‘From the current point of view, I am a reckless man. I do not take precautions against microbes, viruses, pollution, diseases. I am neither protected nor armed against dangers. I do what I like to do, without bothering anyone.

It is not my place to impose my ideas, saying, “Do what I say, not what I do”.

Such a formula belongs to the great and powerful, not to me. My formula is: “I live, I go, I do.”

When I do something, it is not to conform to a moral, social or political purpose. I do what I feel inside, what I can do without regret. I’m not looking for an outside utopia. I seek inner, unconditional satisfaction.

It is in calm and deep breathing that I find my true satisfaction, in spite of the many annoyances of modern life. I have overcome difficulties, and will do so for as long as I live. This is how I find the pleasure of living.’⁵Tsuda Itsuo, The Way of the Gods, Chap. III (end), 2021, Yume Editions, pp. 29–30]

Tsuda Itsuo also left us valuable teachings through his calligraphies. On the subject of uncertainty, we find this sentence from Chuang Tzu, which he wrote in calligraphy: ‘External things are neither certain nor necessary’⁶Régis Soavi, Sara Rossetti, Manon Soavi, Itsuo Tsuda – Calligraphies de printemps, [Itsuo Tsuda – Spring Calligraphies], Yume Editions (Paris), 2017, p. 354. External things come and go, misfortune and happiness, nothing is predictable and nothing is in itself misfortune or happiness. However, it is difficult to truly accept this uncertainty of external things, as we have seen for ourselves during the two years of crisis we have just experienced. Months of instability and crisis which, without being the equivalent of war, have worn us down and exhausted us. We have been able to gauge, on our own scale, how difficult it is to carry on, and the effects are still being felt.

Inner strength

The flaw in Western education is that it tends to make us focus solely on the voluntary aspect of the individual. So, to compensate for this weakness, human beings display their certainties on the outside while remaining very uncertain of themselves on the inside.

Tsuda sensei’s teaching redirects our attention to the unsuspected capacities of the involuntary⁷[see e. g. the last words of the Foreword to his 7^th book Even if I do not think, I am (op. cit.): ‘As for me, I try to direct your attention to the unsuspected wealth of our unconscious being.’]. Listening to our inner needs as they express themselves and give us directions to follow for ourselves, while remaining unpredictable and open to the outside world, since nothing is certain or necessary. It means trusting in human adaptability.

Having never been to school, I had to deal with a procession of people who projected their own concerns onto our choices and who were convinced that my parents were ruining my future prospects. However, one thing is certain: the future is always uncertain (and sometimes does not even exist). So I lived my childhood in the present moment rather than being dictated to by a non-existent future. In the joy and confidence of doing things for themselves, in the moment when interest was present. My parents had moments of doubt, of course, but they were convinced that living like their elders was simply not living but dying slowly. They preferred to choose uncertainty by taking a different path. Because the inner certainty that the most important thing was to live in the present never left them. Not going to school was an incredible opportunity to learn to rely on one’s own resources to face the inevitable difficulties of life.

Practising an art such as Aikidō means, at least on the tatami mats, having to rely on this spontaneity because, regardless of technical training, it is impossible to predict everything. Bodies are often more or less paralysed from within and bodily activity is frozen (bodily activity understood according to J. F. Billeter⁸see the works of sinologist Jean François Billeter on Chuang Tzu or his book Un paradigme [A Paradigm], published in 2012 by Allia (Paris): ‘the totality of energies and unconscious activity that nourish and sustain conscious action’). But then adaptation and integration no longer take place. Thus, an art that sets the body’ resources in motion again, that reintroduces play, is truly beneficial, even though it is not a therapy. Life resumes through the body.

This is why Aikidō must not become a sterile technical catalogue, with predictable attacks and standard responses. The element of uncertainty must be maintained using various teaching methods such as jiyū waza or working with multiple attackers, for example. When I began studying the jūjutsu techniques of Bushūden Kiraku ryū, what was formative was stepping outside the framework of Aikidō and rediscovering certain techniques that were very similar to Aikidō, but in a different way; this broke the mould and allowed me to continue Aikidō with an internal sense of the possibilities of atemi, kubi shime, kaeshi waza, etc. Without necessarily applying these elements to every technique, the simple fact of having felt them in my body allowed me to position myself differently.

Creativity

Aikidō obviously trains us to sense situations where we need to leave or act before it is too late. This is, of course, a basis. But it has more to do with intuition and the individual’s potential for creativity, as expressed by researcher Arno Stern, than with control: ‘To create is to acquire freedom from the grip of consuming society. When I speak of freedom, I do not use the word lightly; it is both the condition and the goal of education that engenders creative action. Creativity does not mean the production of works. It is an attitude towards life, an ability to master any given aspect of existence.’⁹Arno Stern, L’Expression — ou l’Homo-vulcanus, 1973, pub Delachaux & Niestlé (Paris)

There are many examples in martial arts. Because what makes an art effective is not the range of techniques, but first and foremost the human being and their ability to react. There are, of course, many stories and tales of martial arts that illustrate this, but I would like to conclude this discussion by telling you a story that places Aikidō in a reality where there is no certainty about the outcome (the external) but there is clear evidence of the need to face up to it (the internal). It is recounted by the daughter of Aikidō pioneer, New York Aikikai founder and O-sensei direct student Virginia Mayhew:

‘When I was seven my mom and I moved to southern California and lived in a old motel in downtown Los Angeles. Late one night, when we were returning to our room an angry man wielding a bat blocked our path and demanded our money. My mom tried to reason with him and offered to share her money. That just seemed to make him angrier and he came at my mom swinging his bat menacingly above him. I remember being frightened the minute my mom moved towards him. I didn’t understand irimi then so it didn’t make sense to me why she would move towards a man who was about to hit her with a bat.  The actual confrontation lasted only a matter of seconds. The bat never connected with my mom because all of a sudden it was in her hands and then she had the guy’s wrist in a painful wrist lock. She leaned down close to him and said, “I am not going to hurt you but you should know that it is unwise to attack a woman especially when her child is present. When I let you go you’ll leave peacefully but we will be keeping your bat.” When she finally did let go of his wrist her would-be attacker couldn’t flee fast enough.’¹⁰Shankari Patel, ‘Irimi’, 13 April 2014, on Feminist Aikidoka blog

Manon Soavi

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Article by Manon Soavi published in January 2023 in Dragon Magazine Spécial Aikido n° 12.