Omote, Ura, and me

Last Thursday, thanks to Tonya (Whitt Sensei), I had a revelation regarding Kosetori Ikkyo, Ura. That's Ikkyo from a cross-hand grab out of ai-hanmi (which is when both Uke and Nage have the same foot forward -- both left, or both right -- what we called "closed stance").

First of all, I will point out that "Omote" and "Ura" have several interpretations in the Aikido world.  You can google them as well as I can.  In the interest of "full disclosure," in fact, I'll admit that I think the way we teach Omote and Ura at the Roanoke Budo Kai is not my favorite.  I'll explain.

In my past (admittedly limited) experience, but backed up by most of what I find on the internet, Omote usually means something like "to Uke's front side," or "to the front of Uke's center line."   Ura usually means "behind Uke," or "to the rear of Uke's center line."   Sometimes they even just mean "the standard technique" and "the alternate version."    

For us at the Kai, Omote and Ura mean something slightly different, and very specific:  Omote means "forward (relative to Nage's original position)," and Ura means "backward (relative to Nage's original position)."   

Once more, with feeling...    At the Kai, Omote and Ura are statically defined cardinal directions, relative to the original position of Uke and Nage.  In my past experience, they were dynamically defined descriptions of a relationship between Uke and Nage throughout the technique.   

As with most things in life, both viewpoints have merit.   In this case it's a little like "east and west" versus "left and right." If you're trying to find the restaurant, directions that say "head south on Interstate 81" can be more useful that "turn left on Interstate 81." Of course, if you're on Hershberger Road, "turn right onto Williamson Road" is probably more useful than "turn southeast."  

Treating Omote and Ura as cardinal directions in our dojo seems to add an element of precision to the training.  If you know exactly which direction you're supposed to end up moving, you can work toward that goal with purpose.  Precision is one of the hallmarks of our training at the Kai.  Also, I think a lot of our techniques are quite linear compared to other styles, and I think the cardinal directions definitions suit that style well.  

On the other hand, I think treating Omote and Ura as relative directions puts the focus on the relationship between Uke and Nage, which I think is the key no matter what "style" you're training in.  And therein lies the root of my little revelation on Thursday.

Tonya pointed out the "simple" fact that, during Kosetori Ikkyo Ura, after you've taken Uke's balance, it's not about "pulling" Uke around to the Ura direction or somehow "reversing Uke's momentum" (as I pictured it) -- it's about changing YOUR direction -- as NAGE.  Once I grokked that, what Uke was doing (in my control, of course), was almost irrelevant.   Oh yeah -- this is Aikido.  Duh.

So, for me, this was yet another case of an "Aha!" moment that I apparently wasn't ready to hear the other 10,000 times I'd heard that particular teaching.  Changing my direction (as Nage) from one wall to the opposite wall made our definition of "Ura" quite obvious, and, in my case, psychologically painless.   I believe I've finally come to terms with the cardinal directions.

Sensei, Domo Arigato Gosaimasu.   :-)

Aiki

I just stumbled across a great article whilst searching for "Aikido in Belize."  (I'm going to Belize next week -- but that's another story).

I just wanted to share this awesome read:
http://aikieast.blogspot.com/2009/06/taeching-methodology.html

Some passages that were particularly profound for me:

"It's not that physical strength isn't important, it just needs to be the proper kind of strength. A strong, fearless spirit is essential to do our art. But it cannot be the spirit of fighting... it must be the spirit of "fudo shin" or immovable mind. "   What I like about this is that it alludes to the difference between "strong" and "stiff" -- and between "relaxed" and "limp."   And that applies mentally as well as physically.

"When the mind is excited or "noisy" you are feeling yourself, not the partner."   I think this is at the heart of my struggle with Jiyu-waza.  Also the fact that we do stress technique in our Jiyu-waza.   I used to do "randori" at other dojos, where the attack was mostly limited to a grab, and I did much better.  Not focusing on the attack and "appropriate" response allowed me to just blend.  I need to get back to that even when there is a specific attack.  It really shouldn't matter.

Hajime

Apologies

We've all experienced it, but I'll speak for myself.  Uke is "being stubborn," and I'm getting frustrated.  My technique, rather than getting better and more focused to compensate, gets worse. I resort to speed and strength.  Which frustrates me even more. I should know better. I blame myself.  Training sucks.

