The platform and the cars of the subway were eerily empty this morning – quite a contrast to yesterday’s crushing commute when New Yorkers exhibited not-their-best behavior, pushing into the packed train and tossing rude comments back and forth. This morning, before I left the house, we exchanged a few words: “you know it’s 9/11, yes, I’m running late, the subway has been a nightmare, not looking forward to that, call you later" etc. My preoccupations kept me from kissing him goodbye.
As soon as I hit the street I felt it. The past few years I’ve tried to pretend that this day could be just like any other day again. But it never is and the tears welled up, as they invariably do, and I headed down into the subway, wondering what I would find. Wouldn’t you know that I found I missed them, all of those New Yorkers. Where was everyone today? Were they afraid to ride the train, right at this time, the time the first plane hit? Were they home watching the ceremonies at Ground Zero on TV? Were they grieving loved ones lost?
As I took stock of the other riders I wondered if we should be nervous. Was I imagining the mood to be somber? Remember, after 9/11, when you could sit on the train and cry, and know you wouldn’t be alone in that -- not have to feel awkward or know why you were crying. We were all crying in our own way. And during that time we actually looked at each other. You felt you could speak to people and you knew you could ask for help if you needed it. You knew you would give help, if asked. The world had changed and New Yorkers started looking into each others eyes.
“Shouldn’t we be doing something special today?” my co-worker asked this morning, her eyes reddening as she turned to her calculations and spreadsheets. I said I might meet a friend for coffee – someone I had watched the TV with at work as the second plane hit that day. We had left the office together and bought flip-flops for the long walk home. She talked about her best friend from high school whose brother died in the Towers, seven years ago. He would have children by now she mused -- he had been engaged to be married. We all know someone. Each year we hear the stories, old and new.
Tonight at home when I stand quietly at a south-facing window and look downtown, I’ll see the gap in the skyline, filled this week with the beautiful and symbolic tower of light. I’ll remember the heavy smoke and the long-lingering odor of that dark time. And I suspect, like many New Yorkers, the day will have been marked yet again by a very personal mourning and reflection and possibly a remembrance of the softening and opening of our hearts, and our eyes.
The photo above was taken to promote a recital my daughter sang in June, 2002. We were not trying to capture the flag which appears on the subway car, but somehow it seemed appropriate – a full year had not yet passed since 9/11 and a certain special patriotism was still very much apparent here in New York. Hear her album "Maya's Idyll" here.
Right about this time last year, I was still quite intoxicated from that first Centered Riding® Clinic, which was attended when I could almost still count my riding lessons on one hand, and I had to think about how to hold the reins each time I got on the horse. I knew that Centered Riding would change my life, but could never have imagined the depth of the process which was initiated over those four days.
Many of the patient teachers I met then have become my instructors at Lord Stirling Stable and the clinician, Gail Field, has become a friend, Alexander Technique colleague and riding mentor. The early entries on this blog document my meeting with the infamous Annelie, now my dear friend, horse riding idol and most recently, aikido protégé. More than one fellow aikidoist has been inspired by my stories of learning to ride. One has started Centered Riding lessons herself, riding again for the first time in over 30 years.
Last year, one of my aikido women role models, Karen De Paola (Skylands Aikikai), visited me at the Lord Stirling clinic and immediately saw the correlations between the groundwork tools and aikido principles and began making connections to specific aikido techniques. She gave me the timely opportunity to teach at her dojo that evening – a precious hour to take some of what I had been so eagerly absorbing in the riding arena onto the aikido mat. And so the year continued -- with synergy and synchronicity abounding.
It has been a year full of new friendships, renewed relationships, reconnecting important pieces from my past, and integrating parts of myself. I have been very fortunate to attend a variety of Centered Riding clinics and to meet the founder, Sally Swift, last November at the International Symposium in Vermont. So, it was a very happy anniversary last week as I once again attended Gail’s annual clinic at Lord Stirling. This year she asked me to assist her with some hands-on Alexander Technique, I traveled back and forth with Annelie and hosted her at my house, we spent each day in an arena which has come to feel like home and I rode a now-familiar horse.
