WORLD'S LEADING INTERNSHIP PROGRAM

Beth's Letter To a Master Aikido Teacher Requesting To Be His Pupil

Write What You Know

"The key to good fiction is conflict" was my fiction writing instructor's
mantra. Every fiction writer builds architecture for characters to inhabit while
creating conflicts, making sparks fly and providing resolution. It is the flying
sparks that seem to fascinate the reader most. She said my characters were too
nice, that there was not nearly enough conflict in my work and sent me home
with special homework: to watch WWF on television.

A friend suggested I take up martial arts instead, but being a woman in my
mid-forties who had never been athletic, I couldn't imagine myself in such a
physical, seemingly violent environment. A few days later, I was walking down
the street in a snow storm, when for no apparent reason, I looked up to see the
banner for the New York Aikikai, and to my left, a sign on the door that said
"visitors welcome." I climbed the stairs and as I got closer to the top could hear
the crash of breakfalls in an otherwise silent setting. That evening I bowed onto
the mat for the first time.

I cried for three of the first four classes, weeping through the entire hour. I had
lived in NY for 20 years and although I had never been mugged or otherwise
attacked, there was always a vivid fear I carried with me. Here was the strike,
again and again, the strike I had feared for 20 years. I had no idea how much it
cost me to carry all that fear around. Although I'm not so sure that Aikido
techniques will prove effective if I ever am attacked, what I do know is that the
fear of being attacked, and the accompanying emotional undertow, is no longer
part of my shadow.

I continued to go to class a couple of times a week, when I wasn't too black and
blue to roll. The NY Aikikai has about 300 members, of which there are about
40-60 students per class, in five classes per day. All of the classes are mixed
levels; you steal what you can learn, rather than being taught. About 80% of the
dojo members are men, and there is a very high level of physical energy. It is a
very yang place. As I bowed onto the mat, I would say a little prayer for
protection. It scared the wits out of me, but as the weeks went by, I was less
and less intimidated as I learned how to take better ukemi. Endless lessons of
how to roll, how to fall and roll, how to break fall and how to get up again.

By the end of April I had lost 20 pounds, and had clarity and balance I had
never known before. Having never been an athlete, I was amazed at what my
body was doing, although my proprioception was still nascent at best. My mental
health was better than it had been in years, and my meditation practice was
stronger than ever. I had much less fear on the mats, and craved the high from
class, which I attributed to being thrown and rolling out, head over heels. Aikido
was a wonderful sport.

In July I went to California on business for a month. The first week I was there
coincided with the West Coast Aikido Summer Camp at Menlo College just
down the block from where I was living. I didn't train that week, but watched
several classes taught by Robert Nadeau Sensei. During the first class, a student
asked for advice about anticipating a roll when taking ukemi, and not waiting to
be thrown by nage. I heard Nadeau say, "If you don't know where you are, you
can't know where you're going." My ears grew about three inches. I suddenly
realized that the practice of Aikido was not a sport at all, but the practice of life.
It was redolent with metaphor, with lessons, and with guidance if I chose to
listen.

That month in California, not only did I attend beginner classes for the first time
under Frank Doran Sensei and work on the basics, but I also drove into San
Francisco twice a week to study with Nadeau. He talked about Fred and Ginger
dancing as we worked on blending, which I didn't completely understand,
because although I got the concept, I couldn't feel the energy. I started to read
about Aikido-philosophy and essays- and felt the words leap off the pages. I had
spent my whole life looking for this philosophy; it was as if it was written just for
me, or for that matter, I had written it myself.

I returned to NY Akakai in August and focused on technique in order to test for
5th Kyu in the end of September. I memorized the language and memorized the
dance. Although I rationally knew Aikido was about a flow of energy, all I could
do was to focus on nailing the technique. I took a class for the first time I could
remember with Yamada Sensei, who travels extensively, and made it a point to
introduce myself. He said with a chuckle, "I know who you are, you're the
Crying Girl." I was mortified, but then realized how far I had come in seven
months.

On the day I tested for 5th Kyu, I pulled my psoas muscle and it kept me off the
mats for six weeks. Two different healers said that with the changes I'd been
going through, it was no wonder I had tweaked my psoas. It is the longest
muscle in the body, the core of the proprioceptive nervous system. Known as
the Identity Muscle, it has a profound influence on the mind, body and
emotions. While I was healing, I continued to research Aikido, specifically with
regard to a winter escape in a warm place. I discovered Mutsuko Minegishi
Sensei, a 6th degree Japanese lady black belt, which is the highest rank women
have obtained in the art. She ran dojos in Saipan and Guam.

