Tag Archives: respiration

Aïkido, Articles_Blog, EN, FR, IT, Non classé

The “Respiratory Practice”

16 April 2026 name

In almost all dōjōs, it is customary to refer to the few exercises that precede a class as “preparation” or “warm-up”. But what if it were not gymnastics, nor physical education, but something else entirely! Tsuda sensei wrote that his master, Ueshiba Morihei, was furious when, even back then, and although he had never given it a name, his young pupils referred to this part as preparatory exercises or a warm-up.¹

A first part!

For O-sensei, this first part of the session was an essential and inseparable part of his practice as a whole. This is why, for want of a better term, Tsuda sensei called it the ‘Respiratory Practice’ when he had to discuss or describe it with his students. In the first chapter of his first book, The Non-Doing, he explains his choice of the word ‘respiration’ – which, for him, would be a key term for conveying a message to westerners – writing:

‘By the word respiration, I do not mean the simple bio-chemical process of oxygen merging with haemoglobin. Respiration is all at once vitality, action, love, a sense of communion, intuition, premonition, and movement.

The East still retains these aspects under the name of prana or ki.

The West too seems to have known them, as reflected in the words psyche, soul-breath, or anima and their derivatives âme², animate, animosity, animal, or spiro which gives us spirit, inspiration, aspiration, and respiration.’³

These breathing exercises and the circulation of our “vital energy” or ki are still of paramount importance to me today.

Norito - la pratique respiratoire — Norito

Repetition

I cannot really describe what sets our School apart from other places, nor can I advocate for it. Ultimately, it is up to each individual to form their own opinion about what they receive and how they feel. Every teacher in every school or group, based on their training, background and studies, will have their own method and their own teaching style that suits them and their students. Some use new techniques, draw on other cultures, seek out different teaching methods, or take a more modern approach to learning psychology. Nothing should be disparaged; everything is possible and everything is justified in principle to enable us to live out our practice to the fullest and to convey the essential: “the universality of O-sensei’s message of peace”.

One criticism that could be levelled at “the Itsuo Tsuda School” is that it is rather repetitive and conservative. Indeed, the first part of the practice that we do every morning has not changed since my master began teaching it in the early 1970s. Having never grown tired of it myself, I have never felt the need to change anything about it in over fifty years of daily practice, either for myself or for my students. It is precisely this repetition that enables us to improve our breathing and, consequently, to understand the principles that underpin all the movements in our practice.

Funakogi undo - la pratique respiratoire — Funakogi undō

The foundations of this work

This first part follows its own logical sequence, and I do not think it necessary to describe every movement in detail. However, a few points need to be clarified, particularly what makes it different from what most aikidokas are generally familiar with.

After the salute to the kamiza, there is a few minutes of meditation in seiza, followed by the person leading the session reciting the Norito Misogi no harae. We then begin with an exercise aimed at releasing all accumulated tension from the solar plexus region. This movement is derived from Katsugen Undō and was introduced by Tsuda sensei, stemming from the teachings of his Seitai master, Noguchi Haruchika sensei. As for the rest, all the exercises that follow were taught for many years by O-sensei.

I am not claiming a return to the origins or a unique authenticity that has been hidden until now in the face of alleged distortions caused by poor teaching. It is well known that O-sensei varied the exercises in this first part. However, as far as we know, there were a few that never varied. The Salute to the Eight Directions, or Funakogi undō⁴ and Tama-no-hireburi⁵, are among these. These last two have specific rhythms and precise breathing patterns, as well as a particular set of rules regarding which direction to face and how many times they should be performed. It would be tedious, and perhaps even risky, to describe these exercises in an article, as they must be taught directly from teacher to pupil on the tatami mats.

The most important thing about all other movements is not the number of times they are performed, the speed or the strength, but rather the intensity of the vibration felt throughout the body at that moment. The same applies to the kiai let out by the person leading the session at the end of the First part. Again, it is not the power of the shout, of the sound or its intensity that is important, but rather the nature of the act, the depth of the breath, the precision of the timing and the concentration required, all which, when executed accurately, transform the action into an appropriate response and a process of normalising the body. Each exercise during this part must be performed in a specific state of consciousness. They must be performed with as much concentration as if our life, or at least our health, depended on it. And at the same time, relaxation is essential for them to proceed smoothly. The best possible attitude is to be both focused and free of thought, which requires a few years of practice, but, above all, perseverance.

The need for a suitable setting

I cannot stress enough the importance of the atmosphere when considering practising the respiratory practice in a style similar to that of our School. The atmosphere in a dedicated dōjō is of a completely different nature compared to that found in a club or a gym. If, moreover, a tokonoma⁶ has been created in this dedicated space, featuring a kakejiku⁷ and an ikebana⁸, it will be easier to maintain concentration and observe silence. Thus, it will be easier to absorb and immerse oneself in an environment that fosters this pursuit. This environment enables one to discover how to perform these movements and sequences, which, much like a never-superficial choreography, cause the body to move in a way that makes it more receptive to the perception of internal flows, rendering it more supple as well as more responsive. It is simply a matter of retracing the path of the old sensei and understanding why those who guided us – all those I have known or met briefly during courses or gatherings – followed many of these “rites” without question in their youth, yet seeking answers within themselves.

The Discovery of Yin and Yang

It is in The Way of the Gods that Tsuda sensei recounts this warning from Mrs Nakanishi⁹, a grand master in the art of kotodama¹⁰:

‘ “After the disappearance of the initiator, the kata, the forms, begin to break down, because those who come after are unable to understand the initiators’ deep motivations. We inherit forms, we simplify them, the forms degenerate,” says Mrs Nakanishi.

Aikido, conceived as a sacred movement by Mr Ueshiba, is disappearing to make way for athletic Aikido, a combat sport, more in accordance with the demands of civilised people.’¹¹

These comments from these two great masters, Nakanishi sensei and Tsuda sensei, could easily have discouraged me. Yet it was precisely this sort of remark that spurred me on and drove me forward. It is precisely in this First part that one can discover Yin and Yang, for it is a “solitary” practice. Provided we remain focused on perceiving what we feel, nothing can disturb us; it is like an inner current that gradually translates into terms of Yin and Yang. This is a fundamentally non-mental, empirical approach, and the effects are perceived immediately by the whole body.

Our aikidō then transforms, and we move into another dimension with a broader psychophysical perspective. We actually feel the circulation of Ki as different flows with a specific nature – positive or negative, Yin or Yang – in our own limbs and throughout our entire posture. These currents transform and alternate, sometimes shift from Yin to Yang, circulate from one side to the other, turn or stop unexpectedly and ultimately guide all our movements while we are barely aware of them. This does not happen overnight, but it has given meaning to my practice of aikidō; it has enabled me to persevere and to overcome moments of discouragement, difficult phases, those times when one feels stuck, without any spring in one’s step. It is also thanks to these daily routines, to all these actions, that our bodies regenerate and come to perceive others not merely through their physical or social appearance, but rather through what they radiate from within – something that is not merely psychological, but of an entirely different order, of a different nature.

From solitary practice to osmosis

This represents a significant qualitative transformation that is not meant to be a pipe dream, for it is out of the ordinary, and because this transformation opens up possibilities for understanding our universe and our humanity in all their complexity. Unlike the virtual worlds presented to us through technology and societal interactions in our daily lives, we begin to perceive the real world and its true nature. In some ways, it is not so different from our everyday lives; yet it is also completely different.

Each exercise in this First part is linked to our breathing; each movement is connected to inhaling or exhaling. Tsuda sensei would say “Ka” as he inhaled and “Mi” as he exhaled. He explained that when we unite our breathing, we realise “Ka” and “Mi”, which together form “Kami”, which can be translated as God. This is not a god in the religious or even mystical sense, but rather, life in all its manifestations. The martial aspect does not disappear, but is simply transcended. This helps us to better understand why Tsuda sensei wrote:

‘Aikido, the way of coordination of ki, is an art of “fusing ki”, so it’s a martial form of osmosis’.¹²

Tama-no-hireburi - la pratique respiratoire — Tama-no-hireburi

Aikidō: religion or philosophy ?

The moment one ritualises any part of the practice of a martial art, accusations of religiosity or mysticism arise. Reishiki, salutes, concentration, various meditations – all become suspect, as does everything that makes that art one peaceful and respectful of humanity. In the light of scientific materialism and today’s knowledge, it is difficult to explain why a ritualised practice is of such interest, as it defies the notion of progress.

Nevertheless, the world of research is pressing ahead with current studies to gain a more detailed understanding of how our environment works. However, such work must be tinged with scientism to be accepted. For example, we may end up attaching sensors, made from lie detectors, to plants to understand their language, while still being unable to explain why some people have “green fingers”. We try to replicate nature in every way for the benefits it brings to humankind, without understanding how nature produces these results itself. We analyse, divide and dissect in order to identify the active ingredient in a substance, failing to realise that it is the whole that creates that component. If even one part or element is missing, or if the rhythm is interrupted, the result will be entirely different and may even contradict what we had hoped to find or what we had previously discovered. Just as we have no need for religions that shackle us to dogma, so too do we have no need for ideologies that restrict our freedoms or, worse still, enslave us. Even if some of these new beliefs or doctrines, sometimes supposedly validated by science, were designed for our “good”, for our present or future “happiness”, they are worth no more in my eyes than the chimeras of the past. One form of alienation is as bad as another.

For many of us, the quest for unity of being remains the ultimate value, and to find it, the Respiratory Practice remains a valuable tool, readily at our disposal. The ancient gods may be dead as representations and images projected by humanity, but the energy attributed to them, which animates us, is still there. We can feel it, rediscover it, and use it within ourselves.

Maintaining health

‘Health is a state of complete physical, mental and social well-being and not merely the absence of disease or infirmity.’¹³

This is the WHO’s definition, which we in the West accept as self-evident. It is often taken at face value, along with its corollaries and implications: that we must fight disease and eliminate microbes and viruses; that we must correct nature which is so imperfect; that we must support and protect human beings; and so on. This doctrine becomes so absolute that it produces results contrary to those hoped for. Notably, “people are becoming weaker”. Rather than allowing the body to flourish naturally, we force it to protect itself from anything that could potentially be harmful, or we shield it. We do this in the name of conceptual imperatives regarding health that are supposedly scientific or medical. We reinforce theoretical education on how the body functions and on hygiene without grasping their basics, and we standardise the appearance of young boys and girls to the detriment of their actual health. The result falls far short of society’s expectations, but the conditioning remains, and will continue to do so for a long time.

The Respiratory Practice, accessible to everyone regardless of background or physical condition, may be the answer when we discover the weight of oppression on our own body and its influence on our mind and thinking, consequently affecting our actions.

Simple movements

This is a purification process that can begin. Just as with the planet, when we need to clean up the environment, it is important to halt a process, to stop using the same patterns of behaviour, to stop doing ‘more of the same’¹⁴. The simple movements associated with breathing, “the circulation of ki” bring visible results right from the start of this slow process of reconstruction that often astonish those around the practitioners, whatever their age or physical condition. The real difficulty lies in maintaining consistency rather than in the efforts themselves, which are in fact extremely modest. It is even possible to limit oneself to this First part if one wishes or if circumstances require it; the resulting sense of well-being will be no less, as the “body-mind” unity rediscovered is the true gift that our deepest nature has always sought.

Régis Soavi

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Article by Régis Soavi published in October 2021 in Self & Dragon Spécial Aikido n° 7.

Notes

1
[see e. g. Tsuda Itsuo, The Science of the Particular, Chap. XVII, 2016, Yume Editions, p. 141]
2
Âme: French word for soul. (T.N.)
3
Tsuda Itsuo, The Non-Doing, 2023, Yume Editions, Chap. I, p. 16 (1^st ed. in French: 1973, pub. Le Courrier du Livre (Paris), p. 14)]
4
often translated as “rowing motion”
5
Tsuda sensei translated it as “vibration of the soul”
6
a niche used to display a kakejiku
7
a scroll frame for a calligraphic work or a painting
8
a Japanese floral arrangement
9
Mrs. Nakanishi, a Shinto priestess, taught Kotodama to Master Ueshiba
10
kotodama is the understanding of the spiritual power attributed to sounds
11
Tsuda Itsuo, The Way of the Gods, 2021, Yume Editions, Chap. XVII, p. 133 (1^st ed. in French: 1982, pub. Le Courrier du Livre (Paris), p. 128)
12
The Non-Doing (op. cit.), Chap. VI, pp. 66–67 (1^st ed. in French: p. 62)
13
World Health Organization’s health definition (available online)
14
Paul Watzlawick, John H. Weakland, Richard Fisch Change. Principles of Problem Formation and Problem Resolution, W. W. Norton & Company, Chap. 3, 1974

Aïkido, Articles_Blog, EN, entretiens, FR, Katsugen undo

#1 Breathing, a Living Philosophy

9 December 2025 name

Here is the first of the Six interviews of Itsuo Tsuda by André Libioulle, entitled ‘Breathing, a Living Philosophy’ and broadcasted on France Culture in the 1980s.

To read and/or to listen to.

BROADCAST N° 1

Q: L’École de la Respiration was created by Itsuo Tsuda in Paris in 1973. However, the word “school” is not entirely appropriate and Master Tsuda never intended it to be a closed, exclusive teaching centre. On the contrary, his views remain entirely open. He is interested in other breathing disciplines and above all in the field of thought related to breathing.

Concretely, L’École de la Respiration is a ”Dōjō”, a particular kind of space in the East, which refers less to the material place itself than to the energetic space. […] Of course, movement is an individual matter; it is to be found in the inner space specific to each person. However, it is created through a certain state of relaxation and a whole atmosphere conducive to meditation. That’s why, for example, it is recommended that the Regenerating Movement be practised with the eyes closed. The dōjō is a spiritual more than a physical space, and therefore not a school in the usual sense. Itsuo Tsuda?