This process of learning to ride seems to be weaving together all the various threads of my life. It has reminded me of long-forgotten childhood experiences, reconnected me to old colleagues and friends and enhanced and reinvigorated my aikido training. A recent email from a new Alexander Technique mentor, Tommy Thompson, spoke to me about “following your thread carefully” – it's a metaphor which has particular meaning for me now.
Karen De Paola is shown in the video above. Karen has always been a great inspiration to me – she embodies the qualities of calm, relaxed concentration and stillness within movement which are so important in martial arts, horse riding and living!
The night is balmy, the humidity is down and so are the bugs, except for a couple of “bombers,” the huge flies which like to plague both horses and riders. We have our orders: let them land on your horse, smack them with a flat palm, and then, if possible, squish them -- luckily, only our instructor executes that maneuver! We turn our attention to the bats which flitter above us. A screech owl calls from the distance and rabbits stop frozen in their tracks.
We shift our weight forward to make it easier for the horses to climb the steep hill which leads up into the trees. As we enter, I am surprised that we can see anything at all inside – am I still in New Jersey? My eyes adjust and suddenly transported, I find myself in a fern-carpeted forest – majestic, yet intimate. The horses seem content but not overly-impressed – after all it’s not their first trail ride.
We approach a tangle of trees, following our instructor as she weaves through them – a rustic obstacle course. My horse trips, stumbles deeply, but regains his balance. As a slight squeak of surprise escapes my lips, the teacher reminds us that we must always keep our eyes up on the trail, shining out like car headlights on high-beam. And we must keep our awareness of our center low and close to the horse.
Lord Stirling Park borders The Great Swamp, a 7,500 acre wildlife preserve. Our instructor makes sure to let us know that we are approaching the area known as the hiding place of the Devil of the Great Swamp, and some of the younger set of riders express an uncharacteristic hesitation to continue on -- usually they want to do nothing but canter like mad around the inside arena. However, soon we are trotting, up the trail, through the dark, ducking the low-hanging branches and marveling at ourselves -- at least I am! And I am incredibly relaxed despite it all.
Riding a horse out in nature – somehow this feels just perfect. Then I realize it is also distantly familiar, reminiscent of the ponies we used to rent from the neighboring farmer for 50¢ during those childhood summers at Clear Lake -- we would ride them through the woods bareback, by ourselves, on the unkempt trails, before the era of helmets or waiver forms. Sometimes they would brush us off against a tree and simply trot back to the barn.
Tolkien said that "Middle-earth was not at a physically distant time, but rather 'at a different stage of imagination.'" Now, just as I celebrate the one-year anniversary of that first clinic, which introduced me to both Centered Riding® and Lord Stirling Stable, I begin to imagine a whole new dimension of riding. The lovely photo above captures the mystical quality I experienced when we first entered the forest. “It was just like something out of Lord of the Rings” I told my friends. Sure enough, I somehow found the image I was looking for in the work of Asni -- harpist, photographer and Tolkien aficionado currently living in New Zealand (photo above taken in Germany and used with her permission). Please visit her website to see her other beautiful images and listen to her magical music, including her new album "Travels in Middle-earth."
What a great opportunity I thought when I noticed the clinic announcement on the Equestrian Education Systems (EES) website early last spring – and it was! For the past week or so I have been digesting some of the rich experience of attending the “Seat Symposium” which was held at Gleneden Dressage in Bedford, New York and conducted by Eckart Meyners, German sports physiologist and professor at the Institute for Leisure Research, Play and Movement Education (sounds like fun!) at the University of Luneburg, Germany.
Mr. Meyners is also the inventor of the Balance in Motion or “Balimo™” chair, a fascinating balance and flexibility training tool. However, I discovered over the course of the weekend that learning to use the Balimo chair is only a small part of his method for working with riders. Drawing upon the work of Moshé Feldenkrais he uses deceptively simple movement sequences to re-program habitual patterns of body use. The process creates more fluid, supple and responsive riders – evidenced both in the improved movement of the horse under saddle and the increased harmony between rider and horse.
