Brown Belt

Fall Camp approaches, and with it, the opportunity to have several of my students test for their first brown belt.

This event has sent a flood of memories coming back to me about my own brown belt test. It was, I think, one of the most difficult tests I had ever taken. It was certainly my first test in front of Sensei Maruyama, not to mention an entire room full of aikidoka from across the nation. The test itself is a blur, but I remember feeling tired, over-worked, and that the test was just too damn hard for one person to endure. Odd, considering that the test was really only about 15 to 20 minutes in length.

What made it so hard? Why do I look back and find that this test was the most problematic, even when compared to one of my dan tests?

I think the answer lies in the fact that the first brown belt test marks a significant departure point for most Kokikai practitioners. Up through blue belts, students are given a great deal of leeway in their skill levels when they test. That is not to say that tests are “gimmes”–you must work to earn these rank. But pre-brown belt we allow for a wide fluctuation in movement, understanding of principles, and calmness.

At the brown belt level, things change. You are, as a student, saying for the first time: “I want to understand this art. I want to study it, incorporate it into my life, become a student of it not just for now, but for a long time to come.” These are heavy decisions. They have impact. You, as a student, are separating yourself from those who study Aikido “just for something to do.” Regardless as to whether you decide to become a full martial artist dedicated to the study of Budo, you are at least making a decision that you want to compete at a level in which the martial artists are the norm, not the exception.

Perhaps an analogy that makes sense would be the world of sports. It is one thing to merely practice a sport. It is fun, and rewarding in its own right. It is another to say “I want to do more–I want to compete!” Now, you might never become a professional ball player. But, by competing, you are at least saying that you want to play at the same level as those who eventually DO want to become professionals. The excuse “I just do this in my spare time” no longer applies; you have rendered it irrelevant by stepping up to this stage.

In essence, testing for brown belt is stating to your aikido community: “I’m ready to take this seriously.” It is your final chance to decide “No, this is not for me” and not test.

The first brown belt test is a wonderful beginning to a new level of training. I wish I had recognized that at the time; but I hope that by sharing these thoughts, I will help kindle whatever spark resides in you that says “This art, this Kokikai Aikido, is important to me.”

Basic Principles

Sometimes, it amazes me just how well-thought out Kokikai Aikido is. One could, I suppose, argue whether Sensei Maruyama is a genius–certainly most of us in Kokikai Aikido think so. But even the staunchest critic would have to admit that the art form, unlike anything else I have yet to encounter, is extremely well-articulated and comprehensive.

I re-discovered this truth while on the bus this morning. I have, as of late, had something of a crisis of confidence. I have built up in my head that being an Aikido instructor, a Sensei, required charisma, a sharp wit, a great sense of humor, and an inherent ability to inspire. And yet, my efforts to exemplify these traits seem to consistently backfire. This culminated in a recent trip to the Seattle dojo. I felt as if my attempts to provide something meaningful were feeble at best; that my every movement reeked of trying to hard.

As I sat on the bus this morning, I had the opportunity to sit where a window faced me. As it was dark, I was faced with my own reflection for the length of the drive to Downtown Seattle. I sat, staring at myself, the classic Zen Koan “How do you defeat the man in the mirror” echoing in my brain. I stared, feeling defeated, trying to figure out how I could even articulate this problem. And then I realized: the problem I have can be attributed to the absence of one of our four basic principles: Positive Mind.

Positive mind is an interesting principle. It is, to me, the one I ignore the most, because it is the most difficult to put into words. Sensei Bannister has always said that it is hard to say what positive mind is, but it is very easy to say what positive mind is not. I think that I understand that better now. The absence of positive mind is different for everyone. For me, however, the lack of positive mind is illustrated by being overly critical of my efforts. I hold myself to a standard that I, nor anyone else–could ever hope to meet. If I am to improve my training, I think I could best start by focusing on developing my positive mind. Criticize myself less, and enjoy my practice more. It seems odd, but I think in my case the solution to my problem is to first stop treating it like a problem. The analogy I’m thinking of is working out. Working out is good for you. It makes you feel better and makes your body stronger. Not working out, in most cases, is not a “problem,” it is just… not working out. So it is with developing my postive mind. Doing so is good for me. It makes me feel better and makes my mind stronger. Not developing my positive mind (or reducing my negative mind) is not a “problem.” It is just… not developing my positive mind.

So, going back to why I am amazed at Kokikai. I have been thinking on this issue, having it hover in the back of my mind, for months now. And, when I finally thought it through, the answer was right in the basic principles we see every time we step onto the mat. Thank you, Sensei Maruyama, for articulating these tools. And thank you, Sensei Bannister, for pointing them out to me.