I. T.: It is not a school in the usual sense of the word. As I have written and published books under the imprint of “L’École de la Respiration (“the school of breathing”), I applied this name to the association. The association is independent from me. I am a guest, I am not the boss, and insofar as the association requires my presence, I accept, provided that the members carry out this personal endeavour themselves. I am not there as a boss who gives orders; that’s something you have to understand.

Q.: It is a “school”, in inverted commas, that is open to everyone. The Regenerating Movement is practised here “without knowledge, without technique and without purpose”. That’s a bit of a paradox for a school, isn’t it?

I. T.: Yes. Well, people have to be well motivated. Otherwise we refuse them. For example people who ask for therapy, etc., or who come with other intentions, we refuse. What we are doing is to exercise the extrapyramidal, that’s all. But we can’t throw ourselves into it all at once, can we? we don’t know what it is. When I give the workshop, I start by explaining the thing. Not explaining the extrapyramidal system in anatomical terms, but in relation to the life one leads in the Western context, and bring people back into another context that is natural. Which doesn’t mean that I’m against Westernization, it’s an irreversible thing. Japan is now westernised. But while accepting this conditioning, if you are determined, if you are motivated, you can get out of it and breathe freely, feel full and free.

Q.: Imagine someone entering L’École de la respiration: what can he expect? How will things work, concretely, in practice?

I. T.: They arrive and they sit roughly in a circle and I start to give a sort of talk. And there are people who don’t understand at all. At first almost no one does. But there are those who are attracted, who stay. But their heads are full of questions. And I refuse to answer. I say: “Wait a minimum of a year, two years if possible”. At the end of a year or two, the body changes, evolves and then they no longer know what to say and the questions have evaporated.

Q.: The people who come are not sick people, I mean they’re people who simply have a need for personal development, a need to feel better about themselves, usually..

I. T.: Well, the motivations are diverse. But what I ask for is practice without purpose. There is a psychiatrist who was attracted precisely because it is marked “without purpose”, because he knows from his own experience that this is extremely important. But for others it makes no sense; a practice without a goal is completely… crazy! That is one of the conditions that I insist upon. Otherwise people come and ask me all sorts of things and they go nowhere, they’re just banging their heads against the wall.

Q.: So at a certain point, people stop asking questions. What has happened inside them, what has changed so that all of a sudden, all the intellectual questions are resolved?

I. T.: Well, the body has evolved, sensations have evolved, so we don’t see the same thing from the same perspective. Before starting, such and such a thing is important; people think it’s absolutely necessary to ask me questions. But after a year or two, it becomes so obvious that they no longer need to ask questions.

Q.: But in the first stage, there’s a breathing practice, there are preparatory movements for another more fundamental movement that you call the Regenerating Movement. How does the preparation work?

I. T.: To tell the truth, you don’t need any preparation if you’re sensitive and not very complicated. But modern life doesn’t always allow you to be uncomplicated, so we need a bit of stimulus to get us going. You don’t need a memory, it’s something that arises from within, and it comes of its own accord.

Q.: So it’s more like an immediate, spontaneous reaction on the part of the person, and everyone has a particular reaction, everyone has a singular organic reaction that is unique to him or her.

I. T.: We can’t create a model for the Regenerating Movement, because each individual has his or her own movement and the movement of the same individual differs every day. That’s what they are going to find out for themselves. The difficulty is that people arrive with a head full of imaginings and it’s a real problem to get rid of these. They know thirty-six thousand methods that they mix up with the Regenerating Movement and which distort everything. I make sure that people don’t mix everything up, that’s the greatest difficulty.

Q.: Initially, it seems that people find it hardest simply to feel, to live in contact with their sensations. That’s what the Regenerating Movement brings.

I. T.: People say, “We’re not in the Middle Ages anymore”. Well, what’s the difference between the Middle Ages and now? Gestation still takes nine months; that hasn’t changed. Only, in the Middle Ages there was neither radio nor television. Only the means have changed. But the body, on the contrary, has become weaker. There are many people who are neither completely alive nor completely dead. They are in a kind of twilight,, without feeling. What we’re doing is not adding something extra, but going “back to the source”, which allows us to really feel what’s happening every day, at every moment. That’s what has been completely neglected. All we do is schedule, plan things with a view to what’s going to happen in a year’s time, in three years’ time, and so on. But what are you doing now, what are you feeling now? That we do not know.

Q.: Master Tsuda, the people who come to you come because they feel the need, let us say, for a personal evolution. But people come to work on themselves and they come with spontaneous body tendencies. In several of your books, you’ve mentioned a concept known as “taiheki“.

I. T.: It’s a concept that is also quite difficult to explain. In our modern lives, the body’s activities become increasingly specialised. Some people need their eyesight, their hearing, their brains, and so on. Athletes need their muscles. Because of this specialisation, we are more or less deformed. The channelling of energy becomes specialised. We cannot all of a sudden change direction. We’re always on the same channel.

Q.: You talk about the polarisation of energy…

I. T.: … Yes, polarisation if you like; channelling. And we think we can control all that, but it’s difficult indeed. That’s why we need to normalise the terrain, so that we can use all our pawns, if you will. For example, one woman told me that before doing the Movement, she didn’t know whether her feet were hot or cold, she had to take off her shoes and then touch her feet with her hand so she could say, “ah! yes, my feet are hot or cold”. But now she doesn’t need to do that anymore, she can feel directly. Sensation doesn’t work in most people.

Q.: Most people are desensitised…

I. T.: … desensitised either in the feet or in the legs, etc.

Q.: And by being desensitised, people are cut off from themselves.

I. T.: Yes, they are fragmented, they are compartmentalised. They see the world through this very, very narrow perspective.

Q.: Your desire is to put people in touch with themselves, with their sensations, and thereby even with “ki”’, that notion that evades all concepts, a moving notion: qualitative, not quantitative. The truth of science is quantitative, but the truth of the Movement is always particular, always concrete.

I. T.: We come into the world with no knowledge, with no explanation. How is it that a newborn baby can turn white milk into yellow poo? The baby has no knowledge. Well, at that very moment, the absence of knowledge allows everything to work. We have to be able to get to that point. Except with adults, the problem presents itself in a different way, because we cannot imitate a baby. If there are a lot of things that come to the surface of the conscious mind, that’s precisely why we are in the state of “heart of pure sky”. When we are very busy, we don’t even think about it. That is the return to the source, which is different from what happens with a newborn.

Q.: Will the people who come to you later become practitioners of the
Regenerating Movement, or is it just a practice they follow for the sake of their own well being?

I. T.: That’s up to them, isn’t it? I don’t say anything. If they want to do it, they do it, that’s all. But if people aren’t truly motivated, things just fall apart. And if they’re really motivated, little by little their horizons open up. So, as to how far they will go, for the moment I can’t say.

[end of Broadcast N° 1/6]

continue with Broadcast N° 2

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Aïkido, Articles_Blog, EN, FR, IT

Making the Impossible Possible

1 January 2025 name

Interview with Régis Soavi

Why did you start Aikido?

I started Judo-jujitsu, as it was called at the time, in 1962 and our teacher presented it to us as “the way of suppleness”, the use of the opponent’s strength. I was nearly twelve years old and I loved the techniques, the imbalance, the falls, which could also be a way of overcoming the technique we had undergone. Our instructor used to talk to us about hara, posture, and we knew that he himself was learning Aikido and that he had the rank of “black skirt”, which was very impressive for us. The events of 1968 turned me towards street fighting techniques, kobudō, and different tactics. However, in 1972 I wanted to take up judo again, and I signed up with Plée sensei on rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève. You could practise judo, karate or aikido for the price of a single membership fee, which was ideal for training. But judo had changed: weight categories, working on a special to win a fight – I was very disappointed. One evening after the session I stayed to watch Aikido, Maroteaux sensei was leading the session and I was immediately won over.

Why continue?

In Aikido I have found much more than an art, I have found a very rich “Path” which, like any other path, only needs to be explored further. Each day’s session allows me to discover a new aspect, to feel that I can go much further, that I am just on the edge of something much broader, as if an ocean were opening up before me. Beyond the pleasure I get from it, I think it is important to bear witness to its existence.

Which aspect speaks to you most: martial, mystical, health, spirituality?

There is no separation for me between all these things, they are interdependent.

Why are you creating dojos rather than practising in gymnasiums?

I understand your question, it would be so much easier to use existing facilities – nothing to do, not even cleaning, everything would be taken care of by the management. We would be entitled to complain if it is not clean enough, to grumble if something is not right, and in any case we would just be temporary passers-by. For me, on the other hand, the dojo is of crucial importance. Firstly, because it is a dedicated place and therefore provides a different atmosphere, free from the constraints of the authorities, a place where you feel at home, where you have the freedom to organise yourself as you wish, where you are responsible for everything that happens. Being put into this situation is what makes us understand what a dojo is, it changes the game, it allows a practice that goes beyond training and leads individuals towards autonomy and responsibility. But the main reason is that from the perspective of KI the place becomes charged, in the same way as an old house, an ancient theatre or certain temples. This charge allows us to feel that another world is possible, even within the one we live in.

You set up several dojos and other venues as soon as the 80s. The Floreal Garden¹ – a place for children –, then several painting workshops, as well as a music school – Music in the bushes². Why all these places? What do they have in common?

My desire has always been to encourage the freedom of bodies and minds, with the aim of bringing them together. To be successful, this work requires a very broad vision, free of ideology, free of mind-numbing systems, free of competition, always in search of sensitivity – which seems to have become a disease or a defect in our society – and spontaneity – among other things. To create a kindergarten to provide the basis for an education in freedom, thereby encouraging non-schooling; to create “painting-expression workshops”³ in the spirit of Arno Stern’s work, which are like bubbles and liberate human beings from the neurotic sclerosis that surrounds them; to give adults and children the chance to develop a passion for music – particularly classical music – thanks to a notation known as “plain music”⁴, which allows them to play immediately and to discover the pleasure of playing without having to endure the rigidification of the mind and body organised by the specialists of music theory and music teaching in general. All in the service of the human being and the possibility of harmonious development of body and mind.

créer un dojo, impossible ? — Régis Soavi has been teaching every morning for over forty years. Tenshin Dojo, Paris

You cultivate a position of non-master, do you not? By being both the sensei, the one who shows the way, the one who takes responsibility for teaching, and at the same time an ordinary member of the association, who takes part in the day-to-day tasks and worries as much about the heating as about a leak or DIY.

I can see that you understand my position very well. This attitude is a necessity for me, there is no question of me losing myself, abused by a false power that I would have acquired by taking advantage of subterfuges and pretence but which would flatter my ego. My search in this direction stems from Non-Doing and concerns all aspects of my life. It is and has been a long and hazardous process, ‘without fixed reference’ as Tsuda sensei wrote⁵. This orientation is an instrument, an essential tool to enable the members of the associations to move towards their own freedom, their own autonomy through the activity in the dojo. To sum up my thoughts, I would like to quote a 19^th century philosopher whom I have appreciated for a very long time and whose importance has always seemed to me to be undervalued in our society:

‘No man can recognize his own human worth, nor in consequence realize his full development, if he does not recognize the worth of his fellow men, and in co-operation with them, realize his own development through them. No man can emancipate himself, unless at the same time he emancipates those around him. My freedom is the freedom of all; for I am not really free – free not only in thought, but in deed – if my freedom and my right do not find their confirmation and sanction in the liberty and right of all men my equals.’ ⁶

What was Tsuda Itsuo like and what struck you about him?

He was a man of great simplicity and at the same time great finesse. The fact that he also spoke and wrote French perfectly allowed us to communicate in a way that I could not find anywhere else with a Japanese master. He was also an intellectual in the best sense of the word; his knowledge of the East and the West enabled him to get across a certain type of message about the body and freedom of thought, particularly in his books, which is still unequalled today. He met Ueshiba Morihei in 1955 as Nocquet sensei’s translator and began practising in 1959, when he was already forty-five. He was his student for ten years, but as he was already a Seitai practitioner and translated O-sensei’s words for French and American foreigners, he was able to grasp the depth of what he said as well as the importance of posture, mind and above all breath (Ki) in the first part of Aikido, which seems to have been forgotten today – to my great sadness.

Tsuda Tsuda Itsuo with Régis Soavi in 1980, Paris

How can one find the balance between teaching and personal practice?

Quite simply, I have been practising Aikido for fifty years, every morning at 6.45am for an hour and a half, 365 days a year. Of course, I also practise Katsugen Undo (which Tsuda sensei translated as Regenerative Movement) there too – I could say – every day, if only, at the very least, through the Seitai hot bath⁷. As far as teaching goes, I have workshops about once a month, whether in Paris, Toulouse, Milan or Rome.

Have there been any changes in your practice or teaching?

Of course! How could it be otherwise? If we practise sincerely, the practice extends to all aspects of our lives. I find it hard to understand people who have given up or go in search of other arts because they find Aikido repetitive. Is life, when fully lived, repetitive? Every moment of my practice provokes changes, evolutions and even upheavals that have led me to question myself and go deeper. This is what gives me joy in my Aikido practice. Even the most difficult moments, and perhaps those more than others, have been vectors of transformation and enrichment.

Your master, Tsuda Itsuo, once gave you a koan, did he not?

Yes, but I find it difficult to tell the exact circumstances. First of all, I must explain that Tsuda sensei knew how to talk to people’s subconscious. Whenever he did this, it was a way of giving them a helping hand, but he hardly ever spoke about it. He said that Noguchi sensei did it routinely because it was part of the Seitai techniques. One day, following a discussion, he said to me ‘Bon courage’, a fairly banal phrase, but the tone he used, obviously relying on the ‘breathing intermission’, overwhelmed me and made me react, giving me an inner strength I had not suspected.

