Much of what we read and hear about budo practice emphasizes the idea of mindfulness. Even in repetitive practice, if we do our repetitions with a sense of understanding the pluses and minuses of our technique, we will improve. It seems pretty straightforward.
At the same time, one hears about the idea of "mu-shin" or "no mind." I am not qualified to write about this in the meditative sense, and I may not even quite understand it in the budo sense, but I remember people trying to explain to me that "no-mindedness" means the techniques become so fluid and automatic, they can be performed effectively and almost unconsciously. It's an interesting idea, but I am not sure (a) anyone could ever really get there; and (b) why anyone would want to. So I guess that puts me in the mindfulness camp.
But there are exceptions. About 1-1/2 years ago I was at an intensive practice in Japan. The turnout was unexpectedly low, and those that did turn out were among the most senior students. The teacher, therefore, spent almost no time on any basic work (which would have been at my level), and instead began showing techniques that even some of the most senior people had never seen before. I had two choices, basically - (1) stand around and watch, uncomprehendingly; or (2) take part, still uncomprehendingly. I chose (2), of course, though I had no hope of understanding anything that was going on.
Since the turnout was small, even an uncomprehending practice partner was preferable to no practice partner, and I spent the several days being moved here and there by the different sempai - Stand, here, do this - No! Not that! I did my best, and everyone maintained good humor, though I am sure they wished they had a more competent partner available to learn what was really some very cool stuff.
During one of the breaks, one of the senior Americans present remarked, "This is 'way above your level." I was not sure what he really meant (beyond stating the obvious), but I had a ready reply.
"It sure is," I said, "but I have the advantage. You have to try and remember all of this stuff, and I'm totally not expected to."
It was true. I was having a great, incomprehensible time. I was truly unable to follow much of what was happening, but instead of feeling left out, isolated, or just plain stupid, I felt free. No obligation to remember, or try to explain the techniques to others. Instead I was feeling totally in the moment, and since someone coming at your head with a stick or bokuto is great for concentration, that is all I was doing - concentrating on the moment at hand.
After I was back in New York, I had time to mull things over, and dealt with the thought that I "didn't learn anything" at the intensive. As always, the training was a great experience, and I had a chance to see some people I had met there once again, but I really felt that it was true that I could not say that I had brought back one practical thing that I had "learned."
But I was wrong. My next intensive training session was different, with more beginner and intermediate students, and an opportunity to train better at my level. But the incomprehensible stuff was in there too. I was surprised to find that even though I still would not be able to replicate it, I actually understood what was going on. In the case of the advanced techniques that I had been introduced to 18 months ago, it was a matter of more regular practice that allowed me to break down and "see" the techniques being employed in a way I could not have done the last time. That was some kind of revelation. I could see well enough to at least be able to walk through the kata most of the time. Best of all, I think I was able to give my training partners more worthwhile experiences.
But we also did some techniques I had never been exposed to before, ever, using weapons I had never used before, and I still managed to walk through them. In typical seminar fashion, the techniques were shown once, or at most, twice, and then everyone was expected to try them, and I did as well as any other newbie there. Why could I do that? Again, I snapped back into the "no-mind" set - I observed, then imitated what I had seen, without trying to consciously think about or comprehend the techniques. And, like the last time, I cannot recall anything really about them beyond the beginning kamae, but, instead of feeling frustrated, I again felt free. And it was fun.
But I wonder, when I get the chance to try those techniques again, whether I will be equally clueless, or will I be able to "read" them because some part of my primitive brain will somehow remember them? Only one way to find out...
Make plans for next year!
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