Art that lasts a second

or how not to beat people up

As soon as I confess to practicing a martial art, the question finds me without fail: if you get attacked, do you beat “them” up? The asker is, really, a collective character, nondiscriminatory in either gender, age, or status. Whomever it may be, he or she has the same insatiable curiosity: I would tear to pieces anyone, wouldn’t I? Which obscures the more perverse: isn’t that why you practice?

At first, I got to it with method, reasoned full circle through the whys, enthused and all. Then came irritation. It ended up amusing me. Years later, I cut to the chase: no and no. And I smile. It confuses people.

Beyond the drama, the question remains. The answers, however, evolve in time, as do we. I must have started with the wish to do something sensational. After all, whenever I visited the dojo (i.e. training hall), the dynamic looked spectacular on the verge of frightening, with astute athletes flying through the air to land on the tatami, or mattress, with hair-raising sounds. Being able to jump over one’s own hand or project someone with precision to a point of choice looked masterful. It was, in other words, aspirational.

When I started studying, it was about looking the least stupid possible. It’s the nature of the beginner to fantasize and expect to do everything in the vicinity of perfection. Maybe some managed, but I sure wasn’t among them. I was, nevertheless, always leaving the dojo in better spirits, so I kept at it. The stress of the day did, on many accounts, take the shape of the partner, who also got the bill. It went both ways, if I remember the many bruises I hid, for years on end, under jacket sleeves, not without satisfaction.

When sense caught up with my technique, the joy of playing kicked in. Only then did I start to feel with my body, in those rare moments of harmony, what it was all about. I’m sure aikido doesn’t own this. I would, however, be inclined to bet it lands a purer expression. I came back for it. (O Sensei, Japanese for “the great teacher,” i.e. founder Morihei Ueshiba, says aikido caresses the ki, or the energy, of the universe.) Then came the determination and the mobilizing for the first black belt exam, a galactic surprise in a nerd’s life. Life is ironic, a director I interviewed told me once. He was right.

After the euphoria of each stage, I would always sober up as I got to feel the edges of my own limits. How do I look at my partner and not at my own feet, how do I coordinate just a notch better, how do I connect to their center and get out of my own way to flow? Watching the masters, it all seemed effortless, clean lines cutting through the air in a form reduced to essence. Nothing more, nothing less. “Aikido has an economy.” The words of Shihan Christian Tissier echo in my head as I do for the ten-thousandth time the same technique.

If I am lucky, I will do the same techniques thousands of times more. They take seconds and leave me, at best, with the memory of a glimpse into a universal order I have just aligned to. A second that restores harmony. A second of art.

As I was saying: no and no.