Another time it was more important because it was then that he gave me the koan. As I was telling him about my difficulties with work (how to earn a living for my family and myself, etc.) and how to find a way to continue practising, or even to set up a dojo since I was going to leave Paris for a few years and be 800 kms away, he began by explaining to me that in the Rinzai Zen school (I had just read The Zen Teachings of Master Lin-chi⁸ and he knew it) the master gives his disciples koans they have to solve. Suddenly he said to me ‘Impossible’, ‘here you go’! Then he left quickly, leaving me stunned and completely dumbfounded. I have to say that at first I thought it was absurd and ridiculous. He had already given me a direction for my practice some time before, when he specifically chose the calligraphy entitled MU⁹ as a gift from my Parisian students. But this time I was shocked, I did not understand. Mu seemed to me a real koan, already known, listed, acceptable, but ‘impossible’ did not make sense. Why say that to me? It was over the years that the ‘answer’ became obvious.

What role does Katsugen Undo play in your practice?

Oh, it is of prime importance, but to answer your question, here is an anecdote. We were at a restaurant with Tsuda sensei, when Noguchi Hirochika – Noguchi sensei’s first son – who was sitting next to me suddenly asked me: ‘Katsugen Undo, what does it mean to you?’ My answer was as immediate as it was spontaneous: ‘It is the minimum’, I replied, and I have not changed my opinion since. Tsuda sensei really liked this answer and he used it in some of his lectures during workshops. The ‘minimum’ to maintain balance, to allow our involuntary system to function correctly so that we no longer need to worry about our health, no longer need to be afraid of illness.

Noguchi Hirochika with Régis Soavi (Paris, 1981)

Does Aikido without Katsugen Undo make sense to you?

Yes, of course, although it all depends on how you practise. It is just a shame not to take advantage of what can make us independent, of what can awaken our intuition, our attention, our ability to concentrate and free our mind.

You have been contributing to Dragon Magazine for many years now. What do you get out of it?

It allows me to get a message across and at the same time forces me to be as clear as possible about the teaching of my master Tsuda sensei, and therefore about our school. It is also a way of stepping out of the shadows while keeping things simple, without advertising or making a fuss. The fact that I regularly read articles by my contemporaries as well as young teachers brings me a lot and allows me to see and understand the different directions in which Aikido is heading and their reasons for being, even when I do not agree with them.

Is writing important in Budō?

Writing is always important because it is one of the bases of communication – ‘words fly away, but the written letter remains’. However, without real practice there is a risk that it will remain in the realm of ideas and only satisfy the intellect, in which case the target is missed.

Have other masters also left their mark on you?

I am lucky enough to belong to an era when it was possible to meet a large number of first-generation sensei. The 70s were very rich in this respect, and we went from training course to training course, listening attentively to their words and postures to get the best out of what each of them had to offer. I would therefore like to express my gratitude to all those who taught me, my master Tsuda Itsuo sensei, Noro Masamichi sensei, Tamura Nobuyoshi sensei, André Nocquet sensei, as well as those I had the opportunity to meet. I prefer to mention them in alphabetical order so as not to suggest anything about the importance they have had on my practice: Hikitsuchi Michio sensei, Kobayashi Hirokazu sensei, Shirata Rinjiro sensei, Sugano Seiichi sensei, Ueshiba Kisshomaru sensei, as well as – although I have never practised Karate – Kase Taiji sensei, or Mochizuki Hiroo sensei whom I met thanks to Tsuda sensei and who left an indelible mark on me. I cannot forget Rolland Maroteaux sensei, who was my first Aikido teacher and who introduced me to my main mentor: Tsuda Itsuo sensei.

Régis Soavi

Interwiew with Régis Soavi published in April 2023 in Self & Dragon Spécial Aikido n° 13.

Notes :

[French: Le Jardin Floréal. The premisses of this Toulousian association, which was closed, were brought to life again in 2018 by Association The Edge of the Forest (Fr: La Lisière)].
[French: La Musique Buissonnière. “The bushes” refer to the off-road (buissonnier) places where children who used to play truant preferred to go for their learning – probably a preference for the shade and berries over the chairs and chalks. L’école buissonnière (lit. “off-road school”) translates as “truancy from school”.]
today known as “play-of-painting workshops”
pedagogy of pianist Jacques Greys (1929–2019) [original French: la musique en clair]
[Tsuda Itsuo, Even if I don’t think, I am, Chap. XVIII–XX, 2020, Yume Editions (1^st ed. in French: 1981, Le Courrier du Livre (Paris))]
Mikhail Bakounine (1814-1876), anarchist philosopher [quoted in Errico Malatesta’s Anarchy, pub. Freedom Press, 1948, p. 14]
Yashima magazine, No. 13, October 2021
[Many English versions of the Rinzai-roku are available on the above link (French 1^st ed.: Les Entretiens de Lin-tsi, Paul Demiéville, 1972, pub. Fayard (Paris))]
“nothing” or “non-existence”, a term used in Taoism to express emptiness

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Transcending space and time

1 January 2025 name

by Régis Soavi

All aikidoka have heard of Ma ai, because it is one of the foundations of our practice. Unfortunately, talking about it and living it are two very different things. As it is known in all martial arts, it is easy to find numerous references to it.You can conceive this idea intellectually, you can write about it and develop a whole discourse about it, but “nothing beats experience”, as my master Tsuda Itsuo used to tell us.¹

I will try, therefore, to explain the inexplicable through concrete examples or situations.Read more →

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1 + 1 = 1: Breathing

1 January 2025 name

by Régis Soavi

‘“Whether they are one or many does not matter, I put them all in my belly,” said O sensei’. With these words¹ Tsuda Itsuo sensei once answered² one of my many questions about the practice, especially how to defend oneself against several partners.

Magic or simplicity

As a young aikidoka, I tried to drink from all available sources, and my references were Nocquet sensei, Tamura sensei and Noro sensei. But of course I also found them in the one I felt closest to: Tsuda sensei. In the early seventies, we were very fond of anecdotes about the martial arts, the great historical masters, and especially O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei. We would also go to buy the “super 8” films that were available in that temple that was the martial arts shop on the Montagne Sainte-Geneviève (in Paris), fascinated as we were by the prowess of this great master. Although profoundly materialistic, I was not far from believing in something magical, in extraordinary powers granted to some beings more than to others. Tsuda Itsuo brought me back down to earth, because what he was showing us was very simple, but even so, it was still completely incomprehensible. I was already familiar with the techniques he showed us, but he did them with such simplicity and ease that it disturbed me, and only strengthened my desire to continue practising in order to discover the “secrets” that enabled him to do what he did.

His leitmotiv: breathing

Respiration, Non-Faire — The aim of group training is to lead us in the direction of Non-Doing.

When he spoke of breathing he meant the word KI, that was the translation he chose to express this “non-concept” that is so common, and so immediately understandable in Japan, but so difficult to grasp in the West. He explained that, when uniting your breathing with your partner or partners, you can achieve primordial unity. The breath becomes the physical support, the concrete act, that makes it possible to unite with others. It acts physically as a kind of gentle constraint on the partners’ bodies. We all know what I am talking about, it is absolutely no mystery. There are people who are able to make others feel uncomfortable, others who know how to impose themselves, impose their breathing, sometimes leaving the person they are talking to unable to utter a word. In martial arts – and this is particularly evident in the art of swordsmanship –, it is a matter of desynchronising breathing in order to surprise and destabilise the opponent. In many cases, the crucial moment is when the beginning of the opponent’s inhalation coincides with the end of the other’s inhalation, in other words the beginning of the exhalation. It is during this interval between inhalation and exhalation that you strike. This moment, known as “the breathing intermission”, is the ideal time to use your physical strength in a fight and defeat your opponent. In Aikido, however, the same moment is used to enter into the partner’s breath, into this path which is the path of harmony, where the aim is to unify the breaths and reach a common breath.

Practise with one partner as if there were several

respiration, technique, calme — Inner calm begins with knowing the techniques well.

In the beginning it is easier to practise with only one partner, but it is important not to become fixated on him or her, to remain available for other interventions. This availability is achieved through inner calm, which begins with knowing the techniques well and not panicking. Even so, it will take a few years to become calm in such circumstances, which is why you should not wait to start working in this direction. I would say that, for me, practising with several partners, more than a performance to be executed, represents a pedagogical orientation. Aikido is a whole, you cannot cut it into slices. It is a global approach to teaching, not a school type of teaching validated by grades and exams. Whenever there is an odd number of people in the group, we can take advantage of this to work in threes, but this will not be enough to acquire the right reflexes and the right attitude to adopt. Whenever the group allows it, i. e. when there are not too many differences in level, you can get everyone to practise in groups of three or even four partners.When both partners seize Tori together, and with both hands, it is Tori’s technique and ability to concentrate the power in the hara through breathing that will be decisive; the suppleness of the arms and shoulders will allow the energy, the ki, to circulate to the fingertips, and to spurt out beyond them, causing the partners to fall to the tatami. However, when working with alternating attacks, the greatest difficulty lies not in the execution of the techniques, but rather in Uke’s role.

Too often Uke does not know how to behave and waits for their turn to attack. My teaching also consists of showing how to position oneself, how to find the angle of attack; in this case I play Uke’s role, exactly as in the old koryū. I show how to turn around Tori, how to feel the flaws in their breathing, in their posture, and how Tori can use one partner against the other, I do this slowly so that Tori does not really feel attacked, but rather disturbed in their habits, in their mobility or in their inability to move in harmony. The forms of the attack must be very clear; the aim is not to demonstrate the other person’s weakness but to allow them to feel what is happening around them without having to look or fidget, but rather to develop their sensory capacity. They must not become attached to the constraints imposed by each seizure but, on the contrary, realise that these constraints can be an opportunity to go beyond the situation, even a godsend.

The value of moving

Movement takes on a very special value when there are several people around us. If you watch the traffic on a motorway at rush hour from the top of a bridge overlooking it, you will be amazed at how vehicles brush pass each other, overtake each other, slow down, speed up and even change lanes in a kind of ballet that is not controlled by any higher authority but, in truth, by each individual driver. You might expect to see a lot of accidents, or at least sheet metal crumpling in the space of a few minutes, yet that is not the case – everything goes smoothly. Of course there are accidents, but very few compared to what we can imagine or see from our observatory.

If you practise with several partners with the same level of concentration, attention and respect for each other as you would when driving a vehicle of any kind, because it is our body – and not an extension of our body’s consciousness, as can be the case with a car – it becomes much easier. I will say it again: it is necessary to have a good technique, not to be afraid of what is happening, but to be calm and confident, while being alert and aware of what is happening around us. The difference with the example I have just given is that the partners are trying to touch us, hit us or stop us, unlike the cars, which are avoiding each other. Just like the car, for example – which through anthropotechnics becomes like an extension of our body, whose dimensions we are aware of to the centimetre, even to the millimetre – it is now a question of seizing the opportunity to feel our sphere, no longer as a dream, an idea, a fantasy, an imagination or an esoteric delirium invented out of the blue by some magician or charlatan, but rather as a concrete reality accessible to everyone, since we are already capable of doing this in the car if we pay enough attention.

Then it is a matter of playing with this sensation, this expansion: as soon as the spheres brush against each other, they expand, retract, move constantly, responding to needs without having to resort to the voluntary system. It is the work of the involuntary, the spontaneous, as if the movements were done by themselves, precisely and with ease. It is then that one enters the practice of Non-Doing, the famous non-action, the Chinese Wu-Wei, it is then that what seemed mythical becomes reality. The aim of training with several partners is to lead us towards Non-Doing. This practice can take place in the middle of a crowd, in a department store on sale day, or on a more everyday basis in the metro for city dwellers. The game is to feel how to move, how to get around, how to manage to pass through the empty spaces between people.

O-sensei was a master also in the art of moving through crowds. His uchi deshi used to complain that they could not keep up with him in the middle of the crowd, when they had to take the metro to accompany him to a demonstration or when they had to take the train with him. Although they were young and vigorous, they had enormous difficulty moving through the crowds at the station, whereas he, who was very old and rather frail at the end of his life, was able to weave his way through the crowd with surprising speed.

Unifier la respiration — The aim is to unify the breaths and reach a common breath.

Recreating a space around you

The art of blending into the crowd, of going unnoticed, can be a natural disposition, or a deformation – sometimes due to trauma – that leads to suffering: to be the person who is unseen, the one who is unnoticed, who becomes invisible. But it can also be an art, and it seems that O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei has excelled here as well. Sometimes it is necessary to melt away, to blend into a crowd for example, to fade into the background to go unnoticed. In this case, our sphere becomes transparent, but at the same time it remains very present, coherent, stable and powerful. It creates an empty space around the person that is difficult to cross, making it difficult to attack or even approach.

I had the opportunity to experience this during demonstrations with my master Tsuda sensei, but I think this was even more striking after the sessions, when we would have coffee or tea together in the dojo just outside the changing rooms where we could manage to clear a small area. There was a big low table and we would all sit around it, more or less huddled together, except for sensei. There was always a space on either side that seemed impassable, and it was not just respect that prevented us from sitting there. There was a very concrete, very real emptiness, solid as a rock. Tsuda sensei never seemed to pay any attention to it; he drank his coffee, chatted, told stories and then, after some half an hour or more, got up and left. But the emptiness remained: even if we sometimes stayed a little longer, no one occupied the empty seat, something remained there. This is what I call the art of creating an impassable space around oneself, an art that can hardly be practised, rather it is a skill that emerges naturally, that emerges when one becomes independent, autonomous, when one has passed the first stage of apprenticeship, or when the need arises.

The one and the multiple

The problem is not the number of attacks, but our ability to remain calm in all circumstances. Who can claim this, and is it not a myth? If the attacks are conventional or planned in advance, like a kind of ballet, one steps outside the pedagogical role of Aikido. It will be nothing more than the repetition of gestures that can admittedly be refined or made more aesthetic, but without depth. It will be a performance that, however professional, however admirable, will no longer be about Aikido, which, in my opinion, will have lost its value of profoundly changing the human being.

Régis Soavi

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Article by Régis Soavi published in January 2021 in Self et Dragon Spécial Aikido n° 4.

