What Is Ukemi?

In Japanese, ukemi (受身) literally means “receiving body”. The Uke is the partner who initiates an attack, receives the technique and lands safely.

When I’ve visited other dojos, I've often heard instructions that Uke should physically push into Tori in order to create connection. To me, this doesn’t make sense. If I have to connect with my partner by pushing into them, then surely I was disconnected before the technique started?

Why would I spend most of my life existing as a separate individual, only to become connected at the precise moment I make physical contact with another person? Why should connection begin with touch?

I look at connection between Tori and Uke very differently. Rather than becoming separate and then trying to reconnect, I try to remain present before the technique begins, while it unfolds, and after it has finished.

An Unexpected Realisation

several years ago, I was out shopping when I accidentally overheard a conversation with a couple of older ladies talking about their birthdays. One woman casually remarked that although she was getting older, she didn’t feel any different from when she was a child. The moment I heard those words, something became obvious. It was like a light bulb moment… Of course she doesn’t feel any different!

Instantly I recognised what she was referring to. She wasn’t talking about her personality or her body. She was talking about the simple feeling of being, or another way of saying it is, the awareness that knows only itself and has always been present in our lives. It suddenly occurred to me that this feeling is the same for all of us. Not similar. The same. That insight completely changed my Aikido.

I stopped trying to connect with my partner. Instead, I simply rested in awareness. I had no idea which technique would appear. I didn’t know which direction I would fall. I wasn’t trying to help my partner by giving good ukemi, I also wasn’t trying to resist anything. I was simply present.

To my surprise, my ukemi became the most effortless it had ever been. The body knew where to go without me trying to organise it. When I stood up, my partner commented on how natural my ukemi had become.

Then we changed roles. I expected the experience to feel completely different. Instead, something remarkable happened. Being Tori felt exactly the same as being Uke. Outwardly the movements were different, but inwardly nothing had changed. There was no sense that I was performing techniques on another person. There was simply movement appearing naturally from the stillness of the mind.

Afterwards my partner said they couldn’t feel anything to resist. That made perfect sense. I hadn’t done anything to them. I hadn’t imposed Aikido upon them. I had just remained present. This was the first time I realised that Tori and Uke are not different experiences, they are the same experience because they originate from the same awareness.

I have since realised that Ukemi is not something I do after someone begins a technique. It begins long before we bow. It begins with presence. It is standing upright without leaning into the future or retreating into the past. It is remaining balanced without anticipation. It is allowing the body to respond naturally rather than the mind attempting to control events.

People often speak about being centred. But I think something important is missing from that phrase. It isn’t enough simply to be centred but instead we should be centred in the present moment. Without presence, “being centred” can easily become another posture to imitate or another technical instruction to follow. With presence, centre ceases to be a position. It becomes our natural state.

While practising, my partner or myself might leave this state. Perhaps one of us becomes attached to making the technique work and try to force the movement upon our partner. Maybe a focus on controlling our partner appears rather than remaining present.

If I’m taking ukemi and this seperation occurs, I reach the point where I could reverse the technique. Not because I want to but because I can feel the exact moment separation has appeared. I rarely take the reversal. Instead, I think of it like finding the biting point of a car’s clutch. You know the car could move yet you remain perfectly still. That point quietly reveals everything. Not who is better. Not who is stronger. Simply where awareness has momentarily given way to effort.

I am fortunate that in my own dojo, all of us are exploring these ideas together. We can openly discuss non-duality, awareness and presence, and our practice naturally reflects those conversations.

When I visit other dojos or attend seminars, I often meet people practising something very different. Some train almost entirely through physical strength. Others grip so firmly that they seem unaware of themselves altogether. Years ago I would have tried to overcome them but now I see it differently.

They are simply practising in duality. If I respond by wrestling with them, I have already left my own practice. Sometimes the best ukemi I can offer is simply to remain balanced and present and be happy to move with the same feeling of peaceful joy despite whatever my partner is doing. As long as they are not trying to injure me, my practice remains intact because it no longer depends upon their behaviour. It depends only upon whether I remain centred. If someone genuinely becomes unsafe, I ask them to lighten their practice. If nothing changes, I simply thank them and find another partner.

Someone may have trained for thirty years and still be looking for physical techniques. Someone else may discover the heart of Aikido in far less time. Time alone reveals very little.

Looking back, I realise that many of the questions I used to ask all have the same answer.

Why isn’t this working?

What do I do if my Uke is stiff?

How should I move if my partner is pulling or pushing?

Why does this person feel so difficult?

For years I searched for technical answers.

Move this foot.

Turn the hips.

Lower the centre.

Extend the arm.

Useful advice, perhaps - but only at a certain level. Now the answer always seems to be the same. Return inward to awareness. The external form appears by itself. Technique is not the source but the expression. Presence is the source.

What I sometimes jokingly call “paint-by-numbers Aikido” can only ever imitate the outward appearance of the art. The living principle behind it cannot be copied, it can only be realised.

The more I practise, the less I believe Aikido is a system of self-defence. I think it is the study of the self. Most importantly, I’ve realised through my ukemi that that the practice is not to become one with my partner, but to realise that we were never two.