Lemonade

Everybody wants to do things right because we think it means progress and it makes us feel good.  We tend not to like situations where we make mistakes or get stuck.  It feels like failure and we avoid setbacks at all costs.  Nevertheless, if you ask people what kind of experience help them learn the most, the "failures" tend to get the highest number of votes.

Here is one of my own favorite failures.

Years ago, seven of us were testing for the rank of Sandan (third degree blackbelt).  Because of space and time constraints, we were divided into two groups.  I was in a group with two friends.  

Because our group had fewer people, as nages, we did more repetitions than the other groups and at a faster pace.  Fortunately, we were still young.  We were able to clip along.

At one point, when I was uke, my nage did an iriminage.  I guess he must be beginning to get tired.  Instead of moving his entire body, he was relying mostly on his upper body.  Holding onto my neck with one hand, he pressed his other arm over my face and pulled.  I was probably getting tired, too, and could not avoid him fast enough.  My lower lip was pressed against my front teeth and was sliced open on the inside.

Within a heartbeat, I felt a gush of salty fluid in my mouth.  "Am I bleeding?" I wondered.  I took a dab with my finger to see.  Yup.  It was bright red.  Since I had been exercising vigorously for a while by then, it did not take long for me to garner a mouthful of blood.

"What do I do now?" I tried to figure out the right course of action.  

"I cannot get off the mat now.  But if I swallow all that blood, I may end up throwing up."  I also remember my teacher, the late Rocky Izumi Sensei, once said, "You never let blood drip on your gi or onto the mat!"  

I came to the conclusion that I had to be discreet and hold the blood in my mouth.  

Many thoughts flashed across my mind as I continued to take ukemi in this threesome Sandan test group.  I attacked while holding my lips tight together.  To keep anything from dripping onto the mat, I constantly licked back any blood that might have sipped out from the corner of my mouth.  Instead of extending my mind out to deal with what was going on with the test, I turned my attention inwards to closely monitor what was happening inside my mouth.

When it was my turn to be nage again, unlike before, I found myself shrinking and stumbling backwards.  Even though I was doing all the same moves, I felt like my partners were walking all over me.  

"What is going on?"  Things that were seemingly easy a moment ago became overwhelming.

Aikido is about the unification of the mind, the body and the breathing.  The body follows the mind.  No matter how strong your physical moves are, they have to be supported by a strong, extended mind.  I was so consumed by the bleeding in my mouth that I turned off my mind.  Once the off button is flipped, there is no turning back.  By the time I caught myself doing that, it was too late.

Fortunately, it was near the end of the test.  Despite my struggles, I was able to hang in till the finish.  

My partners noticed the sudden change in me, too.  After the test, they asked me what happened.  I flipped down my lower lip to show them the bloody gash.  They were aghast.

During practice the other day, a junior student was hit on the face by everybody over and over.  Even though she is a good sport, and she was not really hurt, when she recounted her experience after class, her face was all red.  "I don't like it.  It means I died over and over!" 

To console her, I said to her, "Remember we told you that all experiences can be educational?  If you figure out why you keep getting hit, this is going to be a lesson you will never forget.  Congratulations!"