(Translator’s) Notes: see also, by Tsuda Itsuo (Yume Editions):

‘Ueshiba. “I do not look others in the eyes; I do not look at their technique, their manner. I put them all in my belly. Since they are in my belly, I do not need to fight with them.’ (The Dialogue of Silence, Chap. XI, 2018, p. 94)
‘this is what Master Ueshiba said: “when there are a lot of people it doesn’t matter, I put them all in my belly”.’ (Heart of Pure Sky, ‘La Matinée des autres’, 2025, p. ???) ]

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Superficiality or Deepening

6 October 2019 name

In this article, starting from an I Chin hexagram (䷯ jǐng: the well), Régis Soavi discusses with us how the practices of Aikido and Regenerating Movement can be instruments of searching and deepening into oneself.

The dojo is, intrinsically, the well where all practitioners of martial arts in search for the Way, Tao, come to feed themselves. Contrary to rings or gyms, it offers a place for peace that is necessary, perhaps essential, to deepen human values.

dojo le puits — dojo Scuola della respirazione, Milan

Today we live at the speed of light. Communication has never been so fast. Waves loaded with bits and micro-bits circulate continuously around our planet, carrying more information that our brain can store. Social networks have replaced knowledge with a superficial veneer that may, seemingly, be fit to meet up with our social appearance. In the sixties, members of the Situationist International castigated the pseudo-intellectuals who would feed on magazines such as Le Nouvel Observateur or L’Express¹ to fuel their society conversations or their writings: what would they say about the democratisation that is now offered to each and everyone of us as a chance to become the new Monsieur Jourdain from Molière’s Bourgeois Gentilhomme? Better than deepening anything, ‘Jack of all trades, master of none’ seems to be the motto of our times.

Martial arts tend apparently to be going the same direction. Many are those who are interested in the spectacular pictures broadcasted by media that present the fictive abilities of martial actors who, though highly skilled in their profession, mainly look for a rendering that is both superficial and commercial.

The image of the well in ancient China should make us wonder about the trends that govern our daily life. Whereas water used to be drawn from the well using a bucket and a pole, it was indeed the repetition of such an act that enabled the village life, and the provided food was considered as unlimited. What if we took a leaf out of this ancient book?

When we practice an art such as Aikido, it is not about accumulating ever more numerous techniques, nor blissfully repeating what is being taught, but rather about beginning a search, about reorienting oneself towards something more profound in order to abandon the superficial, the superfluous, that disappointed us so much and that we can no longer bear.

Many of those who were, at first, extremely enthusiastic to start a true work with their body get weary of repeating, in an all-too-often schoolish manner, or get misled by the latest trend. This is how some people collect methods and go from one art to another, from Yoga to Tai chi, from Karate to Capoeiera, sometimes thinking that one of them is superior to the other, as so nicely explained by any trendy youtuber making up the news the way they like.

In view of all these characters who live only to influence their followers and earn a living on their backs thanks to the number of “likes” and to the ads they generate, is it not time to search deep into oneself? To take time to think rather than passively consume someone else’s thought? To move one’s own body to rediscover a lost harmony rather than search a virtual complement to the routine that stems from the poverty of one’s daily life?

The dojo as a place for searching has all the characteristics of the well: it is both a place for training, because one draws from it everyday, and at the same time (and maybe even more) it is a place for conviviality where the social gets rid of what prevents it from being true, that is to say, from being as close as possible to the profound nature of individuals. A place where sociability escapes conventions, a place where we can talk to each other, physically get in contact with each other in a simple manner, with all the difficulties potentially involved for who is not ready.

All the arduousness resides in not remaining at the surface of the practice, in not being content with surfing onto an ocean of images that have become virtual or wading on the strand – without getting too wet, please – but in absorbing what one finds out therein, in letting go of what encumbers us so as to be free to explore its depths.In his book The Non-Doing, my master Itsuo Tsuda delivers us with simplicity an insight into his own research and the work he had developed in Europe:

‘What am I in comparison with the greatness of the Universal Love of Master Ueshiba, or with the technique of the Non-doing of Master Noguchi, or the unfathomable refinement of Master Kanze Kasetsu, actor of the Noh theatre? I have known them all; two of them are dead and now only Master Noguchi is still alive. Their influence keeps on working in me. They are natural masters. I am simply a being who is beginning to wake up, who is seeking and going through an evolution.

An extraordinary continuity of sustained efforts is what marks out the works of these masters. I feel as though I am finding wells of exceptional depth in barren land. Where the work of categorization halts, is merely their starting point. They have drilled much deeper. They have reached the streams of water, the source of life.

However, these wells are not interconnected, although the water found in them is the same. My task is to draw up a map of the territory, and there, to find a common langage.’ ²

This language, Itsuo Tsuda will find it in the art of writing (he defined himself as a writer-philosopher, as attested by his funeral stele in Père Lachaise cemetery), in the teaching of a certain form of Aikido that is grounded in breathing and the deepening of the sensation of Ki, and finally in making known Katsugen undō (Regenerating Movement). Through his work, his writings, his teaching, he will manage to create a bridge between East and West.

What threatens who practices martial arts – and more specifically Aikido – is the boredom due to repetition, search for efficacy, polishing one’s technique, and all this at the expense of the depth of the art and the culture that underlies it. As a matter of fact, our time is no longer under the same imperatives as were previous centuries; while it is still useful to be able to react in case of agression or difficulties, what will be determinant is our inner force and the awakening of our instinct, more than our fighting capacity. Aikido remains a bodily practice, where rigour, dynamics, know-how, are of the utmost importance, but its philosophical aspect cannot be overlooked. This aspect is in no way contradictory, quite the contrary, one of my former masters Masamichi Noro had himself understood it very well when he created this new art that is Ki no Michi (the way of Ki) at the end of the seventies. The search in Aikido is something difficult and can sometimes even be pernicious, because it is not about confronting with other combatants, it is not meditation or dance either – and I can say so because I have an immense respect for these arts, there again the wells are different, but the search goes the same direction.

To go and search towards the development of human capacities, of the culture beyond what is known, to question oneself and question the ideas of the world, to move forward to make our society move forward. Maybe one day to get finally out of barbarism and obscurantism. We just need to read again Umberto Eco‘s conference³ on how the human being creates themselves enemies to understand that, more than ever, we need to know the other to better understand him or her.

Aikido as an art of the Non-Doing is a gateway to what many people are looking for: realising oneself, with no oversized ego, but in simplicity, and with the pleasure of an authentically lived experience.

Régis Soavi

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Notes

1
Le Nouvel Observateur (today L’Obs) and L’Express are weekly French general information magazines. They are among the most prominent ones in terms of audience and circulation, and stand at the political centre in the French media landscape. [Translators’ note]
2
Itsuo Tsuda, The Non-Doing, 2013, Yume Editions (Paris), p. 12
3
Umberto Eco, Costruire il nemico e altri scritti occasionali [Creating the Enemy & Other Occasional Wiritings], 2011, ed. Bompiani (Milano). The conference Creating the Enemy was given in Bologna on 15 May 2008 and its full text is availble online (in Italian)

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Ukemi: the Flow of Ki

6 April 2019 name

by Régis Soavi

The fall in our art – Ukemi – is more than a liberation, mere consequence of an action. It is the Yin or Yang of a whole, the Tao. In practice, at the end of the technique, Tori emanates a yang energy: if he wants to avoid injuring his partner, Tori lets him absorb this yang energy and transfer it to the fall.

Breathing during the fall

Aikido is an art where there is no loser, an art dedicated to human beings, to the intuition of humans, to their adaptability, and going beyond the contradiction brought by a technique by means of the fall is nothing else than adaptability to it.

Not to teach a beginner how to fall would amount to putting him in a situation of handicap from the start and risking discouragement, or to shaping a spirit of resentment, or even of revenge.

There are different attitudes among beginners, those who hurl themselves at the risk of getting hurt, and those who, because of fear, contract when about to fall and who of course take a bad fall and suffer painful consequences if you force them. My answer to this problem is softness and time…

When surprised by a noise, an act, the first reaction is to breathe in and block the breath, this is a reflex and vital functioning that prepares the answer and therefore the action. Surprise starts a series of biomechanical processes which are totally involuntary, it is already too late for reasoning. It is by breathing out that the solution to the problem will come. If there is no risk after all, or if the reaction is exaggerated and the risk minor, one drops the blocking and the breath is released in a natural way (ha, the usual sigh of relief). If there is danger, whether great or small, we are ready for action, ready to act thanks to the breath, thanks to breathing out. Problems occur when, for instance, we do not know what to do, when the solution does not arise immediately, we remain blocked in inspiration, with our lungs full of air, unable to move. It is a disaster! It is approximately the same pattern that occurs when we are a beginner, our partner is performing a technique and the logical answer that will enable us to get free, and thus to fix up this contentious problem is the Ukemi. But if one is afraid to fall, if one has not had the technical training of many forward and backward rollings done in a slow, nice and easy way, one remains with lungs blown up like a soccer ball, and if the technique is completed, one ends up on the floor, with more or less damage done.

Bouncing painfully on the tatamis like the aforesaid ball would then be the least harm. Learning to let go as soon as absolutely necessary, not falling before by caution, as this impairs Tori’s sensation and gives him a false idea of the value of his technique and often of himself. Grasping the right moment to breathe out and land softly on the tatamis without any air left in the lungs. Then as for the clapped falls, which one does when more advanced, it will be enough to breathe out faster and let oneself go so that the body finds the right receiving position by itself.

Training the old way!

My own training through Judo in the early sixties, in Parisian suburbs, was very different. To us school youngsters, Judo was a way to expend our energy and canalize what otherwise ended badly, that is turned into struggles and other kinds of street fights. The training, twice a week, required two essential things: absolute respect to our teacher and learning how to fall. It was still a time when our teacher transmitted the « Japanese » Judo without weight categories. In spite of Anton Geesink’s recent victory at the Olympic Games, he would define himself as a traditionalist. Falls were one of the lessons foundations: rolling forward, backward, sideways, we used to spend about twenty minutes practising that before performing the techniques, and sometimes, when he would not find us focused enough, too much scattered, he would say: ‘Turn your kimonos inside out so you won’t dirty them’ and we would go out for a series of forward falls, in the small paved blind alley in front of the dojo. Afterwards, we were not afraid to fall anymore, well, that is, those who still wanted to continue!

The world has changed, society has evolved, would nowadays parents agree to trust such a “barbarian” with their progeny, besides there are rules, protective laws, insurances.

Bob – that was his name – felt a responsibility for our training, and teaching us how to fall whatever the circumstances and on any sort of ground was part of his values and his duty was to retransmit them to us.

Bodies have changed, through food, lack of exercise, over-intellectualisation; how can we pass on the message that learning physically how to fall is a necessity, provided that the results of it will be ascertained only several years later. What benefit is to be expected of it, what profitability, nowadays everything is accounted for, there is no time to lose.

It is the philosophy of Aikido which attracts new practitioners, so that’s where our chance lies to pass on the message of this necessity.

Dualism

Aikido, by nature and above all because of the orientation O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei gave to it, carries a vision of the fall completely different from that of Boxing or Judo for instance, where falling is losing. To an external viewer, and that is what falsely gives a certain character to our art, it seems that Tori is the winner when Uke falls on the tatamis. It is psychologically difficult to admit that this is not at all so. Society gives us but rarely any examples of behaviour other than this Manichean dualism ‘Either you win or you lose’. And it is logical, at first sight, not to understand and to see only that. In order to understand the matter differently, one must practice, and practice with another conception in mind, which can only be given by the teacher. Tsuda Itsuo sensei provides an example of this pedagogy in his book The Path of Less:

‘In Aikido, when there is a flow of Ki from A, who is performing the technique, towards object B, opponent C, who is grasping A by the wrist, is thrown in the same direction. C is pulled in and joins the main current that goes from A to B.

I have often used this psychological mise-en-scene, for example, with the phrase “I’m already there”. When the opponent grabs your wrists and blocks your movement, as in the exercise of sitting Kokyu, one is inclined to think that this is a pushing exercise. If you push the opponent, it immediately produces resistance in that person. Push against push, they struggle. It becomes a sort of sitting sumo.

In the phrase “I’m already there”, there is no struggle. One simply moves, pivots on one knee to make an about turn, the opponent is driven by the flow of Ki and flipped into his side. It takes very little for this exercise to become a struggle. As soon as the idea of winner and loser gets mixed up in it, exaggerated efforts are made to obtain a result, all to the detriment of overall harmony. One pushes, the other resists, bending excessively low and squeezing the wrists to prevent being pushed. Such a practice will not benefit either one. The idea is too mechanical.

[…] The idea of throwing provokes resistance. […] Nonetheless, to forget the opponent while knowing he’s there is not easy. The more we try to forget, the more we think about it. It’s the joy in the flow of Ki that makes me forget everything.’ (1)

Imbalance serving the purpose of balance

Balance is definitely not rigidity, that is why falling as the consequence of a technique may perfectly enable us to rebalance ourselves. It is necessary to learn how to fall correctly, not only in order to enable Tori to be free of any fear for his partner, because Tori knows him and anticipates that his capacities will enable him to come out of this situation as well as a cat does in difficult conditions. But also and simply because thanks to the fall, we get rid of fears our own parents or grandparents have sometimes instilled in us with their “precautionism” of the kind ‘Be careful, you’ll fall down.’ invariably followed by ‘You’ll hurt yourself’. This Pavlovian impregnation has often led us to rigidity and in any case to a certain apprehension as regards falling, dropping down.

The French word chuter (to fall) has obviously a negative connotation, while in Japanese the most commonly accepted translation of the term Ukemi is receiving with the body, and we understand here that there is a world of difference. Once more the language shows us that the concepts, the reactions, differ profoundly, and it underlines the importance of the message we have to convey to people beginning Aikido. Without being especially a linguist, nor even a translator of Japanese, the understanding of our art also involves the study of Eastern civilisations, their philosophies, their artistic tastes, their codes. In my opinion, extracting Aikido from its context is not possible, despite its value of universality, we have to go and look in the direction of its roots, and therefore in that of the ancient texts.

