned, “This is what your horse is doing when you ask him to collect.”
The quiet in the dojo underscored what I think Mark intended. If we as riders can’t “collect” by using our abs and raising our arms and legs, thereby lengthening our topline, how dare we, really, ask our horses to do the same? It’s hard work, this. It takes a lot of conditioning, strength, and practice. And if we expect our horses to go around in self-collection without laying the groundwork and being fit enough to do it ourselves, well, that doesn’t seem entirely fair.
And if riders don’t have the fitness to do several reps of pushups, squats, and assisted pullups, we can’t very well ask our horses in good conscience to do the equine equivalents. Can we? We all can improve, no matter what level we’re at right now, and that’s another message from Mark and Shihan Adams
Keep Learning, Keep Working
As riders and Aikido students, Shihan Adams and Mark both emphasized that our work is never done. Life isn’t about doing what’s easy. It’s about doing what’s difficult so it becomes easier. Otherwise we just keep improving what we’re already pretty good at and ignore all the other stuff that we really need to work on. Learning and growing isn’t about being comfortable.
My Aikido teacher Blevins Sensei has shared the same thing. If we want to improve in our Aikido practice, we need to push ourselves and that means choosing to get out of our comfort zone, every class. For me, it means never being very comfortable for very long. And that’s a good thing. And sometimes it’s a little daunting. And that’s a good thing.
A good teacher, again, is priceless, because they know how far they can push us. With a good teacher, you”ll stretch farther than you ever thought you could on your own.
Connection and Presence
Connection was another element we explored a lot. In Aikido, the word Zanshin means, as far as I understand it, continuing awareness. It’s the presence we bring to our practice, from the moment we bow onto the mat to when we bow off a couple hours later. It’s staying present and in the moment, which is important to our safety and other’s safety as we practice. And it extends an energy, an intent, to our partner that we are connected and we are in control.
Talented and experienced martial artists extend this presence and you absolutely feel it. Shihan Adams gave a great example of this working with York Sensei. In working with our horses, we need to have presence as well. It starts from the moment we enter the paddock or stall and continues the entire time we’re with our horse. It’s not a negative or domineering energy, but rather it’s in control and confident. It gives our horses the confidence that we’ll make decisions that will keep them safe.
Developing focus and presence are life goals and apply in every area of my life.
Breathing
Something Mark has been teaching for many years is the importance of breathing. “In and out,” he says. Because while many people may breathe in, they’ll hold their breath and only partially exhale. I recently started studying with a meditation teacher, and something he suggests is to try to not miss a breath during our day. By that he means keep a slight awareness of every breath we take, because when we do that, we’ll be much better connected to the present and the moment at hand. Oh, yes, this is a life-long goal. It’s so easy to let ourselves get attracted by bright, shiny objects of thought or whatever and pretty soon we’re well down a bunny trail. If we can catch those sooner, and bring ourselves back to the present, we have a better chance of practicing the mindfulness many of us seek.
It’s the same while working with our horses (or sitting in our cubicles, or driving the car, or shopping for groceries). But with horses, attention to breathing can positively influence both our more simple interactions — picking up a foot via an exhale and an intent rather than using muscle to physically pick up the leg — and more tenuous moments such as when our horse is startled or frightened. In those few moments, our reaction can change the outcome. If we hold our breath, tense up, and shut down, our horse reads those as clear and alarming signals that this situation is as scary and dangerous as they think it is! Woohoo, and that’s when you can find yourself in the next county within seconds, or on the ground if you’re not in balance. But if we relax, breathe, and have the intent that nothing bad is happening, our horse will usually get over his fright in a couple seconds.
Rocky and I blend our energy and flow the same direction. What a joy to learn from this talented teacher!
Breathing and relaxing go hand in hand with Aikido. If I’m not breathing, my center is usually in my forehead and I’m resorting to using muscle instead of my hips. Or I’m fearful and tensing up. Whatever is happening, not breathing is not a good thing.
Taking it Forward
Aikido/horsemanship/life are intertwined for me. So I wasn’t surprised, but I did smile, as I was back at work following the workshop. Walking down the long hall to the office, I was mentally practicing my forward and backward rolls. (That’s an interesting feeling…walking forward while practicing a back roll in my head). And when things were getting a little tense with a project our team was working on, I was consciously staying with my breath and extending presence in hopes of offering a little calming, in-control energy. While walking through a crowded store, I tapped into the spatial awareness we’d explored in the dojo with the three-person weave…and later the three-horse weave.
Cool stuff, this is. And even more rewarding are all the interrelationships I can find if I just take a second to be aware of them.
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