September, 2002
My red pedal-powered car
Previous Issues
Driving home from Aikido on a summer night with
my windows open, I caught a whiff of rubber. It was just a faint scent
of it. But it was enough to bring a memory to my mind in that overwhelming
way that odors often do.
It was a memory from when I was about four years old,
and behind the wheel of my red, pedal-powered race car at my house on
Scotland Road. Being in this car was probably my favorite thing in the
world. It didn't look like much—just an exposed frame made of red
metal tubing with a red plastic bucket seat. And wheels with metal rims
and black rubber tires that gave off a terrific smell whenever I spun
the wheels or slid into a turn on the linoleum of my parents' kitchen.
That whiff of rubber had put me back into the seat of
that car, racing through the rooms of my old house on Scotland Road. The
house—as every boy's house should be—was laid out in a circuit,
with long straight-aways and big turns. It wasn't easy maneuvering that
car through the tight passageway between the kitchen and the front hall,
but—woodwork be damned—I'd pedal like crazy through it anyway.
And my mussed up hair would flop against my forehead as I watched the
floor race by beneath me through the open floor of my car.
As this memory took over my mind and I watched myself
as a little boy, I was amazed at the intensity of the experience. I was
totally involved in that moment. There were no memories of parents watching
and smiling (though I'm sure they were), or the dog scurrying out of my
way (though she must have). There was just me and that fabulous car, and
the floor a blur beneath me. And it made me just a little bit sad, like
all I wanted to do was live in moments like that.
That's the strange thing about adulthood. You start trading
those intense and wonderful moments for ones that make more sense—but
which don't wrap up your mind and body as totally. It often seems your
body is one place, but your mind is somewhere else.
We long for some way to put body and mind back together
again, and some people find it, and least for brilliant, fleeting moments.
Four men on a bob sled trying to win a gold medal on their final run.
A scientist on the brink of discovering something no one else on earth
knows about. A young couple discovering each other for the very first
time. It's not happiness they're experiencing; that's not quite the right
word. It's focus. Mind and body so totally unified, that they're forgotten.
Aikido is about putting yourself in this state. Not just at practice, but in more and more of your life. It's about finding ways to ride around in your little red pedal-powered car again when you're far too big to fit into it any more.
Aikido brings your body and mind into focus on this moment.
How? By giving you principles that put you into your best state. But more
importantly, by putting you in a situation where those principles become
an absolute necessity.
When a NASCAR driver is racing around the track at 180
MPH, do you think he's wondering if he fed the dog that morning? He can't
possibly be, because it's not just victory that's on the line, it's his
life. As someone once said, nothing focuses the mind like the knowledge
you are to be hung the next morning.
When we're practicing Aikido our lives aren't on the
line. But we could very well get punched. That makes us pay attention,
and apply the principles that we know will take care of us. Our need for
these principles gives us an intense acquaintance with them, helps us
to feel and understand them deeply. This depth of feeling and understanding
enables us to find the same kind of intensity in our lives.
What kind of intensity is it? When my feeling is right
at Aikido, the practice occupies my mind and body in a most complete and
pleasant way. Afterward, I'm left with the strangest sensation. It's like
I was only there for an instant. Like those hours were an instantaneous
blip that required no effort. Yet I'm left with good memories, and a satisfied
feeling. Something positive transpired, but it's like no time has passed
at all.
It occurred to me that that is the essence of the red-pedal-powered-car
experience: It feels incredibly good as it is happening. Yet it affects
time in a strange way. When you're in that moment, it's all encompassing—no
past or future is evident. When it's over, it's like no time at all has
elapsed.
Recently, I drove home with my family from a week of
vacation at the Jersey Shore. As we approached the Lehigh Tunnel, my eight-year-old
son Matthew said, "It seems like we just went through it." But
actually, nine days had passed.
In those nine days, Matthew had been splashed by hundreds
of waves (was turned upside down by some of them), had his bacon frequently
stolen by his brothers at breakfast, helped his mom sculpt a car out of
sand for his baby brother to ride, raised his eyebrows at the chatter
each morning of a little French girl at an adjoining camp site, read several
books in the car, beaten the Battle Toads video game (after a few years
of trying), and wrestled and chased his brothers till the beaches were
nearly empty each day. But to him, it seemed like we had just gone through
the tunnel. I think he must have enjoyed his vacation.
This odd, time-warping nature of enjoyable moments reminds
me of what would happen if we could travel at the speed of light. As Albert
Einstein told us, if you could move at the speed of light, time would
stand still. So if you traveled at light speed on a fifty-year round trip,
when you got back to earth everyone would be fifty years older. But you
wouldn't have aged a second.
In fact, if you had been around at the time of the big
bang and had the good luck to zip through the universe at light speed
from its birth until it crushed down on itself again (if that is indeed
what it will do), you would have witnessed the most marvelous things.
Yet you'd have the impression that no time had passed at all. You would
have watched as stars and galaxies formed, as dinosaurs and other animals
roamed a distant planet revolving around an insignificant star, as black
holes sucked up billions of planets and stars, and as it all came rushing
back in on itself—but it would all seem to have happened in less
than a millisecond.
That seems like a pretty good way to live your life,
too. Do the things you love, and apply your best mind/body state to all
that you do, so you feel swept up in each moment. At the end, you'll remember
thousands of joyful experiences, yet you'll feel like it lasted just an
instant. With your mind and body unified through Aikido, you have the
best chance of doing that.
But I should stop writing now and get onto other things.
I had no idea I'd been writing this long.
Upcoming Events
Kiatsu and Ki Exercise Class, Thursday, September 5,
8-9 PM.
Open Mat, Friday, September 6, 5:45 PM..
Beginners' Class, Wednesday, September 11, 7 PM.
Testing, Wednesday, September 18, 7 AM, and Thursday, September 19, 7
PM.
Weapons Class,Wednesday, September 18, 7-8 PM.
Ran Tori Class, Wednesday, September 18, 8-9 PM.
Open Mat, Friday, September 20, 7-8 PM.
Video Night, Thursday, September 26, 9 PM.
Halloween Seminar with Leon Brooks Sensei, October 26 & 27.
Recent
Testing
We had very little testing in August, because of Sensei's visit and various people's vacations. The one person testing was Lisa Fuller, who tested for 3rd kyu, her second blue belt. Lisa did a fine job throwing several different uke—including her fiancé, Larry Alexander. Congratulations, Lisa.
Departing
Students
We were sad to hear recently of two of our students leaving. Jeff Hall, a regular in our morning classes, has left for a new job in his hometown, not far from Albany, NY. Darren Probst, who just tested for 1st Kyu last month, will be leaving for a new job in Washington, DC the first week in September. We wish them both the very best! The dojo will miss you.
Life is all memory, except for the one present moment that goes by you so quick you hardly catch it going.
- Tennessee Williams