One of the basis of Aikido can be found in ancient China, more precisely in Taoism. In an interview with G. Erard, Kono sensei reveals one of the secrets of Aikido that seems to me essential although quite forgotten today: he had asked Ueshiba Morihei: ‘O-sensei, how come we don’t do what you do?’ O-sensei had answered smiling: ‘I understand Yin and Yang. You don’t!’ (2)

To project in order to harmonize

Tori, and this is something peculiar to our art, can guide the partner’s fall so that the latter may benefit from the action. Tsuda Itsuo tells us about what he used to feel when he was projected by O-sensei:

‘What I can say from my own experience, is that with Mr Ueshiba, my pleasure was so great that I always wanted to ask for more. I never felt any effort on his part. It was so natural that not only did I feel no constraint, but I fell without knowing it. I have experienced the surge of great waves on the beach that topple a,d sweep one away. There is, of course, pleasure, but with Mr Ueshiba it was something else. There was serenity, greatness, Love.’ (3)

There is a will, conscious or not, to harmonize the partner’s body. In this case it may be called projection. It is thus relevant to say that Aikido is not anymore in martiality but rather in the harmonization of mankind. In order to realize this we need to leave behind us any idea of superiority, of power over another, or even any vindictive attitude, and to have the desire to give the partner a hand in order to allow him self-realization, without him needing to thank anybody. The fusion of sensibility with the partner is indispensable to achieve this, it is this same fusion which guides us, enables us to know our partner’s level and to release at the right moment if they are a beginner, or to support their body if the moment is adequate for going beyond, to allow them to fall further, faster, or higher. In any case pleasure is present.

The involuntary

We cannot calculate the direction of the fall, its speed, its power, nor even its angle of landing. Everything happens at the level of the involuntary or the unconscious if we prefer, but which unconscious are we referring to? It is an unconscious devoid of what cluttered it up, of what prevented it from being free, that is why O-sensei would so often recall that Aikido is a Misogi, practising Aikido is realizing this cleaning of body and spirit.

When we practise this way, there is no accident in the dojo, this is the path Tsuda Itsuo sensei had adopted and the indications he was giving were leading us in this direction. This makes his School a particular School. Other paths are not only possible, but certainly match even more, or better, the expectations of many practitioners. I read many articles in magazines or blogs which take pride of violence or the ability to solve conflicts through violence and toughening up. To me, it does not seem to be the way indicated by O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei, nor by the masters I was fortunate to meet, and particularly Tsuda sensei, Noro sensei, Tamura sensei, Nocquet sensei, or others through their interviews, such as Kono sensei.

Ukemi enables us to understand better physically the principles which rule our art, which guide us beyond our small self, our small mind, to glimpse something greater than us, to be one with nature which we are part of.

Régis Soavi

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Article by Régis Soavi published in October 2018 in Dragon Magazine Spécial Aikido n° 22.

Notes:

Tsuda Itsuo, The Path of Less, pub. Yume Editions (Paris), pp. 171–2
Guillaume Érard, Entretien avec Henry Kono: Yin et Yang, moteur de l’Aikido du fondateur [Interview with Henry Kono: Yin & Yang, the Drinving Force of Founder’s Aikido], 22 April 2008, www.guillaumeerard.fr
The Path of Less (op. cit.), p. 180

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Is Aikido a Martial Art?

4 December 2018 name

by Régis Soavi

This seems to be a recurring question in the dojos and one which divides practitioners, teachers, as well as commentators in more or less all schools. Since no definitive answer can be given, one turns to the story of martial arts, to social requirements, to the history of the origin of human beings, to the cognitive sciences, etc. entrusting them to provide an answer which, even if it does not solve the problem, will at least have the merit of justifying what is claimed.

Aikijutsu has become a dō

From the moment it has dropped the suffix jutsu to become a dō, Aikijutsu has acknowledged itself as an art of peace, a way of harmony on the same basis as Shodō (the way of calligraphy) or also Kadō (the way of flowers). By adopting the word that means the path, the way, has it become for this an easier path? Or in the contrary does it compel us to ask ourselves questions, to look again at our own course, to make an effort of introspection? Does an art of peace necessarily have a compliant side, is it a weak art, an art of acceptance, in which cheaters may gain a reputation at little expense?

It is certainly an art that has managed to adapt to the new realities of our time. But do we have to foster the illusion of an easy self-defence, within everyone’s reach, suiting any budget, with no need to get involved in the least bit? Can you really believe or make people believe that with one or two hours of practice a week, furthermore excluding holidays (clubs are often closed), one can become a great warrior or acquire wisdom and be able to solve any problem thanks to one’s calm, peace of mind or charisma?

Does the solution then lie in strength, muscular work and the violent arts?

If a direction exists at all, it can be found in my opinion, and despite what I have just said, in Aikido.

A School without grades

Tsuda Itsuo never gave grades to any of his students and, when somebody had a question about that, he used to answer: ‘There is no such thing as a black belt in mental emptiness’. One might say that these words had ended all discussion. Having served as an interpreter between O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei and André Nocquet when the latter had come to Japan as a learner, Tsuda Itsuo later acted as an intermediary when French or American foreigners showed up at the Hombu Dōjō to start learning Aikido. This allowed him, since he translated the students’ questions and the master’s answers, to have access to what was underlying the practice, to what made it something universal, to what made it an art beyond pure martiality. He talked to us about O-sensei’s posture, about his amazing spontaneity, about his deep gaze which seemed to pierce him to the very depths of his being. Tsuda Itsuo never tried to imitate his master whom he considered inimitable. He was immediately interested in what inspired this incredible man capable of the greatest gentleness as well as of the greatest power. That is why, when he arrived in France, he tried to pass on to us what for him was the essential, the secret of Aikido, the concrete perception of ki. What he had discovered, and later summarized in the initial sentence of his first book: ‘Since the very day when I had the revelation of “ki”, of breath (I was over forty years old at the time), the desire to express the inexpressible, to communicate what cannot be communicated had kept growing in me.’¹

For ten years he travelled Europe to make us Westerners, who very often had a Cartesian, dualistic frame of mind, discover that there is another dimension in life. That this dimension is not esoteric but exoteric as he liked to say.

A School with its own specificity

There is obviously a variety of motivations leading people to start this practice. If I think of the people who practice in our School (the Itsuo Tsuda School), apart from a few of them, there are not many who came for the martial aspect. On the other hand, many of them did not see anything martial about it at first sight, even though at each session I show how the techniques could be effective if performed with precision, and dangerous if used in a violent way. The martial aspect arises from the posture, the breathing, the ability to concentrate, the truthfulness of the act of attacking. Dealing with a learner, it is essential to respect the partner’s level, and to practice known forms.

But the discovery one can make by practising known forms goes far beyond that. It is about making something else grow, revealing what lies deep within individuals, freeing oneself from the underpinning influence exerted by the past and sometimes even by the future, on our gestures, on the whole of our movements, physical as well as mental. Indeed in our dojo everybody realizes that.

The session starts at 6:45am. The fact of coming to practice so early in the morning (O-sensei and Tsuda Sensei always started their own sessions at 6.30) has neither to do with an ascesis nor with a discipline. Some practitioners arrive around 6 every morning, to share some coffee or tea, and to enjoy this moment before the session (a pre-session so to speak), sometimes so rich thanks to the exchanges that we can have between us. It is a moment of pleasure, of conversation about the practice, as well as about everyday life sometimes, and we share it with the others in an extremely concrete way and not in the virtual way that society tends to suggest us.

Of course all this may appear regressive or useless, but it avoids the aspect of easy entertainment and does not encourage clientelism, which does not mean that it does not exist, but in that way there is less of it and with time it evolves. This is because people change, they are transformed, or more precisely they find themselves again, they retrieve unused capacities that they sometimes thought they had lost or often, more simply, had forgotten.

Yin the feminine: understanding

There are so many women in our School that equality is not respected, men are outnumbered, by a narrow margin of course, but that has always been the case. I would not want to speak on behalf of women but what can one do? As far as I know they do not form a separate world, unknown to men.

As a matter of fact, for many men, maybe it is so!… Nevertheless I think all a man has do is to take into account his yin side, without being afraid of it, to find and understand what brings men and women closer and what separates them. Is it a matter of personal affinity, is it a research due to my experience during the events of May 68 and to this blossoming of feminism which revealed itself once again in those days, or maybe more simply is it the fact that I have three daughters, who, by the way, practice Aikido all three of them: the result, whatever the reasons, is that I have always encouraged women to take their legitimate place in the dojos of our School. They take the same responsibilities as men and there is of course no disparity in level, neither in studying nor in teaching. It is really a pity to have to clarify things like that, but unfortunately they cannot be taken for granted in this world.

Despite everything, women scarcely take the floor, or I should even say take up the pen in martial arts magazines. It would be interesting to read articles written by women, or to devote space in Dragon magazine special Aikido to the female perspective on martial arts and on our art in particular. Do they have nothing to say or does the male world take up all the space? Or else maybe these sectarian disputes on the efficiency of Aikido bore them, for women seek and often find, so it seems to me, another dimension, or in any case something else, thanks to this art? Tsuda Itsuo Sensei gives us an idea of this “something else”, which is perhaps closer to O-sensei’s search, in this passage of his book The Path of Less:

‘Do people see Mr Ueshiba as a man completely made of steel? I had quite the opposite impression. He was a serene man, capable of extraordinary concentration, but very permeable in other ways, inclined to outbursts of ringing laughter, with an inimitable sense of humour. I had the opportunity of touching his biceps. I was amazed. The tenderness of a newborn. The opposite of hardness in every way one could imagine.

This may seem odd, but his ideal Aikido was that of girls. Due to the nature of their physique, girls are unable to contract their shoulders as hard as boys can. Therefore their Aikido is more flowing and natural.’ ²

Yang the masculine: fighting

art martial

We are educated to competition from early childhood; under the pretext of emulation, school tends to go in the same direction, all this to prepare us for the world of work. They teach us that the world is tough, that we absolutely need to gain our place in the sun, to learn to defend ourselves against other people, but are we so sure about that? Would our desire in fact not tend to guide us in a different direction? And what do we do to achieve this goal? Could Aikido be one of the instruments for this revolution in social values, habits, should it and above all should we do the necessary effort so that the roots of this evil corroding our modern societies may regenerate and become healthy again? In the past there have been examples of societies in which competition did not exist, or hardly existed in the way it does today, societies in which sexism was absent too, even though you cannot present them as ideal societies. Reading the writings on matriarchy in the Trobriand islands by the great anthropologist Bronislaw Malinowsky, discovering his analysis, may help find new leads, and perhaps even remedies to these problems of civilization which have so often been denounced.

Tao, the union: a path for the fulfilment of the human being

The path, in essence, not that I am an idealist, justifies itself and takes all its value by the fact that it normalizes the terrain of individuals. For those who follow it, it adjusts their tensions, restores balance, and it is appeasing for it allows a different relationship to life. Is it not that what so many “civilized” people are desperately seeking and what in the end is to be found deep inside the human being?

The path is not a religion, furthermore it is what separates it from religion that makes it a space of freedom, within the dominant ideologies. According to me the way of thinking that seems closest to this is agnosticism, a philosophical current which is little known, or rather known in a superficial way, but which allows to integrate all the different schools. In Aikido there is quite a number of rituals that are kept up even though their real origin (the source O-sensei drew from) is not understood or there are sometimes other rituals that other masters found through ancient practices as Tamura sensei himself did. Those rituals have often been associated to religion whereas the fact could be checked that it is the religions which have taken over all these ancient rituals to use them as instruments serving their own power, and way too often they are used for the domination and the enslavement of people.

A means: the respiratory practice

The first part of the session in O-sensei Ueshiba Morihei’s Aikido, far from being a warming up, consisted of movements the depth of which it is primordial to retrieve. It is neither to get an intellectual satisfaction, nor out of some fundamentalist concern and even less to gain “higher powers” that we continue them, but in order to return to the path that O-sensei had taken. Some exercises, like Funakogi undo (the so-called rower’s movement) or Tama-no-hirebori (vibration of the soul), have a very great value, and if they are practised with the necessary attention, they can allow us to feel beyond the physical body, beyond our sensation, limited as it is, to discover something greater, much greater than ourselves. It is an unlimited nature which we take part in, in which we are immersed, which is fundamentally and inextricably linked to us, and yet which we find it so hard to reach or even sometimes to feel. This notion that I made mine is not the result of a mystical relationship with the universe, but rather of a mental and physical opening which many modern physicists have reached through a theoretical approach and are trying to verify. It is something that you can neither learn by watching Youtube videos, nor by consulting books of ancient wisdom, despite their undeniable importance. It is something you discover in a purely corporal way, in an absolutely and fully physical way, even though this dimension is expanded to an unusual extent. Little by little all the practitioners who agree to look in this direction find it. It is not related to a physical condition, nor to age and obviously not to sex or nationality.

Education

Almost all psychologists consider that the essential part of what will guide us in our adult life takes place during our childhood and more precisely in our early childhood.

The good as well as the bad experiences. Therefore particular care should be taken in education to preserve the innate nature of the child as much as possible. In no way does this mean letting the child do whatever he wants, making him a king or becoming his slave; the world is there and surrounds him, so he needs reference points. But very quickly, often shortly after birth, sometimes after a few months, the baby is put in the care of persons outside the family. What happened to his parents? He no longer recognizes his mother’s voice, her smell, her movement. It is the first trauma and we are told: ‘He will get over it’. Sure, unfortunately it is not the last trauma, far from it. Then comes the day care center, followed by kindergarten, primary school, junior high, and finally the baccalaureate before perhaps university for at least three, four, five, six years or even more.

