In Aikido, we practiced futari ryote tori, where two people grab my wrists with both of their hands. I trained with 16-year-old Isabel and 15-year-old Nico. I threw them forward and backward in kokyunage (breath throw). I threw in nikkyo (wristlock). I threw in yoko-iriminage (strike to the side of the head). The attackers give me the technique. I apply the Aikido technique to myself. They apply the technique to themselves. That’s the training.
I threw Isabel and Nico with my feeling out, from my strength inside, from my one point, ki. I don’t cringe in fear in the attack. I don’t hold my fear inside. I let go my fear that I’m not good enough. I threw with my feeling out, with my feeling through the attackers. Not just at them. I connected inside with the attackers. They attacked me. Still, I work on myself, not on them. The attackers work on themselves, too. There is no fight.
As we trained, Isabel and Nico threw with their feeling out. They threw from their strength inside, not just from their muscles on the outside. They could do it. They were stronger than they knew. Just train.
After Aikido practice, I told Ishibashi Sensei that everyone is getting tougher. Although some students throw in anger, throw out of fear. Sensei smiled, “We gotta work on that.” I said it was important that everyone throws with their feeling out.
Sensei clarified, “You have to have the right intention. You have to have the right attitude.” That’s most important. More or less, the list is fluid.
Ishibashi Sensei placed his hand to his heart. He said, “We make the connection here.”
Amen.
The late Kobayashi Sensei said, “When someone attacks you, they are asking for your help.”
Someone attacks physically or emotionally out of fear. They might think they attack out of anger. Anger merely covers the fear they hold inside themselves, and won’t let go. They strike or say ugly things because they want help. Help them with their fear inside. In Aikido, Cognard Hanshi said that we heal the space between the attacker and us.
In the attack, I enter the danger, enter what I fear. The safest place to be is under the attack, in the danger. I hold my position. Make my distance. Make my timing. I open up. I let go my fear inside that I’m not good enough. Keep my feeling out. Keep my feeling through the attack, through the attacker. I match my center, ki, with their center, ki. Make the connection inside.
I work on myself, not on the attacker, not on them. I let the attacker pass or end the attack. The attacker chooses to take the fall or go down. They choose to let go their fear inside themselves or not. Ironically, that’s what they asked for. We both choose .
Someone grabs my wrist with both hands. Someone uses me until she can find the man who she could love. Either way, I let go my fear inside that I’m not good enough. That way, I help them let go their fear inside themselves. I make the connection. Heal the space between us. There is no fight. There never has to be one.
Someone attacks me because they are afraid inside, because they are asking for help. All their sound and fury signifies nothing. That’s their way of looking good, not looking weak. Their way of saving face, not getting shade. They’re just scared. As a man, I know what that’s like.
In the attack, in the danger, I keep my feeling out, make the connection inside the attacker. Make the connection here. They choose to let go their fear inside or keep holding on, keep suffering. I can’t make them do anything. Only they can change themselves.
I can’t make anyone do anything. I work on myself, not on them. That’s all I can do. They have to work on themselves. I guide. They must do something. They’re the only ones who can change themselves. No one else can. There is no fight. There never is. Therein lies the possibility of peace.
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