Clarity With No Mind

by Hoa Newens

 
“Out of life’s school of war—what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger”, wrote German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche in 1888. When facing something that goes against me, I have a choice: either I give in and let it swallow me; or I face it squarely and fight it, in which case, the more force it uses against me the more strength I build.
 
To become a good swimmer, I need to practice swimming against the current. To be a good fighter I need to fight and win in many tournaments. I derive strength from pushing back.
 
The universal principle is that resistance validates and affirms my existence, and, contest proves my worth.
 
When I trip over a low bench, the physical contact confirms the existence of the bench. This is how blind people find their way around: checking the presence of obstacles with their canes or by creating sound and receiving feedback. This is echolocation, a technique used by animals and humans to detect the presence of invisible objects: I am here, and you are there.
 
It is the principle for anything to validate itself in this earthly life. I exist because of the background I stand against. A painting is visible because of the canvass it is painted on; where would the painting be without the canvass? Similarly, we can see and touch water because it is contained in a vessel; without the container, how do we know that the water exists? I exist above the surface of the earth because I lean against it; if it weren’t there, I wouldn’t be either. I can extend upward because I push into the ground below me.

 
Sir Isaac Newton codified this principle as the third law of motion: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. In order to move you have to push against something. In order to stand erect every part of my body must stack up against the gravitational pull of the center of the earth.
 
The larger cosmic law is that a form comes into existence because it contrasts against a formless background. In order for a form to materialize in our world it must have a counterpart in the non-material world. In the same way, conscious beings rub against life in order to find their true formless selves. As sentient beings interact, they bump into each other and receive feedback that helps them to discover who they are; thus, they grow.
 
That bumping can sometime be rough and generate intense feedback that we call adversity. Adversity tests us and helps us grows, if it doesn’t kill us.
 
More specific to us martial artists, we interact with other humans, specially through body-to-body contact, bringing to bear our total energy to assert our respective selves: as one pushes, the other either receives or resists. We learn about ourselves through these adjustments. This is the true reason for training in martial arts.
 
If a martial artist is without human company, he can use other natural things to interact with as a sounding board: he can work against gravity and lift weights; he can hit a tire with a wooden sword; he can bump against the mat and work on his ukemi; or he can just stand erect, work against gravity and learn to stack up his body parts to align his energy and maximize flow.
 
When we want to grow something, we need to stimulate it; conversely, anything that doesn’t get used or tended to, atrophies and dies.
 
We have to make the right choice: which to grow and which to let die. Or stated differently, we need to grow everything up to the optimal threshold, and control the growth thereafter.
 
A mind that gets the right kind of simulation at a young age will grow fast. A well-developed mind helps us navigate this world and prosper as a species.
 
Up to a certain level.
 
Our mind is essentially a minuscule part of original formless consciousness that manifested in this world, bumped into things and became aware of itself (in the same way as described above). This process gave birth to our sense of self, as a separate entity from the formerly undivided consciousness: we call this new sense of personal identity “ego”. As it grows stronger, the ego becomes the driver of our mind and controls the faculty to become aware of things.
 
Through awareness, the mind helps us to understand the laws of nature and live in harmony with all things. This is the optimal level of development of the mind, beyond which it becomes over-developed and begins to cause more harm than good, upsetting the harmony of Nature.
 
An over-developed or hyper-active mind tends to continually reinforce itself by looking for conflict and asserting itself. It gradually becomes a separate entity that attempts to dominate our life and cuts off the umbilical cord tying it to the original consciousness.
 
It believes in its omnipotence despite being only a tiny part of human consciousness. Hark back to the time you were teenagers and remember how you felt about parents.
 
In this way, the self in us, which originated from formless consciousness, is now a mind-driven entity that grows by bolstering its identification with the physical body and the thinking mind, therefore further consolidating its position in the world of forms. This identification is the ultimate source of suffering and unhappiness to us human beings, since the world of forms is a world of conflict and impermanence, governed by the law of action and reaction described above.
 
The more our ego rubs into, and reacts to, the world, the more it defines itself, the more labels it acquires (e.g., I am this and this but not that and that, I have this and not that, I do and you don’t, etc.) and the more it grows. The ego loves conflict and thrives in reactivity; to ensure survival it must always resist life and aggrandize itself.
 
For a moment though, imagine that the ego ventures into an unconventional territory in which labels don’t exist. This might be a pristine territory of consciousness where mind has no power, and judgment and labeling are unknown. There is nothing here that the ego can butt against in order to prove its worth, and no label that it can gobble up to grow itself. Such environment may be found for example in a Zen monastery, or similar meditative settings. Or in a traditional martial arts dojo. In that milieu, mushin no shin (無心の心, mind of no mind, or heart of no heart) reigns.
 
Here we need to clarify that the term shin (心) as used in Asian culture means either the (thinking) mind, or the heart (with its emotions and feelings), or consciousness, depending on the context. In the context of Zen Buddhism and traditional Budo, mushin no shin should be understood as consciousness (the original shin) devoid of the thinking mind and the feeling heart (the mundane shin). That is, mushin no shin refers to pure consciousness.

​In a mind-hostile environment where the mind (thinking and emotional mind) is deprived of its favorite source of nutrition (conflict and judgment) and its activity is severely constrained, it shrinks and gradually lets go of its dominion on the human being. Reduction in mind activity reveals gaps through which pure consciousness can emerge and reconnects the individual to the cosmic.
 