But what can you do? ‘That’s life.’ I am told. Each of these places in which the child will be spending his time in the name of education and learning is a mental prison. From basic knowledge to mass culture, when will he be respected as an individual full of the imagination that characterizes childhood? He will be taught to obey, he will learn to cheat. He will be taught to be with the others, he will learn competition. He will receive grades, this will be called emulation, and this psychological disaster will be experienced by top as well as by bottom of the class students.

In the name of what totalitarian ideology are all children and young people given an education that breeds fear of repression, submission, decommitment and disillusionment? Today’s society in wealthy countries does not propose anything really new: work and free time are only synonyms of the roman ideal of bread and circus games, the slavery of the ancient times is only turned into our modern wage employment. A somewhat improved state of slavery? Perhaps… with spectacular brain washing, guaranteed without invoice, thanks to the advertising for products that is pushed on us, with its corollary: the hyper-consumption of goods both useless and detrimental.

The practice of Aikido for children and teenagers is the opportunity to go off the grids proposed by the world around them. It is thanks to the concentration required by the technique, a calm and quiet breathing, the non-competitive aspect, the respect for differences, that they can keep or, if necessary, retrieve their inner strength. A peaceful strength, not aggressive, but full and rich of the imagination and the desire to make the world better.

A practical philosophy, or rather, a philosophical practice

The particular character of the Itsuo Tsuda School derives from the fact that we are more interested in individuality than in the dissemination of an art or a series of techniques. It is neither about creating an ideal person, nor about guiding anyone towards something, towards a lifestyle, with a certain amount of gentleness, a certain amount of kindness or wisdom, of balancing ability or exaltation, etc. It is about awakening the human being and allowing him to live fully in the acceptance of what he is in the world surrounding him, without destroying him. This spirit of openness can do nothing other than waking up the strength pre-existing in each of us. This philosophy leads us to independence, to autonomy, but not to isolation, on the contrary: through the discovery of the Other, it brings us to the understanding of what this person is, also perhaps beyond what the person has become. This whole process of learning, or rather this reappropriation of oneself, takes time, continuity, sincerity, in order to realize more clearly the direction in which one wishes to go.

What lies beyond, what lies behind

I am interested in today is what lies behind or more precisely what lies deep inside Aikido. When you take a train you have an objective, a destination, with Aikido it is a little bit as if the train changed objective as you moved further, as if the direction became at the same time different, and more precise. As for the objective, it pulls away despite the fact that you think you have come closer. And this is where you have to recognize that the object of our journey is the journey itself, the landscapes we discover, which become more refined and reveal themselves to us.

Régis Soavi

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Article by Régis Soavi published in July 2018 in Dragon Magazine Spécial Aikido n° 21.

Notes

1
Tsuda Itsuo, The Non-Doing, Yume Editions, 2013, p. 9
2
Tsuda Itsuo, The Path of Less, Yume Editions, 2014, p. 157

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Aikido: An Evolution of the Inner Being

5 January 2018 name

by Régis Soavi

Aikido is an instrument of my evolution, it made me evolve, I just had to follow with perseverance and obstinacy the road that was opening in front of me, that was opening inside me.

Like many other people, I came to this practice for its martial aspect. However, its beauty, as well as the aesthetic of its movements, quickly fascinated me, and this with my first teacher Maroteaux Sensei already. Then, when I saw Noro Masamichi Sensei, and Tamura Nobuyoshi Sensei, I had confirmation of what I had sensed: Aikido was a wholly different thing from what I knew.

I came from the world of Judo, with the images transmitted to us, for example, that of the cherry tree branch covered with snow which all of a sudden lets the snow slide down and the branch straightens up. I had already gone beyond the ideas that had been conveyed by the beginning of the century and the fifties, of a “Japanese Jiu Jitsu which turns a small thin man into a monster of efficacy”.Read more →

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Kokyû, Revelation of the Unity of Being

24 January 2016 name

by Régis Soavi

In one of his books Tsuda Itsuo gives us his views on kokyū:

‘In learning a Japanese art, the question of “kokyu” always arises, strictly speaking, the equivalent of actual respiration. But the word also means to have a knack for doing something, to know the trick. When there is no “kokyu”, we cannot do a thing properly. A cook needs “kokyu” to use his knife well, and a worker his tools. “Kokyu” cannot be explained; it is acquired.

When I was young, I saw a labourer working with his screwdriver on very rusty machinery. I tried to unscrew a piece of the machine, but in vain; it was too rusty. For the labourer, it posed no problem; he unscrewed it with ease, not because he was stronger but because he had “kokyu”.

When we acquire “kokyu” it seems that tools, machines, materials, until then “indomitable”, suddenly become docile and obey our commands with no resistance.

Ki, kokyu, respiration, intuition are themes that are pivotal to the arts and crafts of Japan. It constitutes a professional secret, not because people want to keep it like a patent, or a recipe for earning their living, but because it cannot be passed on intellectually. Respiration is the final word, the ultimate secret of learning.

Only the best disciples gain access to it, after years of sustained effort.

A martial arts master whom dogs bark at is not a good master, they say. The French know how to silence dogs by sliding a piece of sugar in their mouths. That’s the trick, that’s “the thing”, but it is not kokyu, respiration, which is something else entirely.’

Tsuda Itsuo, The Path of Less, Yume Editions, Paris, 2014, p. 33-34.

I discovered kokyū with my master Tsuda Itsuo. Previously, it was to me just the name of a technique, with Tsuda Itsuo this notion became much more concrete, firstly by the orientation of his practice. He said: ‘To me technique is simply a test of knowing whether I have evolved in my breathing.’ Thus our attention was brought directly to kokyū. There could not be aikidō and breathing. Aikidō is breathing. And then, from his first books on, Tsuda Itsuo illuminates us in terms I did not knew; almost too simple and yet so difficult to achieve.

When I attacked him it was crystal clear, regardless the strength I put in he remained both, relaxed and powerful.

He made us use visualization to teach us kokyū. E. g. for kokyū hō he said: ‘It is the lotus flower opening.’ Today few people have seen the lotus flower, so I speak of a daisy. Visualization should talk to us, directed to us. For it to act, it must be anchored in the concrete life of each person. So sometimes to help someone to get beyond a partner that is holding the wrists to prevent him or her to move, I say, ‘You welcome a friend you have not seen for years, who steps out of the train, take him in your arms!’ Then the person forgets the other and ki, instead of being coagulated, flows in the given direction, the person raises the arms without any effort. The power of visualization is colossal.

Sure, posture is essential, I would even say primordial. If the body stiffens to become an impeccable posture; it is screwed. If it is too flabby; it is screwed. If the third lumbar is wrongly positioned: it is screwed. With the practice of aikidō and Katsugen undō I see that my students are gradually recovering. Ki begins to flow without blockage, without disruption, it is the discovery of unforced abdominal breathing, but clear and limpid, from the kokyū. In my view, without kokyū, all the work in aikidō is only intended to strengthen the body, it is a work of hardening.

With the deepening of breath little by little the needlessness disappears, we do not need to work on flexibility or strength, stiffness and our ideas of strength and weakness are leaving. So ki circulates better.

For this direction, the respiratory practice we do in the beginning of the sessions is important.

You can not teach kokyū, but you can guide individuals to discover it.

If we practice kokyū ho every morning at the end of each session, it is precisely to make people sensitive and also to improve our posture. As our posture and the way we behave refines and improves, we are able to help the normalization of the terrain of our partner. If you breathe deeply from the hara to the hara of the partner, you revitalize the channels through which ki flows, you enable these circuits to function better, and the other understands (feels) with his entire body what it is about.

It is not about looking at the demonstration and working harder and harder, but rather about being pervaded with this kokyū feeling of the other. I often say: to work on the kokyū we must start by listening. We listen to the other, not with the ears but with the whole of our body, we feel the breathing, the ki, of the other. It is like a perfume. We listen to the inner movement, so the feeling becomes more accurate and we can guide him or her to a better posture, towards a release of tension.

It is also the work of senior practitioners to encourage this discovery. By bathing the other in breath, they help them to feel it, by dint of being soaked with “something”.

In the practice of Katsugen undō Tsuda sensei introduced in Europe, first comes the awareness by the breathing, by the movement of ki. Tsuda wrote: ‘In the regenerating movement (Katsugen undō), we do the opposite of the tradition: we begin with the supreme secret, straight off’¹.

Kokyū is no more magical than ki is an energy. As soon as we launch ourselves into an explanation, even if we let know that it will be approximately, big chance we blow it.

The ancient tales, such as those recorded by the Grimm Brothers, can show us an aspect of kokyū powers. As in fairy tales, it can transform toads into a prince or princess and grow people more beautiful by the simple fact of transforming their posture. This posture, the result of many years of contraction, weakness, or attempts of correction. When the posture finds back something natural, it is the return to the source, to the root of being.

The discovery of kokyū leads us to different behaviours in everyday life. This respiration, far from being seen as in “New Age”, awakens in the individuals’ daily life forgotten qualities, lost simplicity, and intuition finally found. It is what can be admirable in the work of a craftsman and an artist, but it is also what surprises those who do not know it. Because we did not understand nor felt what is behind this entirety in the performed act: kokyū is a revelation of the unity of being.

Tsuda Itsuo has guided us in that direction, leaving us free to go further or stay put. This freedom was fundamental in his teaching.

It is said that sometimes when the posture, the breathing, the coordination was perfect, Ueshiba O-sensei exclaimed ‘Kami Wasa’. God-technique? Supreme realization? Could we not talk about kokyū or Non-Doing in the greatest simplicity? Like a child who drops a toy to take another, in the same way as he aspires us to take him in our arms for protection.

A small child has kokyū. ‘The baby is as big as the universe, but treated poorly fades quickly’², Tsuda Sensei wrote in his last book. Is it not our duty to enable him to preserve it? And to us adults, it to regain?

Aikidō is not made for fighting, but to allow a better harmony between people.I breathe deeply, I listen to the body of the other, in his or her body I visualize the flow of ki, I hear and clearly understand it, so I let ki passing into the body of the other. This circulation brings us fullness, the feeling of being fully alive, everything disappears, there is nothing but the present moment with its sensations, its colours, its music.

Régis Soavi

Article by Régis Soavi (with the topic of kokyū) published in October 2015 in Dragon Magazine Spécial Aikido n° 10.

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1) Tsuda Itsuo, The Path of Less, Yume Editions, Paris, 2014, p. 33

2) Tsuda Itsuo, Face à la science, Éditions Le Courrier du livre, Paris, 1983, p. 152.

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Meeting the Breathing

23 October 2014 name

Born in 1914, Itsuo Tsuda would now be one hundred years old. This atypical character, fiercely independent, considered himself first and foremost a philosopher and he is a key figure of the Aikidō in France. He is the one who introduced Katsugen undō* in Europe in the early 70s.

Direct student of O-sensei Morihei Ueshiba during the last ten years of his life, Itsuo Tsuda did not consider important the sporty or martial art aspects of Aikidō, but rather the chance to make use of this art for inner search, for personal search. He qualified this dimension as “solitary practice” and devoted himself to pass it on in his books and in his teaching.

By beginning Aikidō at forty-five years of age, the ki and Non-Doing were the two aspects that mainly attracted him. These aspects were particularly tangible in a series of exercises preceding, during O-sensei Ueshiba sessions, the technique, which Itsuo Tsuda named after the expression “Respiratory Practice.”

O-sensei Ueshiba gave a lot of importance to these exercises that meant to him something completely different then warming up. Itsuo Tsuda in an interview with France Culture said:

‘For me what is important is what I do at the beginning: I sit, breathe, I breathe with the heaven and the earth, that’s all. Many people love aikido as a technique, don’t they? For me, the technique is simply the test to find out if I have evolved through breathing.’

In the technique that happens during the second part of the session there is no struggle, but an opportunity to develop sensitivity, the ability to fuse.

The voice of Itsuo Tsuda, who died in 1984, still resonates today through the nine books published in French and through his students. One of them, Régis Soavi, he has dedicated more than thirty years to Aikidō and Katsugen undō teaching. He is the technical adviser for the Itsuo Tsuda School .

— Good morning, Mr. Soavi, when you met Itsuo Tsuda in the 70s you were already engaged in the practice of martial arts. What made you decide to consecrate to the Aikido of Itsuo Tsuda?

— I had just started Aikidō when I met Itsuo Tsuda, my teacher was Roland Maroteaux. I met Tsuda during a workshop organized by this teacher. What struck me at first was his ability to dodge. During this workshop I saw my teacher, who was an actual budōka, attacking him with determination and at any time Tsuda was not there, he was dodging, he had created void in front of him. That was what shocked me. I had already experienced a lot of Jūdō, Jūjutsu and weapons and then, more or less at the same time, during my training as a professional Aikidōka, I worked with other teachers like, Master Noro, Master Tamura, Master Nocquet, as well as I took part of some workshops with Master K. Ueshiba, Yamaguchi sensei, etc.. At the time we were all a bit like Rōnins, we were going from a dojo to another trying to uncover the masters’ secrets. At first I was timidly interested of Master Tsuda, but the quality of this void, this emptiness that was moving around, it was very impressive and that was what made me decide: you have to go and see this master.

— What does represent for you the first part of the Aikidō practice that Itsuo Tsuda called “Respiratory Practice”?

— Master Tsuda used to say that it was the essence of Aikidō. At the beginning, when I was about twenty years old, I saw this part as a kind of respiratory warming up, not to mention muscle warming up. And then little by little I found out that it was something much more intimate! And after seven years, the Respiratory Practice had become the most important part of Aikidō for me. The rest was, as Tsuda said very well, a way to verify to what extent I was getting with my breathing.

— You speak about Aikidō proposing the translation “the way of the ki fusion”. How does this differ from the definition “the way of the harmony” that it is normally used?

