A New Beginning

By Olga Shalyha, Bucks County Aikido

Many years ago, while studying philosophy in college, I came across the book Thus Spoke Zarathustra, written by Nietzsche. Although there are very limited parallels between Nietzsche's existentialism and Buddhism, this book became to me an introduction to Buddhist philosophy, as East and West met.

According to Nietzsche, the human spirit or human consciousness passes through the various stages in a transformation, which is cyclical in nature. "I name you three metamorphoses of the spirit: how the spirit shall become a camel, and the camel a lion, and the lion at last a child," Zarathustra said.

The first stage is a camel, a beast of burden. The camel is not free to make its own decisions, it does "what it ought to do," but wants to be free, wants to be king in its own desert. In the desert, the camel transforms into a lion, a mighty, noble warrior. For its own freedom it must kill, and the old values need to be destroyed. The lion is victorious, the lion can kill, but it cannot create. For creation to begin, another metamorphosis must take place. The lion becomes a child. The child is a new beginning, a play, a first motion, a sacred Yes. The child does not recall the heavy burdens of duty. It has no desire for freedom, because the child is freedom. The child forgets the past; it is not disturbed by the future because the child lives only for the moment. Speaking in the words of Zarathustra, "The spirit now wills its own will, the spirit sundered from the world now wins its own spirit." A new beginning, beginner's mind...

As a typical social animal, I found myself mostly existing in the first two metamorphoses. I had too much of "what I ought to do" on my plate and sought mysterious freedom. Fortunately, my inner child was not asleep all the time, and there were many places in my world where it awakened. Even though I could not complain that my reality was deprived of colorfulness, happiness and creation, I could not get rid of the feeling that something was missing, like Swiss cheese, which tastes good, but still has holes.

A year ago, I was introduced to Aikido. I recall my first visit to the dojo, when I came to observe a class having very limited ideas about martial arts and Aikido in particular. I was deeply impressed in spite of the fact that I hardly understood of what was occurring on the mat and could barely distinguished uke from nage. Beautiful people training in near silence, the sunset above Galina Lake and thin scent of lavender were all together so calm, present, and complete. Aikido was meant to become a part of my life.

Both physical and mental aspects of training are difficult for me, and on other days they seem excessively complicated. I still an absolute newbie, "forever newbie" after a year of training. Knowing that the human body has a specific set of biological and biochemical capabilities and limitations, I nevertheless still have a very little knowledge of what mine is capable of.

Decades may pass before I learn how to attack and take proper ukemi, how to blend with uke and redirect, how to keep my inner child awakened and focused on the moment, how to sit Zazen without thinking of "what I ought to do" or what is truly meant by being centered. In an article which I recently came across, Aikido was compared to the mindful meditation in action, and I could not agree more. It is a truly unique path to spiritual understanding, patience, acceptance and letting go. Aikido is never static and is an ongoing process where there is no sense of being, but becoming.

The more I practice Aikido, the more I enjoy this wonderful journey of discovering and understanding of who I am. It is a never-ending path to a new beginning, which adds meaning, color and perspective to my life.