Spiritual Lessons From Aikido
Excerpt from Seeding Your Soul: Six Considerations for Spiriual Growth
(Bolchazy-Carducci Publishers, $14.95, March 2005)
by Dianne R. Costanzo,
Yondan, Fourth Degree Black Belt, Aikido Association of America
I study Aikido, a Japanese martial art that emphasizes harmonizing with another’s energy. Aikido (pronounced “Eye-KEY-Dough”) actually means “the way of harmony through energy.” Instead of trying to stop energy, Aikido blends with it, and by doing so can either employ joint locks or throws to neutralize someone else’s attack. Aikido is a defensive practice whose aim is to control the situation without doing any harm. I have practiced Aikido for over sixteen years now, and it has been my privilege and honor to have studied directly under Shihan (“Master teacher”) Fumio Toyoda for over thirteen years.
Anyone who had ever seen Toyoda Sensei (title of respect meaning “teacher”) teach can attest to his incredible power and grace. He could move without moving and could feel like a tidal wave or be as gentle as a morning breeze. He taught with extraordinary clarity and humor. He knew who he was.
Sensei was teaching an afternoon class. I had been training for just a few months. About ten minutes before class ended, a drunk man stepped into the dojo, looked at Sensei, and shouted, “I’m going to kick your ___!” (You can fill in the blank.) Sensei responded in his thick Japanese accent, “You wanta kicka my ___? Ok, but you have to wait after class is over.” Surprisingly, the man waited. After class, we all bowed, but no one left the mat. I thought to myself, “Oh my God. Sensei could pulverize this guy.” Sensei bowed off the mat and walked to the door. He said, “Ok, you can kicka it now, but we go outside. After you.”
The man went outside. Sensei held the door open for him, and after the man stepped out, Sensei locked the door, turned to us, and said, “He wanted to kicka my___,” and laughed. Then we walked across the mat and went into his office. It was one of the most important lessons I learned from Sensei, and I learned many. He knew who he was and who this other man was, and he did beautiful Aikido in that moment. He blended his energy, led the man out, and maintained the man’s dignity. In responding the way he did, Sensei showed that his inner garden was filled with grace, humility, compassion, intelligence, and always humor.
On July 4, 2001, Toyoda Sensei died suddenly of a bacterial infection. That year, all my day lilies bordering the south side of my home were woefully delayed. Everyone else’s lilies were open and full, but not mine. I received a phone call around 10:00 a.m. that Sensei had died. Shocked and filled with grief, I walked around my home, sat in various chairs, called my friends. Then I went out the back door to sit in my garden. Out of habit, I looked to my left, and saw just one day lily fully in bloom. I was stunned by the mysteriously kind message the universe delivered.
At that moment something took root inside me and “ensouled” me, planting a seed of hope.
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