As much as I hate to admit it, certain Ukes give me more problems than others.  Intellectually, I know that this isn't always all my fault.  Sometimes it IS "Uke's fault."   But that's irrelevant.  I can't change Uke. I can only respond -- and that is part of the training, too.

Aikido training is a very intimate thing. For newcomers especially, the human dynamics of grabbing each other, sweating on each other, causing each other discomfort, leading, blending, etc, are all obvious new sensations.  But those things are on the surface.  They are perhaps a bit unexpected for the newbie, but right out there for all to see.

The more subtle new sensations have to do with the interpersonal non-physical stuff:  perceived stubbornness or bossiness; a partner who seems overly interested in teaching rather than just training; class dynamics that include talking too little or too much.

To all newbies (say, less than 100 years of training): this never goes away.

I'm at a stage in my Aikido life where I "feel" like I should be able to show some proficiency much of the time.  Most of the time these days, I work with folks who are at least somewhat less experienced than I am.  So my ego says I should know something. <puff up chest> "I'm the Sempai!  Listen to me!", says I.  Unfortunately, when I'm tired or I've had a hard day and I'm not on my mental or emotional game, I find sometimes myself "arguing" with Uke, even if Uke is right. (note to self : Assume Uke is always right).

For my Ukes out there who know what I'm talking about, I apologize.  I'm still learning.

Jiyu Waza

Well, Chris Lee's work on our new web site looks awesome! (I'll let him reveal it when it's ready).  With that site, he's threatened to add a link to this blog, so I  figure I'd better start writing again.

Where to start...

Recently, I've been struggling with Jiyu-Waza.  There are plenty of things I do in the dojo that I'm not satisfied with, but this is one that has me really frustrated.  The voices inside my head during Jiyu-waza are like this...

"Breathe, relax, blend... CRAP!  Whoa, that was clos... Shit!  Breathe, rela  MOVE! C'mon, Mike. Whu?  OK, not bad -- now do something DIFFERENT!  How'd I get here?  Blend, dammit! Why am I out of breath?!  Drop your center!  Damn -- not like that.  Grrr -- wrong blend again!!  <pant> we don't do that one here...  Where'd he come from!??  Jeez, when's she gonna clap, ferchrissakes?!....  "   etc, etc...

In general, too many exclamation points.

Here's the thing.  I'm a much better Uke than a Nage.  I've known for a long time that 80% of my "deep" learning comes from being Uke, not Nage. (note to self: blog about Tonya's recent awesome "Uke-centric" class).  But I also know intellectually that there's really no difference.  It's always all about blending, centering, breathing, etc.   They're truly identical in terms of everything that counts.   Yet, oddly enough, I feel much more in control when I'm Uke than when I'm Nage.  Honestly, much of the time I feel like there's a "reversal" just waiting for me when I attack -- the lesser the experience of my partner, the more that's true.   I think I'm more comfortable as Uke because, as Uke, I feel like I "turn off my brain" and just react -- which is the part of me that gets in the way, especially during Jiyu-waza.

A musicians' reference: Doing good jiyu-waza is like finding the "pocket" when performing a tune on stage.  It's when you really express yourself, rather than just play the notes and stay in time.

So, I says to myself... "Mike," I says, "what's it gonna take for you to tap into your Uke brain when you're Nage -- and especially during Randori?"

(Note: I might use them interchangeably, but jiyu-waza and randori are not the same.  Moreover, how they're different varies from style to style, and dojo to dojo.   Check out this conversation: http://www.aikiweb.com/forums/archive/index.php/t-6324.html.)

So here's the thing...  When it's my turn to do Jiyu-waza, I want to feel like I feel and think like think when I'm Uke.  I want to treat every attacker's energy as if it's coming from a Nage -- so that I can react like I'm an Uke -- except free myself up to execute those "reversals" that I feel are there.  They should be ripe for the picking, no?

So, if you're working with me, and I'm Uke, and you feel me playing with or hinting at reversals, or just offering a little resistance, it may be because I'm working on a "unified theory" for myself.

