. . . Decisions, . . .
This happened many years ago when I was taking my Ikkyu (Brown Belt) test.
During the randori (multi-people attack session), one of my attackers came to me, grabbed my gi (training uniform) by the shoulders and stood there. Her hands clutched firmly to my clothes, but there was no push, and there was no pull. There was no momentum of any sort. I raised my right hand for her chin. Through my fingers, I saw her looking at me. In her eyes, I did not see any signs of recognition that I could just plow through her head with my hand. We stood there looking straight into each others' eyes. It felt like an eternity. And then, I put my hand down. It was a mesmerizing long period of time: She continued to hold on to my gi, and we somehow started rocking back and forth very slowly.
Suddenly, I woke up from this strange spell, realizing I was in the middle of an Aikido test, and that other attackers were still coming at me! As my attacker rocked back, I went along with her. We both went down on the mat, but I took a tumble over her and immediately went for the closest attacker I could find to continue with the randori. It was unbelievable.
Despite this weird incident, I passed the test. Many friends came to me and said things along the line of "She always gives attacks like that! Why did you put your hand down? I wished so much you blow through her head to teach her a lesson!" Indeed, many, many thoughts raced through my mind. Did I do the wrong thing? Did I let people down? What should I have done? My mind was bombarded with so many questions.
As the dojo crowd were walking to a restaurant for dinner, Takeguchi Sensei came to me. He put his arm around my shoulders, "So, how are you feeling?" I picked up my head to look at him. "Mm-mm." I shrugged my shoulders. I was really not feeling so good -- about myself and about everything. As always, Sensei gave me a big, warm smile. He tapped on my shoulder, stopped and turned to me in the middle of the sidewalk. "Meipo, I know you have a soft heart. But, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do." He smiled again, and tapped on my shoulder again. We continued to walk towards the restaurant.
I was astonished by what my teacher said. He was always so gentle and kind. "What does he really mean?" That question lingered on my mind for many, many years . . . .
During the randori (multi-people attack session), one of my attackers came to me, grabbed my gi (training uniform) by the shoulders and stood there. Her hands clutched firmly to my clothes, but there was no push, and there was no pull. There was no momentum of any sort. I raised my right hand for her chin. Through my fingers, I saw her looking at me. In her eyes, I did not see any signs of recognition that I could just plow through her head with my hand. We stood there looking straight into each others' eyes. It felt like an eternity. And then, I put my hand down. It was a mesmerizing long period of time: She continued to hold on to my gi, and we somehow started rocking back and forth very slowly.
Suddenly, I woke up from this strange spell, realizing I was in the middle of an Aikido test, and that other attackers were still coming at me! As my attacker rocked back, I went along with her. We both went down on the mat, but I took a tumble over her and immediately went for the closest attacker I could find to continue with the randori. It was unbelievable.
Despite this weird incident, I passed the test. Many friends came to me and said things along the line of "She always gives attacks like that! Why did you put your hand down? I wished so much you blow through her head to teach her a lesson!" Indeed, many, many thoughts raced through my mind. Did I do the wrong thing? Did I let people down? What should I have done? My mind was bombarded with so many questions.
As the dojo crowd were walking to a restaurant for dinner, Takeguchi Sensei came to me. He put his arm around my shoulders, "So, how are you feeling?" I picked up my head to look at him. "Mm-mm." I shrugged my shoulders. I was really not feeling so good -- about myself and about everything. As always, Sensei gave me a big, warm smile. He tapped on my shoulder, stopped and turned to me in the middle of the sidewalk. "Meipo, I know you have a soft heart. But, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do." He smiled again, and tapped on my shoulder again. We continued to walk towards the restaurant.
I was astonished by what my teacher said. He was always so gentle and kind. "What does he really mean?" That question lingered on my mind for many, many years . . . .
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