The Part & The Whole

Squibs & Blurbs

by Jerry Zimmerman

“One’s body is a miniature universe” —Morihei Ueshiba, founder of Aikido

TEANECK, NJ—(Weekly Hubris)—1/17/10—While driving down a street very near my home, I passed a small construction site. As I passed the site, I suddenly, inexplicably, and clearly saw everything at once in a startling and crystal-clear way.

I saw the steel frame of the building’s addition, the dirt piled round the edges of the excavation, the fencing protecting the site, the workers standing inside the fence, the traffic stopped on the street, the forklift filled with lumber in the middle of the street holding up the cars, the pedestrians watching it all. And I saw the young man driving the forklift. I saw his work overalls, I saw his arms working the controls. And I saw his smile.

His pleasure in being in this moment, his joy in performing the skills of his job, his understanding of where he was and how he was doing his work, his whole sense of where he was in his life—it was all in his smile.

And, like a true bolt-from-the-blue, I instantly understood the scene before my eyes—the very scene I was a part of—as the essence of the whole history of mankind.

Really? Really!

In that moment, I was a part of all the moments on earth. All the moments when humans have worked and lived, throughout the past, in the present, and into the future. What work was being done was inconsequential. Which person was doing it, only a matter of chance. The confluence of a work site and stopped traffic and white hard hats and a street lined with homes and all the life and living that had happened before this moment to make this moment—the energy of it all was continuous and eternal.

Stopped in my car as I allowed a forklift into the street, I was smack in the middle of it, gaping at the Universe revealing itself before my eyes.

And it seemed somehow familiar to me, this universal connection, this small part of the world showing me the whole.

I recognized this familiar “knowing”  because it has evolved in me organically during my years of teaching Aikido in my martial arts school in Teaneck, NJ. Certainly, Teaneck is just a small blip in the cosmos, and our training area is but a speck, a very local and parochial speck—1,100 square feet of tatami mats—yet my experiences with my students in this very manageable space have brought me a constantly expanding understanding of the world as a whole.

While Aikido is a self-defense art with a fairly formalized practice system, its underlying goal of transforming oneself into a better person is all-encompassing and deep-reaching .

Our dojo, or school, is a remarkable place. It’s a safe haven in which to practice some of the most difficult skills one can develop: patience, relaxation, acceptance of others, inner and outer balance, control, power, and the strength and bravery to honestly look at oneself. All this within the physical forms of learning to protect oneself from hostile attacks.

If this sounds exciting and challenging, it is. Engaging with other humans in any activity is the most energizing form of study, and, Wow, are we engaged and energized from our training!

Standing in front of someone who is running at you to hit you in the head is arguably a rather clarifying experience. At first, you are all reactive instincts, fight or flight. However, fleeing or fighting are not always successful, particularly if you are weaker or slower than your adversary.

There is a different way to be in front of such negative and formidable energy, and this other way is what I teach and try to live.

We can learn to be within ourselves, even at such stressful moments. And when we are calm and focused, we can sense the energy around us in a new way. Instead of reacting, we have the opportunity to be pro-active, moving to a safe spot as the attack is developing, out of harm’s way and to a stable place where our attacker’s energy may be easily re-directed and made harmless. And all this without harming the attacker!

This naturally flowing response changes everything. You are safe, your attacker is safe, the attack is dissipated, the violence evaporates. You have not turned into an aggressive reactive mess—you are yourself , centered and present and in control. You are here in the moment, able to see the world around you and to control yourself.

This is a rare and transformative moment. It is also fun and joyful!

While it is a very difficult moment to achieve and it takes a good deal of time and effort, yet how wonderful it is that we can actually train for it! This is real martial arts: we agree on a time and a place and, using a system that fits us, we practice hard and seriously, knowing that we can risk it all and still be safe. We have agreed to help each other discover the truth of who we are in this world.

Standing in a clean and spare room, dressed in plain white uniforms and facing each other, with no weapons or gear, two people have a chance to experience each other in a new way, far from the distractions of everyday events. It is a special moment, a primal moment. It gives us a chance, a chance we must try for over and over, a chance to be still and really to see each other and to experience our human condition.

If I can feel that for a moment, I am forever changed.

I can walk out the door of my dojo and immerse myself back into the hubbub of my life. The world continues as before, but now I have a chance to understand my life in a larger way. I see someone reaching for a tool or walking with a child or sitting at a restaurant and I know we are the same; we are here together on this planet, always in relationship to one another.

I’m stuck in my car, waiting for a load of lumber, and I am actually here, a part of the whole .

I am in the world.