Domo Arigato

Talking Stick = Aikido

http://youtu.be/HUxi-Zc45tA

Frank Doran Sensei

(Posting this late -- accidentally left it in "draft" state since I wrote it a couple of months ago.)

I was blessed to be able to attend all four days of the Frank Doran Sensei seminar at Aikido of Northern Virginia in Arlington, VA.  I'll be chewing on what I experienced for a long time.  For now though, here are a few comments.  I'll talk about what I took away overall, some things I remember technically (from my notes), and finally I'll share a little about how the seminar has affected me personally.  I don't know how organized this will be, so bear with me.

This is the third or fourth time I've trained with Doran Sensei.  The first was at the opening of one of the first California Aikido Association dojos.  I think it might have been in San Jose -- possibly San Franciso -- I don't remember.  All three primary CAA heads taught a session (Doran, Hendricks, Nadeau).  I remember that what stood out on that day was Hendricks Sensei's weapons, Nadeau Sensei's eccentricities, and Doran Sensei's teaching ability.   I attended Doran Sensei's seminar in Arlington a few years ago as well.  I think I trained with him one other time, at Nadeau Sensei's dojo.

This seminar reaffirmed my impression of Doran Sensei as a very accomplished teacher. He repeatedly stressed minute details.  He probably got hands-on with everyone in the dojo during his "rounds." He drilled "slow is good, slower is better."   He taught from the mundane to the metaphysical.  He consistently stressed control of the centerline, and made clear distinctions between the two essential ways to get out of harm's way (tenkan and irimi).  He led a gentle, consistent class that had me focusing, sweating, and feeling the burn, while showing a very warm sense of humor and keeping things very relaxed and friendly.

At Roanoke Budo Kai (which I'll call RBK or simply "the Kai" for short), we have spoken recently about the "bulls-eye."  Doran Sensei seemed to turn that around.  I don't know if he explicitly did this on Friday when the rest of the Kai attended or not (it all runs together), but definitely on Saturday he explicitly said we were going to "build a technique from the ground up."

He had a room of 60 people, most of them black belts, a dozen or so san-dan and up, practicing switching hanmi in place:  Right hanmi, feet together (very important), change in place to left hanmi.    Then, from kose-dori, he added a strong extension from the offered hand (at Uke's opposite shoulder -- as Tonya mentioned). Harder than it looks, as the angle is critical.  Then with the opposite hand, a sword-like tsuki to Uke's ribs.

First, I'm feeling physically great.  Yeah, my legs are a little sore -- big deal.   But emotionally, I'm drained.   I think the moments of clarity

The Eye

There have been times in my life when I've felt a real mastery of something.  This isn't one of them.

Consider sports.   When I played soccer as an undergraduate in college, I played sweeper.   I had the respect of all my opponents.  I played both ends of the field, yet never got out of position.  I was never a great offensive player individually, but racked up many "assists."  I was incomplete command of the defense, and formed the solid foundation to give our offense the freedom it needed to be creative. I played the game with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.   Were it not for an ill-timed injury, I would almost certainly have gone "pro" for at least a year or two.

Later, as a graduate student, I was heavily into Taekwon-do, spending 3-4 hours a day in the "combat room" at the gym.  I was quite good, progressed rapidly to a high rank, and won several tournaments in my short time during those two years.   When I entered a match, I felt invincible, and often was.

In my early twenties, I discovered ultimate frisbee.  I quickly developed exceptional skill as a "handler" (someone known to throw the disc extremely well).   I remember the day one of our veteran players told me that I had developed what he called "The Eye."   

The Eye is when you can see everything.  The whole field, every detail of your opponent, every opportunity. Time slows down.  You not only can make the play, but you have time to choose between several options at any given time.  You have time to do extra stuff like taunt your opponent, or add a little flair to the game.  You make miraculous plays look easy.

After 13 years at Aikido, I still don't have "The Eye."   My personal nemesis (well, there are many, actually) is Jiyu-Waza (or Randori).  No matter what I tell myself before we start, it always seems to leave me about 5-10 seconds later.   I figure I need to be able to maintain it for at least 15-30 seconds to be really in command.

I think my test date is 20 weeks away.  That's about 60 training sessions if I make them all, or about 120 hours.    I haven't got a chance.