Aikido: A Lifelong Practice.

Whenever someone walks through the dojo doors for their first Aikido class, I would wonder what they’re hoping to find. They could be looking for confidence, fitness or self-defence. Maybe they’re searching for a new hobby or a sense of belonging. Perhaps beneath all of these reasons there is a quieter feeling: that something is missing, or that there is something more to discover.

My reason for starting Aikido was simple: I wanted to earn a black belt. I imagined that it would be a huge achievement because most people quit before reaching shodan. I wanted to prove to myself that if I put my mind to it, I could go the distance.

I started attending classes and began researching the history of Aikido and O’Sensei. I found all the information I could on O’Sensei and watched countless videos. From the first moment I saw his demonstrations, I noticed that his movement possessed a quality that seemed to exist beyond form and technique. There was something present in his practice that I could see, but couldn’t explain.

At first, I assumed that if I trained hard, learnt the techniques and practised for long enough, I would eventually understand what he was doing. Yet the more I trained and the more I chased that understanding, the further away it seemed to become.

I knew that O’Sensei was a deeply spiritual person, but I had not yet understood that his Aikido was inseparable from his spiritual practice.

A while later, a good friend of mine introduced to the teachings of Sri Ramana Maharshi and soon after, I discovered the talks of Rupert Spira. Both point towards self-realisation through the question, “Who am I?” Until then, I had never seriously questioned the assumption that I knew who I was. As I continued to study, I discovered that the answer was not what I thought.

As my understanding deepened, my Aikido began to change too. I realised that Aikido was never really about collecting techniques. The techniques became a means through which to study ourselves. Eventually, I began to see that this insight was not unique to Aikido. O’Sensei was expressing this understanding through his own path of budo, just as others have expressed it through yoga, zazen, religion, music, painting and countless other disciplines. Although the outward forms differ, any sincere practice can point towards the same fundamental realisation.

So when someone walks through the dojo doors for the first time, I smile. Not because I know where their journey could lead, but because I know that Aikido has a way of revealing more than we ever could ever expect. What starts as a desire to learn techniques, gain confidence or earn a black belt can, if we allow it, can become an exploration of something far deeper.

We come to class believing there is something to gain, only to discover that the practice is not really about adding anything at all. instead it is about of shedding the illusion of duality. Perhaps this is the real paradox of Aikido.

Looking back, I can see that our initial motivation to start Aikido doesn’t really matter. Whatever brings us to the mat is enough. The important thing is simply that we step through the door and begin.