We had become friends, and as his senior in the dojo, that was a potential situation.
It’s not that friendships weren’t allowed, they were. It was just that one had to be mindful of the hierarchy and the harmony of the dojo.
Essentially don’t create any problems for the dojo.
And definitely don’t let it interfere with the training.
We were both juniors in the dojo, but within that structure I was a few years and ranks ahead of him.
Senior-juniors were often paired with new students to help them learn the rules of the dojo and through that we became friends. We shared a similar language of video games and movies which only made our different backgrounds stand out all the more.
The night he was awarded his green belt I cried along with him as we exchanged hugs and the rest of the students congratulated him.
I could see it in his eyes, and I knew what that moment meant.
Entering the dojo, everything is novel, alien.
A world that is visible with what you can see- punches, kicks, locks, and throws, martial arts.
And an invisible world of hierarchy, rules, and process.
Rules that don’t have to make sense because they work and stand on eight hundred years of warfare-lessons and movements passed down from the samurai.
The dojo is not a democracy, but a dictatorship of reality.
That is what makes it so lonely.
As a white belt you exist in the new place if being and struggle against the current, for maybe a year or more. You don’t belong and you are not accepted, only your entusasm and fighting spirit are why you are tolerated.
But then something magical happens.
Through dedication that builds skill, and perseverance of continuing to show up when others are left, you are awarded your firsr rank.
The paper is really just a formality, it is the belt that has meaning.
That next first class when you cross the threshold and step out as a green belt, now you belong, now you are accepted, and while it is not discussed, you have earned the right to stand with the group.
Every student from sempai to kohai remembers crossing the dojo floor as a green belt for the first time.
Yet now there are certain things that are expected.
Before where one might have gotten a pass, or a look the other way, with this new commitment the weight of the dojo was now on you.
Corrections were made, things were pointed out, and to the visible it might have looked a bit harsh, or by being so repetitive, petty.
Did it really have to be perfect?
Yes.
If not now, than very soon.
The invisible would point out that it was because of compassion.
As a green belt you were not under the charge of the teacher, and they were responsible for your safety. Not just inside the dojo, but especially outside of it. If one was making a mistake that left an opening in movement, that opening would get you killed.
If the teacher did not point out your mistake, your opening, if you gt killed, who’s fault is that?
If they do point it out and you don’t fix it, who’s fault is that?
In the politest way the teacher would often ask what are we studying here in the dojo, why are we here.
I could do the movement, and they could not do the movement, and correction after correction by the teacher was starting to wear on them.
After one of the training session I tried to explain the nature of the teacher’s correction, and that in the budo when the teacher stops correcting you, stops pointing out openings, that is the time to be worried about the relationship.
I thought about how I could help him, so I started to invite him to work out with me on Thursdays.
Just the two of us throwing some punches and kicks and let’s see what happens.
An hour or two of practice and then we could play some video games.
Maybe without that pressure of the dojo, or the formality of being in a uniform that would help them just move without the worry of being judged.
Or corrected.
They didn’t make any progress, and every other week or so the teacher would again point out the same mistake again and again.
Never with malice or force in his voice, just calmly pointing it out.
Things went on like this for a bit more until one night in class when we were working out together the teacher came over and interrupted us. He was observing the movement and the teacher asked if he could throw a punch at me an if I was able to receive it the way my friend was.
Could I move with the same-incorrect footwork.
I could and did.
Moments later a second hidden strike and a leg sweep had me on the ground.
That is just one of the movements that could happen.
But, I can’t do that movement.
If you can’t that is OK, it just means you will die.
A few classes after that my teacher took me aside and suggested that it would be good to practice with him after class for a bit.
Focus on that movement, and take him through the steps.
Practicing in the dojo kept up the pressure of formality, but without anybody really around should take that pressure off of things.
Still no improvement after a few weeks.
Not that my teacher asked, but I told him that I just don’t think he is physically capable of doing the movement, and the response from my teacher was that I was correct.
Right now he was not capable as he needed to make some other adjustments to his body first.
Other areas that needed to be worked on and improved.
So why not say that I again asked without being asked.
Because that was outside of the dojo, and it was not his place to say anything.
My friend had to want to do that part for himself first.
As his friend if I wanted to help him with that, there was nothing in the dojo to stop that.
Maybe start going together for a run through the park once or twice a week?
The corrections continued and slowly my friend started coming less and less to class.
First it was a missed class or two.
Next a few misses with explanations why.
And finally that was that.
When my teacher told me they weren’t’ coming back I knew that was the end of our friendship also, and I was angry at him for that.
I asked him why an exception can’t be made, and I was surprised when he replied that exceptions were made all the time.
Exceptions were the rule of budo.
But budo was still budo.
And that had to be remembered.
No student, or teacher is perfect, and in the dojo one gets as many tries as needed to get it correct, but at the same time as a teacher, my teacher had a duty to the tradition and the students who are the blood of that tradition.
And that means pointing out mistakes until they are corrected.
I was still upset, so I asked what if he had backed off for a bit, and the response was a question: would I take responsibility if he had backed off and my friend thought his mistakes in the movement were now ok, would I take responsibility if they had gotten killed.
Before I could answer, they followed up with another question regarding my own movement, and a particular flaw in it that I continue to make from time to time.
They asked for how long had they been correcting me on it?
Every few months for two years now.
And yet you still keep coming back to the dojo.
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