Mushinkan Kokyo

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“The question is,” said Alice, “whether you can make words mean different things.”

“The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master, that is all.” — Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Humpty Dumpty, it seems, would have been an exhausting training partner.

Words are useful creatures. We name techniques, describe principles, debate meanings, and occasionally become so enchanted with terminology that we mistake the label for the thing itself.

Budō is less easily persuaded.

Call yourself relaxed while your shoulders are attempting to become earrings, and the body remains unconvinced. Explain that you are centered while wobbling magnificently across the mat, and gravity declines to enter the debate.

This is one of practice’s quieter gifts: reality does not care what we call it. Words can point toward understanding, but they cannot manufacture it. Eventually the body, the partner, and the moment reveal what is actually there.

Name things carefully.
Question what you think they mean.
Then let practice have the final word.

Title: Bon Odori
Artist: Takahashi Shotei (1871-1945)
Date: 1928

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Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“Life is diverse. Each life group and each member within the group has its own indispensable function; all share different responsibilities. Selfishness is not allowed in the highly developed feedback system of communication. It is a most elegant system of checks and balances.”
— Aikido and the Harmony of Nature

Nature, it seems, figured out teamwork long before we invented meetings about teamwork.

Nothing exists entirely for itself. Roots feed leaves. Leaves feed roots. Bees wander about conducting important floral business. Even the mushroom quietly handles matters nobody else particularly wants on their résumé.

Budō reflects the same truth. On the mat, uke and nage have different responsibilities, but neither role exists without the other. One receives, one leads; both listen, adjust, protect, and learn. Remove that exchange and technique becomes little more than choreography performed at someone rather than practice shared with someone.

Harmony does not require sameness. Quite the opposite. It asks that differences become useful to one another.

Know your role.
Respect theirs.
Then discover what becomes possible together.

Title: Kyushu Hakozaki Hachimangu Shrine
Artist: Tsuchiya Koitsu (1870 - 1949)
Date: 1938

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“You must never neglect effort, you must quickly direct your gaze at the goal and investigate thoroughly, both ‘coming’ and ‘going.’ This means that you must never be careless or negligent in your efforts and you must always come back to yourself.” — The Samurai: The Philosophy of Victory

Effort has a peculiar habit of wandering when nobody is watching.

We begin with purpose, gaze fixed firmly ahead, and then somewhere along the road attention discovers a butterfly, the mind starts composing tomorrow’s problems, and suddenly we are very diligently going nowhere.

Budō asks for something more demanding than simply trying hard. We must observe the whole movement: where we are going, what brought us here, and what our actions are producing along the way. Effort without awareness can become mere busyness, and busyness is remarkably talented at dressing itself as progress.

The instruction to “come back to yourself” may be the most important part. Return to posture. Return to breath. Return to intention. Notice when you have drifted, correct the course, and continue. No drama required. The ego may request a formal inquiry, but it can file the paperwork later.

Keep the goal in sight.
Examine the path in both directions.
And whenever you wander, return.

Title: Mount Fuji from Lake Yamanaka (Yamanaka no ko)
Artist: Takahashi Hiroaki (Shötei)
Date: 1936

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“The stress and pressure of Aikido training brings this spirit to the surface and exposes it so that it can be examined and refined. Discovering our physical limitations causes us to reflect on the deepest meaning of harmony and conflict and to strive for a level of consciousness above the ego.” — Aikido and the Harmony of Nature

Pressure has impeccable manners.

It introduces itself by revealing exactly who we are when things stop going according to plan.

On the mat, our favorite illusions rarely survive first contact. We discover our balance isn’t quite as balanced as we imagined, our timing occasionally consults a different calendar, and our ego has been quietly volunteering for demonstrations without asking permission.

Yet this is precisely the gift of training.

Aikido does not create impatience, fear, pride, or frustration. It simply shines a light where they were already hiding. Once seen, they can be refined. What first feels like limitation slowly becomes invitation, calling us to replace reaction with awareness, and certainty with curiosity.

The goal is not to become untouchable.

It is to become teachable.

Polish the spirit.
The technique will follow.

Title: Carp Leaping
Artist: Ohara Shoson
Date:: 1928-1930

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“Logic may tell us that within the process of musubi lies truth, but the moment something of value rests on the outcome of a situation, we no longer trust that logic. The beautiful ideas and flowing phrases are forgotten under the pressures of reality. In philosophy a theory of truth is expressed in words, but the truth of Aikido lies in action, the theory proven in practice.” — Aikido and the Harmony of Nature

It is remarkably easy to be a master… right up until reality arrives.

