Here's a story that i was given from a friend at my Aikido Dojo
Its quite interesting.
The train clanked and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a drowsy spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty - a few housewives with their kids in tow, some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab house's and dusty hedgerows.
(So do you do have any idea what a dusty hedgerow look's like? as I don't)
At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into the car. He wore laborer's clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that she was unharmed.
Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of it's stanchion. I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up.
I was young then, some 20 years ago, and in pretty good shape. I'd been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training nearly every day for the past three years. I like to throw and grapple.
(er? This guy sounds a bit hmmm, OK!. keep reading it gets more interesting honest)
I thought I was tough. Trouble was my martial skill and was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.
"Aikido", my teacher had said again and again, "is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.
I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the Chimpira, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me.I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legitimate opportunity where by i might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.
This is it! I said to myself, getting my feet. People are in danger and if I don't do something fast, they will probably get hurt. Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage.
"Aha" He roared. "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!"
I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so i pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.
"All right!" he hollered. "You're gonna get a lesson". He gathered himself for a rush at me.
A Split second before he could move, someone shouted "Hey" it was ear splitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it - as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something, and he suddenly stumbled upon it.
"Hey" I wheeled to my left, the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his 70's, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.
"C'mere," the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. "C,mere and talk with me"
He wave his hand lightly. The big man followed, as if on a sting. he planted his feet belligerently in front of the old man, and roared above the clacking wheels.
"why the hell should I talk to you?"
The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I'd drop him his socks. The old man continued to beam at the laborer.
"What'cha-been drinkin?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"I been drinkin' sake" the laborer bellowed back " and in none of your business" flecks of spittle spattered the old man.
"OK thats wonderful" the old man said, " absolutely wonderful! you see, I love sake too. Every night, me and my wife (she's 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing".
He looked up at the laborer eyes twinkling, As he struggled to follow the old mans conversation, the drunk's face began to soften. His fist slowly unclenched.
"Yeah", he said " I love persimmons too" His voice trailed off.
"Yes" said the old man, smiling, "and I'm sure you have a wonderful wife"
"No" replied the drunk. "My wife died". very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got a wife, I don't got no home, I don't got no job. I am so ashamed of myself" Tears rolled down his cheeks, a spasm of despair rippled through his body.
Now it was my turn. Standing there in well scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically.
As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirt. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.
From a book by Terry Dobson, who spent 10 years as an early student of Morehei Ueshiba the founder of Aikido.
Hmm sorry it was so long
Its quite interesting.
The train clanked and rattled through the suburbs of Tokyo on a drowsy spring afternoon. Our car was comparatively empty - a few housewives with their kids in tow, some old folks going shopping. I gazed absently at the drab house's and dusty hedgerows.
(So do you do have any idea what a dusty hedgerow look's like? as I don't)
At one station the doors opened, and suddenly the afternoon quiet was shattered by a man bellowing violent, incomprehensible curses. The man staggered into the car. He wore laborer's clothing, and he was big, drunk, and dirty. Screaming, he swung at a woman holding a baby. The blow sent her spinning into the laps of an elderly couple. It was a miracle that she was unharmed.
Terrified, the couple jumped up and scrambled toward the other end of the car. The laborer aimed a kick at the retreating back of the old woman but missed as she scuttled to safety. This so enraged the drunk that he grabbed the metal pole in the center of the car and tried to wrench it out of it's stanchion. I could see that one of his hands was cut and bleeding. The train lurched ahead, the passengers frozen with fear. I stood up.
I was young then, some 20 years ago, and in pretty good shape. I'd been putting in a solid eight hours of aikido training nearly every day for the past three years. I like to throw and grapple.
(er? This guy sounds a bit hmmm, OK!. keep reading it gets more interesting honest)
I thought I was tough. Trouble was my martial skill and was untested in actual combat. As students of aikido, we were not allowed to fight.
"Aikido", my teacher had said again and again, "is the art of reconciliation. Whoever has the mind to fight has broken his connection with universe. If you try to dominate people, you are already defeated. We study how to resolve conflict, not how to start it.
I listened to his words. I tried hard. I even went so far as to cross the street to avoid the Chimpira, the pinball punks who lounged around the train stations. My forbearance exalted me.I felt both tough and holy. In my heart, however, I wanted an absolutely legitimate opportunity where by i might save the innocent by destroying the guilty.
This is it! I said to myself, getting my feet. People are in danger and if I don't do something fast, they will probably get hurt. Seeing me stand up, the drunk recognized a chance to focus his rage.
"Aha" He roared. "A foreigner! You need a lesson in Japanese manners!"
I held on lightly to the commuter strap overhead and gave him a slow look of disgust and dismissal. I planned to take this turkey apart, but he had to make the first move. I wanted him mad, so i pursed my lips and blew him an insolent kiss.
"All right!" he hollered. "You're gonna get a lesson". He gathered himself for a rush at me.
A Split second before he could move, someone shouted "Hey" it was ear splitting. I remember the strangely joyous, lilting quality of it - as though you and a friend had been searching diligently for something, and he suddenly stumbled upon it.
"Hey" I wheeled to my left, the drunk spun to his right. We both stared down at a little old Japanese man. He must have been well into his 70's, this tiny gentleman, sitting there immaculate in his kimono. He took no notice of me, but beamed delightedly at the laborer, as though he had a most important, most welcome secret to share.
"C'mere," the old man said in an easy vernacular, beckoning to the drunk. "C,mere and talk with me"
He wave his hand lightly. The big man followed, as if on a sting. he planted his feet belligerently in front of the old man, and roared above the clacking wheels.
"why the hell should I talk to you?"
The drunk now had his back to me. If his elbow moved so much as a millimeter, I'd drop him his socks. The old man continued to beam at the laborer.
"What'cha-been drinkin?" he asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.
"I been drinkin' sake" the laborer bellowed back " and in none of your business" flecks of spittle spattered the old man.
"OK thats wonderful" the old man said, " absolutely wonderful! you see, I love sake too. Every night, me and my wife (she's 76, you know), we warm up a little bottle of sake and take it out into the garden, and we sit on an old wooden bench. We watch the sun go down, and we look to see how our persimmon tree is doing".
He looked up at the laborer eyes twinkling, As he struggled to follow the old mans conversation, the drunk's face began to soften. His fist slowly unclenched.
"Yeah", he said " I love persimmons too" His voice trailed off.
"Yes" said the old man, smiling, "and I'm sure you have a wonderful wife"
"No" replied the drunk. "My wife died". very gently, swaying with the motion of the train, the big man began to sob. "I don't got a wife, I don't got no home, I don't got no job. I am so ashamed of myself" Tears rolled down his cheeks, a spasm of despair rippled through his body.
Now it was my turn. Standing there in well scrubbed youthful innocence, my make-this-world-safe-for-democracy righteousness, I suddenly felt dirtier than he was. Then the train arrived at my stop. As the doors opened, I heard the old man cluck sympathetically.
As the train pulled away, I sat down on a bench. What I had wanted to do with muscle had been accomplished with kind words. I had just seen aikido tried in combat, and the essence of it was love. I would have to practice the art with an entirely different spirt. It would be a long time before I could speak about the resolution of conflict.
From a book by Terry Dobson, who spent 10 years as an early student of Morehei Ueshiba the founder of Aikido.
Hmm sorry it was so long
armadillofuzz:
thanks for the birthday wishes.