Dave Lowry: To Blossom and Scatter...
That beautiful, perfectly executed shihonage ("four
directions throw") you performed last night in aikido
class; of it, what remains? The kata Unsu you did
at the karate practice, the one where you finally got that
jumping turn exactly right and landed perfectly; what is
left of it? The tsuki ("thrust") that hit the throat
plate of your opponent's helmet so perfectly centered
it rocked his whole body backward and bowed out the staves
of your shinai (bamboo sword); is there any evidence
of the attack that is still around? All of these existed
for a heartbeat, then vanished without a trace. When an
attack comes, there is no opportunity for contemplation or
reflection. It simply materializes. In response, your body
flows, enters a stream of time. Techniques in training
arise, take form, and then disappear. The moment of the
attack or the response cannot be recaptured, the waza
cannot be "undone." There is a singularity of experience
as individual as a morning glory's bloom in
summertime--one that lasts not even as long as that
flower's brief existence.
The phrase ichi-go; ichi-e--"one encounter; one
opportunity"--was popularized by Naosuke Ii in a treatise
he wrote in the 19th century entitled Chanoyu Ichi-e
Shu. Ii used "ichi-go; ichi-e" to describe the spirit of
the tea ceremony. The temporal quality of the art of tea,
he said, "gives a feel of the exquisite evanescence of
nature." The practice of the budo achieves a similar
quality. Like the rising of a full moon on a particular
autumn night, every session, every performance of technique,
is unique. The budo are ripe with the flavor of
ichi-go; ichi-e.
From trying to get a feel for a technique by studying the
frozen images of photographs in a book, to the frustration
experienced by those who try to follow and copy the
spontaneous and endlessly mutable waza of the great
masters of the martial Ways, we have all grappled with
the elusive impermanence of the budo. The temporality
of these arts, however, brings those of us who practice
them into a profound confrontation with our own mortality.
This facet of the martial Ways is one of such importance
that I don't think it can be overemphasized, particularly
in our times. While au courant New Age philosophies would
have it otherwise, a central rationale for following the
path of the budo is in coming to grips with our relative
unimportance in the world. No matter how skillful our front
kick or shomen uchi ("head strike") or harai
goshi ("sweeping hip throw"), they cannot defeat Death.
No matter how we polish any of the techniques of our Ways,
their lasting effect is far less than that of a pebble
thrown into the ocean.
This climate of what seems to be futility on a cosmic
scale, of the essentially tragic nature of reality,
carries a sense of gloom and despair in much of Western
thought. In Japan, on the contrary, it has been elevated
to the level of an aesthetic concept. Mono no aware,
the "recognition of life's impermanence," is one of numerous
terms in Japanese cultural thought that denote a deep
appreciation of how wonderfully precious life comes to be
when we come honestly face to face with its brevity. The
current headmaster of the Urasenke ryu of chado, Sen
Soshitsu XV, was talking about the ultimate goal of all
the forms of the Japanese Do when he said that they excite
us to "do our best to realize each precious moment." In
the theater of the budo, where with even the most
conscientious of participants the possibility of terrible
injury or even death is ever-present, is a splendid
opportunity to realize in action the words of the tea
master Sen. The daily attendance to an ikebana arrangement
in the dojo is a rite that reinforces this mentality. It
is a perfect way to generate attitudes consistent with an
appreciation for every moment.
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