Principles sound magnificent over tea. Timing is flawless from the comfort of a chair. Every technique works perfectly… until another human being politely refuses to cooperate.

That is why budō insists on practice. The mat has a charming habit of ignoring eloquence. It does not care how beautifully you explain musubi, balance, or harmony. It asks only one wonderfully inconvenient question:

Can you live it?

Under pressure, opinions fade. Habits remain. What survives the moment is not the theory you admired, but the practice you cultivated.

Truth in budō is never won by the argument.
It is revealed in the doing.

Title: Spring Evening
Artist: Hiroaki Takahashi (Shotei)
Date: 1936

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“If the spirit becomes overworked, it may stumble. You must have the spirit tethered to the mind so that it may not be carried away.” — The Sword and the Mind

The spirit is a magnificent creature. Unfortunately, if left unsupervised, it occasionally mistakes enthusiasm for wisdom.

We’ve all met it. The part of us that says, “I have a brilliant idea!” and is already halfway through executing it before the mind has managed to clear its throat.

Budō asks for a quieter partnership. The mind provides direction. The spirit provides commitment. One without the other is either endless deliberation or magnificent chaos.

To tether the spirit is not to restrain it, but to guide it. A spirited horse does not become weaker because it wears a bridle; it becomes capable of carrying its rider exactly where they intend to go.

Think clearly.
Move wholeheartedly.
And let neither one wander off without the other.

Title: Matsushima at Evening
Artist: Tsuchiya Koitsu
Date: 1920

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“Within yourself the receptive side is the part that is sensitive and tranquil, so that it can receive information from the outside. The positive side is one of motion and committed action.” — Living Aikido

Most of us have a favorite side.

Some prefer endless observation. They gather information with the dedication of squirrels preparing for winter, waiting for the perfect moment to begin. Others leap into action with heroic enthusiasm… and only later wonder what, exactly, they were charging toward.

Budō smiles gently at both.

To receive without acting is like owning a map and never leaving home. To act without receiving is rather like setting sail before noticing you’re in the wrong boat.

The art asks for both: a mind quiet enough to perceive what is truly there, and a spirit committed enough to respond without hesitation. First, listen completely. Then, move wholeheartedly.

Stillness receives.
Action fulfills.

Artist: Katsushika Hokkei
Title: Hawk, Eggplants, and Mount Fuji
Date: 1820

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Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“The instructor teaches only one small aspect of the art. Its versatile applications must be discovered by each student through incessant practice and training.” — Morihei Ueshiba, Rules of Training

A delightfully inconvenient truth: your instructor cannot install Aikido with a software update.

An instructor can point the way, demonstrate the principle, and occasionally remind you that your left foot has wandered off on its own adventure. But understanding? That cannot be borrowed. It must be earned—one repetition, one mistake, one quiet realization at a time.

Budō has never been a spectator sport. Every technique is a question, and the mat patiently waits for you to discover the answer. Sometimes it rewards you with a breakthrough. Sometimes it rewards you with the profound realization that you have been doing the same thing incorrectly for three weeks. Both are valuable.

The dojo provides the map.
Practice reveals the territory.

Train often enough, and one technique becomes a hundred.
Train sincerely enough, and one lesson becomes a way of life.

Title: Sunrise with Mount Fuji
Artist: Totoya Hokkei
Date: 1825

Thursday Thoughts from the tatami.

“The part of the mental makeup positioned inside to develop plans is called the mind, and the part that carries out those plans, the spirit.” — The Sword and the Mind

A useful reminder that having a good plan and actually doing the thing are, unfortunately, not the same skill.

The mind is a marvelous architect. It drafts strategies, imagines outcomes, and confidently declares, “Tomorrow, we shall train diligently, eat wisely, and become magnificent.”

The spirit, however, is the one asked to carry those plans into reality. Sometimes it rises nobly to the occasion. Other times, it glances toward comfort and quietly negotiates for “perhaps another day.”

Budō asks that the two become companions rather than rivals. A sharp mind without spirit becomes endless planning. Spirit without reflection becomes enthusiasm sprinting bravely in questionable directions.

The art lives in harmony: wisdom to see clearly, and spirit to step forward anyway.

Plan well.
Then let the spirit move the feet.

Title: Ishiyama Temple
Artist: Shinsu Ito
Date: 1917