— Now, “Aikidō” is an ideogram, there are no words therefore in itself. What I try to pass on through “the way of the ki fusion” is the direction we take. In Aikidō this fusion of feelings between people allows you to practise in another way. It completely differs from the idea of fighting. It is rather a complementary. I think Ueshiba had such a fusion capacity with the person who attacked, by anticipating his acts, his gestures. For me, harmony is insufficient as a translation, this may purely be aesthetic. The fusion turns into something deeper. When two metals come together into a fusion to become for example bronze, they become Bronze, it is not only harmonizing them, they become something different. And it is in this sense that I want to translate it with “the way of the ki fusion.” But this is purely ideograms interpretation.

— What role do you think the technique plays?

— It is essential. It is the base. For me, technique must be extremely precise. It is the technique that leads the breathing. The technique also means the body, the posture. If your posture is correct, if the positioning is right, then it is easy, breathing is better. when one is blocked, congested, closed or too open, too soft or too hard, nothing will really happen. The technique is there to allow through its precision to find the lines that help us breathing better, to get better into the fusion. It is also for this reason that I often ask to work slowly. It is no use doing something quickly and badly.

— Does the practice of Katsugen undō, you’ve discovered with Master Tsuda, affected your approach to Aikidō?

— I think if I had not practised Katsugen undō I would have not practise Aikidō the way I do today. We should never forget that Katsugen undō is something that normalizes the ground, the body. And only now I see Aikidō as a process of normalization of the body as well. The practise of Katsugen undō allows you to practise Aikidō in this way, it is for me a base, the basic. It develops in you the breathing, once we breathe better, we are more relaxed. Aspects like aggressiveness, competitiveness disappear, they fall by themselves. Instead of practising by hurting the others, one goes towards the normalization of the body, for example I usually show how, by twisting the arm in a certain way, during the mobilization, you allow your ki to get up to the third lumbar in fact the person’s body twists slightly on that point. Well, it is a process of normalization of the body through Aikidō, which I discovered because of the Katsugen undō practice. This applies to many other techniques, the way to get in, to reach the center, the hara, and so on. I’m not saying that you cannot find out if you only practise Aikidō, but Katsugen undō was an open door, it has allowed me to feel better, to understand better, to be more in the spirit… I think this was very important for Tsuda as well. He practised with Ueshiba for ten years. But when he started Aikidō he had already been practising for more than ten years Seitai and Katsugen undō. His terrain was thus in a certain condition, for example with regard to the flexibility – which is often lost when at forty-five years of age. And then the kind of spirit condition: for Tsuda was clear that we were not there to destroy ourselves, but rather to find a certain tone, and at the same time a balance. Aikidō should lead to a balance. And Katsugen undō task is the balance.

— you practise early in the morning, this may be surprising.

— Sessions during the week start at 6:45am while at the weekend they are at 8.00. I know we live in a society where you go to bed very late and you get up very late too. In my case I really love the morning. One can be tired in the evening, people after working hours are stressed. Sessions of martial arts then very easily turned into a relief valve, and so on. Rather in the morning, competitiveness does not have too much importance … you get up, you are in the dojo, you can easily breathe, you start your day. Furthermore we are very lucky to be in a permanent dojo. One comes and it is like being at home, in an association but at home, the dojo are used only for this reason. There are gyms with more or less clean changing rooms where you can not even leave your watch otherwise they might stole it, and so on. So you come here in the morning, take a little coffee, tea, and then practise. And so the day begins and starts well, it is a real pleasure. Every morning I have a great pleasure to see people getting there and taking their time, we are in a world where we do not take our time anymore…

— Your sessions are designed for all without distinction of age and levels, you talk about a school without grades.

— Master Tsuda said: ‘There is no black belt for mental emptiness.’ With Ueshiba there was no national program for black belts. When Master Noguchi was teaching he was used to say “Forget, forget, when you will need it, it will come back naturally” It’s a little bit like this, the technique is important, but we do not repeat ten thousand times how to get attacked or some other staff. It makes no sense. Hierarchy, degrees, kyu, dan, and so on. For me this is not really important … And then in terms of age, why should we make a difference? Modern society created that difference, it has created the teenage (which by the way teenage is now up to forty years), the third and then the fourth age, and so on. All these categories do not correspond to anything. For me, when we talk about life within us we are all equal. Then, of course, it makes a difference, if I work with a six year old child it is not like when I work with a sixty years old person or somebody on their twenties.

— Other then passing on the bases, what can you really teach through Aikidō?

— Ah, not much, actually, on a given moment people are going to start their own search by themselves. So, since I’m older, and my own search is also a long-term one, I can give them some information, and then I can help them to better understanding through visualizations. It’s my way of teaching people today. I suggest visualizations, for example by saying this movement looks like when you place a baby in bed. At the same time people search, there are a number of people who I consider companions they are no longer students. As sensei, as a good craftsman with a greater seniority, I can say, ‘Look further, that is it’, by looking further, the body opens and the person says, ‘Oh, okay It is fine.’ It is very subtle. It is a kind of communication that I establish with my students. And then people go and search in that direction. We do not work on making the technique perfect, that does not exist. Aikidō is not going to become more effective, more aesthetic, and so on. But we will be closer to ourselves, I think that this is the most important thing.

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Katsugen undō, translated as Regenerating Movement, is a technique developed by Haruchika Noguchi, creator of Seitai.

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With the Philosopher of Ki #2

17 March 2014 name

Continuation and end of the article published in the journal “Question de” in 1975, written by Claudine Brelet (anthropologist, international expert and French woman of letters) and student of Itsuo Tsuda.

Second Part

— Can one ‘fusion’ respiration and visualization?

— Indeed, visualization is one of the aspects of ki. Visualization plays an important and vital role in aikido. It is a mental act that produces physical effects. Visualization is part of the aspect of ‘attention’ of ki. When attention is localized, for example it stops at the wrist, breathing becomes shallow, disrupted… we forget the rest of the body.Read more →

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With the Philosopher of Ki #1

3 March 2014 name

This coverage was published in the journal Question de [Topics of] in 1975. Claudine Brelet (anthropologist, international expert and a French woman of letters) who wrote this press coverage and did the interview and was one of the first students of Itsuo Tsuda.

First Part

At the fringes of Bois de Vincennes, in the rear of a garden in the suburbs of Paris, there is a particular At the fringes of Bois de Vincennes, in the rear of a garden in the suburbs of Paris, there is a particular dojo. Dojo, meaning, a place for practising the Art of breathing and martial arts. It is not a gym. It rather is a sacred place where ‘space-time’ is different from that of a profane place.We salute when we enter to sanctify ourselves and when we leave to desacralize.Read more →

Aïkido, Articles_Blog, EN, FR, IT

Simple as Breath

2 February 1999 name

An interview with Régis Soavi.

Our appointment is at 6:45 AM, in Milan’s Chinese quarter. The place: a former garage, transformed into a traditional, spartan-looking dojo where, once inside, you are told gently but firmly to remove your shoes. The participants arrive little by little, sleepy-faced; they murmur their greetings as though reluctant to disturb the pale atmosphere of the Milanese dawn.

I had been invited to an aikido session by Régis Soavi, during one of the periodic courses he conducts in Italy. Régis Soavi teaches and transmits the message of Itsuo Tsuda (1914-1984), a direct disciple of master Ueshiba. I had read a few of Tsuda’s books; he was Japanese and lived in France. His books are strange. They cannot be classed with “martial arts” books, or as “essays”, or with “stories”. In Tsuda’s school, we find the convergence of two fundamental experiences: Aikido and Katsugen undo (Regenerating Movement). I wanted to speak more in depth of that, with Régis Soavi.

Who Itsuo Tsuda was

You were a direct student of Master Tsuda. Tell me a bit about him.

He was very simple. We called him Mr. Tsuda. I myself only began to address him as “Master” in his last years. He wished to be considered above all as a philosopher and writer. His quest was of a personal nature. When you met him, you realized at once that he had a strong personality, but at the same time, he seemed to be an Oriental like any other. If you were to come across him in the street, you’d never realize he was an expert in Martial Arts, he just seemed to be an ordinary Japanese. In any case, on the tatami, he was a real discovery. Tsuda addressed himself to each person individually, he never generalized. In the morning, after aikido, we would have coffee together and he would tell stories, speaking to all who were there; but we understood that, each time, he wished to reach certain people in particular. He was characterized above all by his simplicity.

I’m looking at Tsuda’s biography: ‘At 16, he rebelled against his father’s wish for him to inherit the family patrimony; he left his family to wander, in search of freedom of thought. Later, reconciled with his father, he came to France in 1934, where he studied under Marcel Granet and Marcel Mauss until 1940, when he returned to Japan. After 1950, he became interested in Japanese culture, studying the recitation of “Noh” with Master Hosada, the “Seitai” with Master Haruchika Noguchi, and Aikido with Master Morihei Ueshiba. Itsuo Tsuda returned to Europe in 1970, to disseminate the practice of “Regenerating Movement” and his ideas about the “Ki”.’ What did Itsuo Tsuda do during the Second World War?

In 1940 he was mobilized and had to return to Japan, on the last boat to go through the Suez Canal. The canal was then closed. He was enrolled in the army, where he worked in an administrative capacity. He never fought. Right after the war, he worked for Air France as an interpreter. That is how he met Master Ueshiba. A French Judoka, André Noquet, came to Japan to discover the practice of Aikido, and as he spoke no Japanese, he needed an interpreter. He found Tsuda, who until then knew nothing about Aikido, but he was deeply interested at once.

Did Tsuda know Ueshiba first, or Noguchi?

Noguchi. He was about 30 when he first met Noguchi, and 45 when he encountered Ueshiba.

What was the meaning of his refusal to accept the family heritage?

His father came from a family of Samourai, who became factory owners and business heads at the Meiji modernization. Tsuda did not want to work in the family business. He wanted to live his own life. At first it was very difficult; he even worked for a time in a chemical factory. Then, when he had reconciled with his father, he decided to study in France. Tsuda was very fond of France.

Aikido

For you, is Aikido a martial art?

No, you already know the answer. Aikido is a non-martial art; it is the practice of non-doing. Master Ueshiba, in another epoch, could have responded that Aikido is a martial art. Still, if I say it is not a martial art, then people respond, ‘Oh, it’s a dance then’. That is why I define Aikido as a “non-martial art”. In any case it is something quite different; That is why Ueshiba called it ai-ki-do. The term is often translated as “The Way of Harmony”, but a more appropriate definition is “The Way of Fusion of Ki”. Two people can undergo what we call fusion. They do more than simply harmonize. From two, they become One, then two again. Habitually in martial arts, two adversaries confront each other and only one remains. But in Aikido we have the fusion of sensitivity. In our school, he who attacks, attacks; the other becomes one with him: he accepts and absorbs the attacker and from two creates one. He acts in such a way that the other begins to be a part of him. In this way he disarms the attack, which no longer works.

Does that mean that one learns to take responsibility for the other as well? Or to put it differently, in a relation between two people, does the will of one of them suffice to modify the quality of that relation?

One learns to take one’s own responsibility. In our school, the attacker will help the other who is not yet able to create the state of fusion; he makes it possible. If he were to attack brutally, the beginner would be unable to create this fusion; but if he acts as a guide, he helps the other rediscover his own capacity for movement. He already has that capacity. If, when crossing a street, a car suddenly arrives, we jump to the side. It’s the art of avoidance. These capacities manifest themselves spontaneously, in certain exceptional circumstances. Here, we reintroduce them, so that they become more natural, so that they are present in every moment of our lives.

You practice early every morning. Why?

Master Ueshiba practised early in the morning, Master Tsuda as well; I continue to practice early in the morning. That is the first reason. The second reason is that only those who are very determined, very well motivated, come in the morning, because to be here at this time, you must get up at around 5:30 AM. In the morning we are fresher than at the end of the day and it’s easier to practice “non-doing”, at least for beginners. We are also more “involuntary” – still a bit half asleep, we are not yet entirely into our “social being” that we use during the day, to encounter others and go about our work: smile when we should, or not; say ‘thank you’, etc. In the morning we arrive at the dojo still clean, not very structured yet, and there is something more authentic there.

How is your Aikido different from that of other schools?

There is no difference, it is Aikido. I do not know what is done these days in other organizations, at Aikikai for example; I left them 20 years ago. I do believe that certain things have been forgotten; for instance, the first part of the “Respiratory Practice” that Master Ueshiba did every morning, and that we have preserved. In other schools, some forms of this have been maintained, but a large part has been lost. I think that those schools have adapted themselves more to Occidentals and to our epoch; as for myself, I prefer to remain more traditional.In our Aikido sessions, there is a first part, where we practice alone for about 20 minutes, and a second where we practice in pairs: one partner attacks, and the other executes the technique. The techniques are the same as those practised at Aikikai or with Master Kobayoshi, or any other master. The difference is in our approach, which gives much more importance to the role of the partner. We take the other person completely into account, and for that, I feel that our practice of Katsugen Undo has played a fundamental role.

The Regenerating Movement

What is Katsugen Undo?

In our school there are two practices, united through a common spirit: Aikido, of which we have just spoken, and the Regenerating Movement, which Tsuda learned from Master Noguchi – a ‘movement that permits a return to the source’. This is what allows us to better understand the aspect of “non-doing” in Aikido.

Often, when people arrive from other dojos, I see that they possess a technique: they respond to the attacks in a certain way, but there is no spontaneity. Everything is calculated, inculcated, schooled, and ordered.

The regenerating movement is supposed to bring the individual back to a state of spontaneity?

Yes, it is the art of spontaneity par excellence.

It is derived from Noguchi’s “Seitai”, if I have understood correctly?

Yes.

What does Seitai mean?

