In Aikido, we practiced ryu-katatetori where the attacker grabs my wrist with both of their hands. I practiced the technique for ikkyo, nikkyo, and sankyo – different wrist locks. Ishibashi Sensei instructed to make the attacker, uke, accelerate their attack to grab my wrist. In the moment of the attack, I pivot in tenkan, change the direction, and make the uke speed up to grab my wrist.
If the attacker stops grabbing my wrist, I can strike them to the face with that hand. The attacker keeps attacking to protect themselves, out of self preservation. They choose. I look to the direction where I want to move. I turn 270 degrees to my position. I let the attacker grab me. I apply the technique to myself, not to the attacker. The attacker applies the technique to themselves and takes the fall. That’s the training. No fight.
When I pivot in tenkan, I make the attacker move. Accelerate their attack. Now, the attacker and I look the same direction. I see what they see. They see what I see. There is no conflict. There is no fight. Ishibashi Sensei said that looking the same direction is a metaphor. He was right.
When the attacker and I look at each other, there can be the possibility of conflict. When we look the same direction, there is no conflict. No fight. I can let the attacker pass or end the attack. The attacker can take the fall or stand down. We both choose.
When I pivot, I change the attack. Change my reflection. I’m the reflection of my attacker. The reflection of my fear inside me. My fear that I’m not good enough. The attacker and I now look the same direction. We are the same. When someone attacks, I don’t oppose. I don’t aggress against aggression. There is no fight. There never is.
In Aikido, matching up with the attack and attacker is awase. In awase, the attacker and I are one. We are the same. When someone attacks physically, verbally, or emotionally, I change the attack so that the attacker and I look the same direction. I see what they see. They see what I see. When we look the same direction, I can have compassion. I see what makes them happy, what makes them angry, what makes them afraid. I open up.
For 17 years, my late Dad and I went salmon fishing in Alaska every July. Dad passed away a few years after that. When I was 8 years old, Dad terrified the hell out of me. I never knew what I did or didn’t do that made him so angry at me. I was not good enough for Dad. I was not good enough for myself, either. I was so very sad.
I spent the week with Dad fishing on the Kenai River. I was with Dad’s most authentic self. Not the one abused by his own father. Not the one who was afraid inside not knowing how to raise me. Dad was his most authentic self doing what he loved most: fishing. Dad’s favorite thing to do on Planet Earth was fishing for sockeye salmon along the banks of the Kenai River with that fly fishing reel I got him.
On one of our annual fishing trips, Dad taught me how to fish for sockeye. He was the Sockeye Fishing Sensei of the Kenai River. People from all around the country would literally plan their fishing trips at the lodge so that they could fish with Dad.
We got up early in the morning and fished on the riverbank at Dad’s favorite fishing spot. He showed me what to do by catching a sockeye salmon in 10 minutes. I’m not kidding. Later I cast my fishing rod following the river current. Then I got salmon on my line. I set the hook like Dad said. I started reeling in the salmon. Dad shouted, “Keep your pole tip down!” I looked at him and thought, “WTF?” Then I got it. Keeping my pole tip in the water kept the salmon from breaking loose from the hook. Yeah, Dad was a man of few words.
I reeled the sockeye onto the riverbank. Dad netted the fish for me. It was a nice fish. I was so happy. So, was Dad. Dad gave me a big hug. Dad and I looked the same direction. I saw his love for me. I believe he saw mine for him, too.
In Dad’s eulogy in Honolulu, I told that story about Dad teaching me to fish for sockeye to gathered friends and family. In closing, I said, “I would like to think that Dad is fishing for sockeye at this favorite spot on the Kenai River. That he is happy. That he is at peace. I love you, Dad.”
In the bigger picture, don’t oppose. Don’t defend. Open up. Look the same direction. When we look the same direction there’s the possibility of love. Amen.
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: Unsplash
