JOURNEY - on Mastering Ukemi by Daniel Linden (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

you guys interested and coming back. Sailing masters taught the ways of the sea and seamanship to countless generations with this type of story. Zen masters use this device all the time. They might be a lot shorter than my stories, but a koan is a koan.”

“Do you think it works?” asked Christian.

I looked around the room. “What do you think? But wait, we’re digressing. There was still one more lesson I learned from my sensei’s story. It is that ukemi is far more complex than we are led to believe. Ukemi is a mystery and a way of life. When we begin aikido we are told to practice ukemi and then taken in a corner and someone shows us how to roll back and forth and then over our heads. We learn that ukemi is rolling. A very short time later we are actually practicing and then we find out that the guy who attacks is called the uke. Then one day, if you are lucky, you see someone like Hiroshi Ikeda take ukemi for someone like Saotome.

“God, he was so fast and athletic! He would twist out of things others would take break falls from. He would go to his knees and never lose his center and continue attacking Saotome until he was finally released. Watching Ikeda Sensei taught me that ukemi is far more than rolling or attacking. After many years, if you stay with it you finally learn that ukemi is all about the connection, the bonding of life force that unites the uke to everything and everyone around him. Some call it Zanshin, but I prefer not to use Japanese terms. It’s too easy to fake true understanding by using a term very few people understand.

“When I wrote On Mastering Aikido I was certain that I understood the archetypal form of ukemi. I began writing another book called Journey, On Mastering Ukemi. I got sidetracked. Hey, it happens, and when I finally got back to it I realized that everything I had started writing about ukemi was wrong. How’s that for an admission from a big-shot 6th dan. Huh? There I was, rokudan, and teaching something that only five years later I have to admit was completely wrong. I tore those chapters up and started again.

“I know you all understand the physical aspects of attack; yokomen, shomen and tsuki, hell all the different strikes, and of never losing connection, of never giving up or offering an opening you can’t cover. I know all of you grasp the idea of attacking constantly until you are either released, you counter nage, or you submit in the form of a tap or a roll out. This is all fundamental and everyone’s sensei should be teaching that. I am more interested in that true archetypal form, that universal, that eternal constant idea of ukemi. To me it is a perfect metaphor for living a warrior’s life. I…” I realized that no one was listening to me or even looking at me. They were looking over my shoulder and the look in their eyes held pure wonder.

I slowly turned around and found myself staring at the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had an ageless and even timeless beauty. She was clearly in her early twenties, but could have been thirty or fifteen.

“Sensei, this is my sister, Esra.”

***

The maid came to tell us dinner was being served. Celine and Esra led the way to the dining room. We walked behind. When we arrived Mr. Demiroglu offered us all a chair. Celine stood behind a seat and said, “You are the guest of honor Sensei. Please sit here.” I did, and thanked her father.

It was a very nice dinner. I recognized everything they served and had one of my all time favorite sides, a loaf of fire baked bread that comes to table like a giant football, but gradually falls until it is completely flat. I love the flavor and texture. We had bits of roast lamb on a kabob and eggplant. There were salads of chick peas, tomatoes, cucumber and other types of beans and humus. It was delicious.

While we were eating the guys did their best, but really had a hard time not staring at Esra. Like I said, they did their best. She was animated and clearly excited. She kept asking questions of each of us which Celine translated. She would say something and then there would be a pause, and then Celine would look at someone else and translate the question. Then, of course there would be a long-winded answer as each of the guys tried to say something impressive. Celine was having a wonderful time. She smiled so much I could hardly believe it.

Eventually the dinner wound down and Mr. Demiroglu told us he had booked the hotel for tonight and tomorrow night and that we were his guests. If we wished, he would have Mustafa available for us tomorrow to see Istanbul. Tomorrow night we were to be his guests at a nice restaurant on the Bosporus. I told him we were very grateful and Celine walked us to the van.

“Your sister seems very nice. Your whole family is very nice. Where is your youngest sister?”

“She studies at the Sorbonne.”

“So I expect she speaks French,” I smiled.

“Oh, yes. We both do.”

I got into the van and rolled down the window. Celine was still there. “Celine, I thought you said your sister spoke English. It didn’t sound like she was speaking Turkish – your parents clearly didn’t understand what she was saying. What language were you speaking?”

Celine looked deep into my eyes and eventually a smile formed on her lips. “It was English. At least she thinks it is.” Then Celine let out a howl of laughter we would probably have heard at the hotel. She was still laughing when we drove away.

Chapter 10

The Far Side of the World

Kathmandu is one