By January, the journey to Guam had become especially important. I had
decided over the Christmas holidays, after flirting with the idea for a year, to
finally leave New York City and move home to Nantucket. I had moved to New
York from Nantucket in 1983 to help open the DeMarco Restaurant, and
subsequently over the course of 15 years, founded, built and sold a construction
consulting business. Five weeks in Guam was to be a physical and spiritual
retreat in preparation for breaking my bonds with Manhattan.

I entertained the idea that on a Micronesian Island they would practice a softer
Aikido than the style taught by the NY Aikikai. I had the idea that a woman's
interpretation and teaching style would be more fluid, more flowing. That the
further west I went, the softer and more graceful the style of Aikido would be. I
had this idea that I would be working on breathing, and moving energy,
especially now that I had some familiarity with the vocabulary, the footwork and
the techniques.

I could not have been more wrong. Minegishi Sensei is a force of nature, and out
to prove that she is not a little old lady although she is under 5' tall, almost 65
and female. She was very physical, very tough and very forceful. She had
extremely high standards, tiny classes (2 to 8 people) and watched my every
move. She thought nothing of yelling through most of the class, mostly in
Japanese, although her English was impeccable. She was a stickler for technique,
and wouldn't let me continue if my grip was wrong to begin with. She taught
posture, extension, angles, and geometry. She taught discipline and attention.
She spoke in metaphors and demanded improvement. She ordered me to use my
center, but wouldn't teach me how to use it. It was a battle of her determination
against my cluelessness.

It was a harrowing experience to train with her, but I went six days a week, one
to three classes a day. I was physically challenged and was in Epsom salts every
night followed by Tiger Balm. But I was determined not to give up. During the
fourth week I had a major breakthrough, which resonated not just in my Aikido,
but also in my life. It was as if I finally lost all fear of being annihilated and if I
were to be annihilated, then so be it. With that barrier down, the effortless power
began to flow. It was an incredible feeling. It was worth the trip.

It's that flow of power I'm interested in studying now—the energy part of
Aikido, and hopefully, to figure out how to fuse it with the techniques. I felt it
briefly in February; I know what it feels like to listen with my skin, through my
touch. And it was healing, cleansing, energizing. I felt plugged in to the energy of
the universe. I felt I was in the right place at the right time, and not only felt
completely present, but completely composed. I want to learn how to access this
energy, how to have it in my life on a daily basis.

One of the things I realized when I moved to Nantucket two weeks ago, is that it
is a much less difficult place to live than New York City. A subtle projection of
energy can go a long way, and it reverberates in a small community. As well, the
first few Aikido classes I attended before you were back, Lou, I discovered that
my energy was overpowering as I was used to a much more aggressive
atmosphere. I discovered my Aikido here could be much more subtle, my
footwork more precise, my technique far more clean as it didn't need to contain
as much force. Once again, my Aikido practice mirrored and reflected my life.
The lesson was there for me if I chose to notice.

The reasons I choose to practice and dedicate myself to the discipline continue
to evolve. It is the depth of possibility in what I can learn and how I can evolve
through Aikido that excites me. As long as Aikido will serve as a companion and
a guide along the way, as well as provide a path to physical, mental and spiritual
well-being, I will seek Senseis and practice the art. If through Aikido, there is a
possibility with blending with the will of the universe, then it is the path for me.

After all, in fiction writing classes, they always say you write what you know.
Last year, I wasn't very good about writing about conflict. I was too afraid of it,
worried about how many ways I could get hurt, so preferred to avoid discord at
all costs. Through Aikido, I've become able to stand in the face of conflict, step
off the line, and let it go by. I've learned to transform the attack in a non-violent
way without escalating the situation and have applied it to verbal as well as
physical situations. I haven't written fiction since I began to study Aikido, but
plan to do so while here on Nantucket. I am curious to employ my new tools to
my imagination and see what emerges.

It is a gift to be a peacemaker in this world. If I can learn to align my energy
with the energy of the divine and as a result bring understanding, through
understanding there can be peace. If I can learn to do this, then it is not just a
gift, it is my responsibility.

We are all on our own path and in the end we all have to find our own way. We
are lucky if we can occasionally find teachers who can show us a thing or two. I
would be honored if you would take me on as a student while I am here on
Nantucket. I look forward to the opportunity to learn from you.



Beth Lochtefeld, Spring of 2004