This brings us to the purpose of Aikido and similar traditional martial arts, which is virtually captured in the previous sentence: reconnecting the individual with the cosmic, by creating opportunities for the deeply buried consciousness to manifest.
 
The key technique as revealed in the above discussion is to starve the mind (thinking and emotional). In an Aikido dojo setting this is accomplished through seven mechanisms:
 
Sempai-Kohai system
The sempai leads and takes care of the kohai. The kohai follows and supports the sempai. The roles of sempai and kohai are implicitly understood and mutually accepted, so that there is no need to question, discuss or agree/disagree. In this way, thoughts and emotions are kept to minimum and everyone focuses on the task at hand.
 
Awase
Apply only enough force to neutralize your training partner’s energy during movement. Any force beyond optimum generates an instant and equal opposing force. If I push more than necessary, my uke’s body will immediately push back, just to maintain balance. We must remember that the more we oppose something the more strength we give it. Awase requires constant alertness that naturally inhibits thoughts and emotions.
 
Training Etiquette
There are various rules of etiquette at different dojos that support effective training. However, there are five important rules that help to keep the mind in check during training:
Come, train and leave – A dojo is consecrated to training: come ready to train, train hard, then leave when the training is done. Keep the socializing activity to minimum, or save it for the occasional Aikido party.
Train in silence – There is no chatting, explanation, or even correction needed between training partners, except for safety issues. Feel the effect of your own techniques and learn.
Train with everyone – Train with anyone who bows to you, without favoring any training partners. Do not heed the judgmental mind that may steer you away from someone who appears a bit different from you.
Do not pull punches – Give sincere and focused attacks, while observing safety rules. Give your training partner no opportunity to slack off and prevent their mind from interfering with the training.
Accept what is – Your awase will not be perfect and you will get hurt. Accept the hurt, be thankful for the feedback that helps you realize the deficiencies, and keep training.
 
Tanren
Tanren (forging) are physical practices that are intense (heat) and repetitive (constancy) and affect the trainee at the core. Fifty additional rolls after each class; a hundred tanren uchi strikes every Sunday; a thousand bokken strikes on the first of the months; etc. These practices are physically demanding and shut the mind out.
 

No competition
In a competition there is comparing (one versus another), there is a judgment made (who is better?) and as a result, there are labels assigned (winner and loser). Such mental activities detract from the true purpose of training, which is to give feedback to each other on how to connect with our centers. Traditional Aikido training does not allow formal competition and denies the participation of the judging mind. Unfortunately, competition still sneaks in under the guise of rank, as discussed below.
 
Use the mind but mainly to support training
Think, read, write, and talk about Aikido, but mainly for the purpose of improving your own or others’ training. This sounds easy but requires continuous vigilance and discipline; the mind seizes every opportunity to increase the ego by convincing itself that it is always right, that it is more, or has more than others. If you are going to make a judgment about someone’s techniques, be sure that you have their best interest at heart and not your self-righteousness.
 
Minimum rank distinction
Among Japanese martial arts, the classical schools use the menkyo (license) system, while the more modern Budo systems (such as Aikido) use the kyu-dan rank system created by Judo’s founder, Jigoro Kano. The modern emphasis on ranks also introduced competition (both formally and informally) in some arts and took away the traditional focus on honing the person; in other words, it is not enough to improve ourselves, we should measure ourselves against others and best them.
 
Unfortunately, this switch has gradually caused an implicit competition among rank holders, as well as a race for higher ranks. Many practitioners, whether they admit it or not, are hankering for their next promotion.
 
To counter this detrimental effect, certain rules and practices are put in place, some officially and some unspoken. The most important one is that no one should be awarded a promotion who asks for it, explicitly or not. Remember that a sempai is supposed to look after the kohai, and the sensei their students: the students should concentrate on training and the sensei should monitor progress and promote when the level is reached.
 
Another custom designed for a similar purpose is that in some dojos, attendance is not tracked, and tests are not conducted; the students train and train until one day the sensei announces that they have now reached the higher level. In fact, that was how Saito Morihiro Shihan guided the growth of his senior students; when the time is right, he may call on you to take ukemi on a special occasion (seminars, etc.) then you get bumped up one rank.
 
If we have to categorize Aikido practitioners for organizational purposes, only three categories are sufficient: student, instructor, and sensei. While accepting the fact that we have to train within the current multi-level ranking system and acknowledging that this system is helpful for determining sempai and kohai roles, let’s do our utmost to look at our training partners as brothers and sisters on the path and not pay undue attention to their assigned ranks. Let's honor them all equally for helping us to realize our shortcomings. In the same vein, we should take classes from all instructors, irrespective of their ranks.
 
 
In the above discussion we have put forth three principles that help us sort out this muddled world and guide us to inner clarity; they are summarized below.
 
Conscious beings grow through resistance.
 
Our thinking mind, which is a tiny part of our consciousness, grows in the same way, unchecked, until it becomes its own entity and cuts off from its mother, wreaking havoc on natural balance.
 
To reach inner peace and clarity, we need to control the mind’s excessive growth not by suppressing it, because it’d grow stronger, but through intently steering more of our attention toward mindless and body-grounded practices, such as traditional martial arts.
 
Now I’ll stop here and go out to practice the suburi.
 
Hoa Newens