It means a “natural condition”; “Seitai Soho”, for example, is a technique used to “Seitai-ise” the individual, that is, to give him the possibility of a return to a natural condition. Katsugen Undo, on the other hand, is the movement of the extrapyramidal motor system, the involuntary movement that is activated spontaneously, and that, in itself, acts to take us to a condition of seitai. It is not a method of acquisition, on the contrary, it is a Way of detachment. We do not acquire greater flexibility; rather, we free ourselves from rigidity. We acquire nothing; rather, we lose things, we free ourselves from what hampers us. This is important in Aikido as well. Aikido is not a Way of “acquiring” techniques, or of “obtaining” results, but rather a Way of coming back to simple things. On this subject Master Tsuda spoke of ‘becoming a child again, but without puerility’.

Did Ueshiba know of Seitai? How did Seitai and Aikido come together?

It was Tsuda who united them. I do not believe that Ueshiba knew of Seitai. However, Master Noguchi once went to see a demonstration by Master Ueshiba, of which he said, ‘It’s good’. In Japan, that is sufficient.

The Ki

Did Noguchi create the discipline of Seitai, or did a tradition already exist that he perpetuated?

No, he created it. Initially, Noguchi was a healer, until his “discovery” of involuntary movement. One day, he realized that people fell ill, and came to see him; he would allow the ki to circulate, they would recover and go off. Then they would fall ill again and come back to see him…. Any other therapist would have been happy to observe that, as they would be guaranteed a steady clientele. But Noguchi started from a different point of view: ‘What good is it to heal them since they just fall ill again? Every time they fall ill, they depend on me.’ To him it was absurd. He had discovered that, with Katsugen Undo, there was no more need for someone to heal us. The body does not need anyone, it does everything all by itself.

Can we say then, that our ki heals us?

No, ki does not heal us. Ki activates the vital capacities of the individual, but we are already full of ki! If our body works normally, we need nothing else. If I have some microbes in my body, the body creates a fever and produces home-made antibiotics, antibodies, etc. Noguchi did nothing but activate the life force, when the individual was too weak. What is even more interesting is that the individual can activate his life force on his own, with no need for another person, no need to ask someone else to do it for him.

Does this method work to cure people?

We are not cured. If we break a bone, once the bone is back in place, what makes it knit back together? It is not medicine, it is not doctors, and it is not the ki either. Even if we do nothing the bones knit, simply because we are alive! If we find this capacity again, the whole body will function in this way.

And with cancer, what happens? Is it more difficult to find a normal function when the cells have gone crazy?

In the case of cancer, it is a matter of a certain corporal laziness: the body is so damaged that it is near death. But there are people who survive a cancer. How does that happen? That is not my domain, as I am not a therapist; I do not attempt to cure people. But it is clear that there are people who have not allowed their bodies to do their work normally; for every little problem, they take medicine. Today, that is how it is as well, for giving birth and for pregnancy. From the beginning of life, we are medicalised, hospitalised, even though these are natural events, where life manifests its workings in us.

Can we say then that it is our ideas that have become ill?

Not only our ideas. It all goes together. But what is new with Noguchi, is the possibility to awaken oneself if one wishes it . It’s not a question of awakening each person at any price, nor of proposing a great new method that will cure everyone. It can be useful only to those who wish to go in a certain direction. The others, the lazy ones, do not belong here. In this society, there is already an infinite number of specialists to take care of them: doctors,priests, psychoanalysts, gurus, etc. As for me, I prefer to live my own life totally. I prefer that no one need to take care of me.

In our magazine, we have begun a discussion about the ki, about the way each Oriental discipline interprets and uses it. It would be interesting to hear your point of view.

Ki is an untranslatable word today. The ki has a thousand forms; good ki, bad ki… it is indefinable. When we enter a certain place, with a certain atmosphere, one can say we feel a certain sort of ki. But what seems a pleasant sort of ki to some can be quite disagreeable to others. In Aikido, there is, effectively, the ki of the attack which is to come. Sometimes, walking along the street, we can feel something at the nape of the neck. We turn, see no-one, but then notice, up on a roof, a cat observing us. We have felt the ki of the cat’s look. How can we explain that? We can observe it, but as for explaining it… “To be in harmony with the ki.” But which ki? It is not simple.

I remember one of your conferences where you said that when something hurts it is natural to put one’s hand on the painful spot. For example, if we have a headache we naturally put our hand to our head, and that is already a way of using the ki.

Yes, the “laying on of hands” is yuki. When you have a headache, you put on your hand, and the ki circulates. In this way, the ki is concentrated. The ki is already there, it circulates already, but we concentrate it. When we have something wrong somewhere, we lay our hands on the spot without thinking of it, it happens spontaneously. When, on the contrary, we do yuki with someone, it adds a certain concentration, a direction.

So in your school you do yuki with each other?

When we practice the regenerating movement, we also practice the exercise of yuki. All the same, rather than doing yuki, it is a matter of a rediscovery. We come back to something everyone already knows, from when we were children.

The translation of yuki?

Joyful ki.

The perception of the sacred dimension

Does Seitai contain a reference, close or remote, to a religious tradition, as does Aikido?

Neither discipline adheres to a religious belief.

But Ueshiba was so deeply influenced by the sect Oomoto-kyō (a Shintoist religious group), that in his thoughts, Aikido and his religious practice are not always easy to distinguish.

But Aikido in itself is not at all religious. It does fit into a sacred tradition, that yes. Ueshiba had without doubt a very strong relation to what is sacred. Master Tsuda also considered the dojo to be a sacred place. After all, what is the dojo? It is a place where we practice the Way. And the Way is represented in Japanese by the ideogram of Tao. One does not practice the Way just anywhere. A place consecrated to that practice is necessary.

But what is the sacred dimension for you?

I cannot give a precise definition. People do say, The sacred dimension, yes, but religion, no! One particularity of our school is that we don’t practice before a picture of Ueshiba or of Tsuda, but before a calligraphy. The calligraphy that hangs in this dojo, for example, is Mu, the Void.

Is it the same in each dojo?

No. In Toulouse, there is a calligraphy that signifies “The dragon emerges from the pond, where he had been asleep”. At Avezzano the calligraphy signifies Bodai, that is, the state of illumination.

What is the meaning of this custom?

To practice before a calligraphy creates a different atmosphere than would a picture. Personally, to stand before a calligraphy that signifies The Void, gives me a feeling of plenitude. To practice before a picture of someone, even if he is the founder of the school, seems to me to indicate a religious attachment or devotion. Ueshiba did not practice before a photograph. A calligraphy is by nature “void”. Also, I find it important that those who come to the dojo to practice, understand the sacred aspect, but at the same time, that there are no gods to venerate here.We are not concerned with peoples’ religious or political beliefs. At the same time, this space is not only physical. It is not a gymnasium, where one trains, sweats, and showers. It is a permanent dojo, where we practice only Aikido and the regenerating movement.

I think that people are also interested in the cultural, philosophical and religious origins of the discipline they practice. In the Chinese tradition, for instance, the classical martial arts were born, or in any case, greatly developed, in the Buddhist and Taoist monasteries.

Everything began in religion. Art in Europe began in religion. Today, it is publicity which gives its impetus to art. Publicity is the new religion. Ueshiba himself said that Aikido is not a religion, but that it sheds light on religion, allowing a better understanding of it. In fact, he himself recited the “Norito” before a little altar, either Buddhist or Shintoist, or even before an image of Jesus.

Why do you recite the “Norito”, a Shintoist invocation, before each session?

It is not Shintoist. I do not know what it is. I say that it is not Shintoist because it is something older, something which has since been adopted by Shintoism. Master Ueshiba spoke in this case, of “Kotodama”.

What is “Kotodama”?

It is a resonance.

Like a mantra?

If you like. Shintoism has its source in ancient traditions, in the same way that Christianity has integrated earlier traditions like Easter (originally a Hebrew celebration) and Christmas (the Roman “Saturnalia”, the Celtic and Nordic “Yule”).

What is the “Norito” exactly?

It is a short text. It takes just a few minutes to recite.

Do you teach the meaning of the words to the participants?

No. What is important is the vibration, the resonance.

And people accept participating in something they do not understand?

Yes.

But do you yourself understand the meaning of the text?

No. It is my inner sensation that is important to me. We do so many things that we feel, but do not understand.

Everyone already knows what they need

From the person who begins to practice a martial art, a great deal of confidence in the master is always required. The disciple supposes that one day he will understand, and that he will obtain some results. He hopes to see some visible effects, the proof that what he is doing works, even if it’s perhaps not immediate.

We always behave according to reason. We do something, then we understand, then we change, etc. But with Master Tsuda we discovered something different. I practised Aikido with other masters before him, I have known different forms, different schools, but with Tsuda, I discovered the “non-form”: in fact, the form exists, but it is very vague. With Tsuda, the orientation changed. In the practice as he taught it, one comes back to oneself. The sensation of coming back to myself is what led me to abandon the other things I did; federation Aikido, Jujitsu, etc.One no longer needs explanations. I think that those who come here feel that. They rediscover sensation, and don’t need one to explain that we do this for this reason and that for that reason… They feel, they see, they understand deep inside, they discover; that’s what counts for them.In any event, today, the consequences of knowledge are harmful. The more things we discover, the more problems are raised. I don’t want to say we should know nothing, or learn nothing, but we must have confidence in what is instinctive for humans: in women’s intuition when they care for their newborn babies, for example. When a woman takes a newborn into her arms, she does not wonder, ‘Is he hungry, is he wet, is he sleepy?’ She already knows what the baby needs, intuitively. She has always known. When she was a child herself, she did not need to use that knowledge, but when she becomes a mother, she uses it, that is all.People do feel these things, but generally this sort of perception stops at the unconscious level, and doesn’t emerge into our consciousness. So, officially, we say, ‘I don’t know’, but deep down, we already do know it all.

Individual responsability

How can you define what Master Tsuda’s school proposes?

Simply, to provide, for the individual, a place where one can discover oneself to be autonomous and responsible. For example, here in Milan, the dojo is named Scuola de la Respirazione, and it is the members who manage it and share all the responsibility. Naturally, there are people who come to the courses looking for solutions to their problems, but that is not what we propose- just as we don’t propose an ideal model that one can copy to lead one’s life. That’s why our practice of Aikido is suited to individuals who are very different one from another; it is not at all a matter of one style, one school. We are all different individuals who practice together, to return to what we have at the deepest level inside us; he who comes here, doesn’t come to be taken care of by others. He comes to discover something which must be of service to him in his daily life, and which, otherwise, would be of no value.

Some concrete examples, of the way your practice can come into play in daily life?

The individuals find themselves less stressed; they take more time for themselves and are more concentrated. Be careful, it is not a miraculous method, that makes everyone become handsome, intelligent, rich and generous. It can serve you at work, in your relations with others, in your relationship with your own children, but it is not a panacea.

There are those who begin to practice martial arts to become stronger, but then discover something else, other values. One can, for example, learn to give way instead of responding aggressively to an attack, as in Tai Chi. To take the example of Tai Chi Chuan, one lets the adversary enter instead of opposing him in a block, and then one goes in the same direction, taking advantage of his movement. This attitude can also be applied to human relationships outside of the gymnasium.

Certainly, instead of having aggressive relationships with others, we can enter into a certain harmony with them, and so find something more authentic. Today, relations among people are too superficial. We don’t take care of our children anymore: we put them in child care centres, then in school, then they do their military service… To get back in touch is important- or to return to the pleasure of working, doing work because it interests us. That does not mean we should all act in the same way. For each of us, different things are important. We must respect each person’s rhythm. Some take a hundred years to discover the simplest things; others find them right away, but without putting them to use: they hastily discover piles of things, then disappear.

The important thing is that it has been useful to them.

The important thing is that there exist places like this, where those who are seeking something, can come to find it.

But perhaps what is even more important is that, once one has found that something, one begins to give. Once having found it, one can then serve someone else.

I agree, but there are so many people who live only to give: they give, and they give. In the end, the others cannot take anymore. It is like feeding a baby: ‘here is a spoonful for mama, a spoonful for papa, a spoonful for little sister’ – the baby finally bursts out crying, he cannot take anymore. Parents do that for our own good. But dictators also do things for the good of the nation. What can we do for the good of others? Piles of things.

It is an expression of ecocentrism.

Certainly. There are also people who give to others to avoid doing things themselves, or for themselves. I am rather mistrustful of that. But it is true that when one gives in the right way, a balanced way, we can feel that, and then it is something authentic.

That is why in certain martial arts influenced by Zen Buddhism, one seeks to eliminate the ego…

But it is not possible to eliminate the ego. One can say that we should not be egoistic, or egocentric. However, the little me represents the unity of our personality. The important thing is that it not become the “boss”.

Once the session is finished, the participants at the Scuola de la Respirazione set up a large, low table, around which they breakfast together, seated on tatamis on the floor. Although it is now well past 8 o’clock and everyone is wide awake, their voices remain quiet, as if they wished to postpone for a little bit more, the entry into the daily rhythm and hullabuloo of the town, to keep in themselves for as long as possible, that other rhythm, interior and peaceful.

An interview with Régis Soavi, by Monica Rossi, published in February 1999 in Arti d’Oriente n° 2

A first part!

Repetition

The foundations of this work

The need for a suitable setting

The Discovery of Yin and Yang

From solitary practice to osmosis

Aikidō: religion or philosophy ?

Maintaining health

Simple movements

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Notes

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Magic or simplicity

His leitmotiv: breathing

Practise with one partner as if there were several

The value of moving

Recreating a space around you

The one and the multiple

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Notes

Breathing during the fall

Training the old way!

Dualism

Imbalance serving the purpose of balance

To project in order to harmonize

The involuntary

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Aikijutsu has become a dō

A School without grades

A School with its own specificity

Yin the feminine: understanding

Yang the masculine: fighting

Tao, the union: a path for the fulfilment of the human being

A means: the respiratory practice

Education

A practical philosophy, or rather, a philosophical practice

What lies beyond, what lies behind

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Notes

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Who Itsuo Tsuda was

Aikido

The Regenerating Movement

The Ki

The perception of the sacred dimension

Everyone already knows what they need

Individual responsability