Having now experienced Mr. Meyners’ work in person, his books are proving evermore useful and inspiring. Here is a passage which so captured my attention that I missed my subway stop! It’s another piece of the puzzle which has challenged me – how to feel grounded and stable atop the horse:
“The rider’s inner eye . . . should feel the weight of the head traveling down through the center of the body, gaining weight from the body as it goes downward. When this weight reaches the rider’s pelvis, it splits and continues down both legs and out the heels. While the body weight is traveling downward due to gravity’s force, the rider appears to be carrying her upper body upright and flexible, like a puppet with strings in the clouds. Meanwhile the pelvis is following the motion of the horse.”
As the above information sinks in, I am finding that my experience of standing on the earth is changing, as is my sense of connection to the ground while riding. In addition to paying attention to the poise of my head, I also notice that its weight is quite tangible – I call it ‘heavy in a good way.’ I don't have to interfere with the poise of my head to allow its weight to sink down through my bones, all the way to my feet, through my heels, down into the earth. A circuit is established, like plugging in a light, because as the weight flows down, an energy also rises back up through me. Paradoxically, the acceptance of the weight of the head, allows the bones to fulfill their function of support, yet also confers a sense of buoyancy and ease. It is intriguing to feel light and heavy at the same time!
Upcoming posts here will share more of the invaluable insights of Eckart Meyners. The Balimo™ or “Balance in Motion” chair is shown above with lines drawn to illustrate the type of movements possible while seated on it (virtually limitless planes of motion). Even a short period of use brought substantially increased awareness of the “seat” bones, balance (or lack of it!) and movement potential of the whole pelvis.
Yamada Sensei paused during his Tuesday morning class at the United States Aikido Federation Summer Camp (taking place this week at Stockton College near Atlantic City) to share with us what he feels are the most important aspects of the art. Here is my interpretation of what he said: It was only moderately surprising to me to hear him say that, first of all and most importantly, Aikido must be beautiful. That’s my Sensei, I thought – and he has been for nearly 25 years. The grace and symmetry of the movements and a fascination with the interaction have certainly been primary for me, with interest in the martial application developing gradually and a bit later. Now I see that the quality of beauty is not separate from the martial aspect. The elegance is pure physics, probably much the same as when mathematicians refer to certain proofs as “elegant.” Economy and purity of motion produce martial effectiveness.
Aikido must also be positive and this Yamada Sensei demonstrated for us very clearly. By contrasting proper extension, expansion and forward movement with the opposite effects of pulling in with the arms or moving backwards, he looked for a moment like a mere mortal rather than the larger-than-life figure we are used to experiencing on the mat.
Finally he reminded us that Aikido must be dynamic. He emphasized that each technique must have a memorable beginning and a clear ending. As a musician, I know the importance of dynamic variation, and as it happened, Sensei gave the example of a Beethoven symphony he had been listening to that morning – it begins with a strong statement and it has a shape. A trip to the dictionary reminded me that the term “dynamic” relates to energy or to objects in motion, is characterized by continuous change (emphasis mine) and is marked by intensity and vigor.
Although English is not Yamada Sensei’s native language, I believe he succinctly and completely described his Aikido – I can only imagine how eloquent his thoughts might be in Japanese.
The video clip above is from a series of instructional tapes by Yamada Sensei with Donovan Waite taking ukemi. It fully illustrates the beautiful, positive and dynamic qualities of the art of Aikido.
Also known as cosmic axis, world axis, world pillar and center of the world – this is a symbol found in throughout all cultures. It describes the “turning point of the world: line through the earth's center around which the universe revolves.”
“The human body can express the symbol of world axis. Some of the more abstract Tree of Life representations, such as the Sefirot in Kabbalism and in the Chakra system recognized by Hinduism and Buddhism, merge with the concept of the human body as a pillar between heaven and earth. Disciplines such as Yoga and Tai Chi begin from the premise of the human body as axis mundi. . . . World religions regard the body itself as a temple and prayer as a column uniting earth to heaven. . . . . The Renaissance image known as the Vitruvian Man represented a symbolic and mathematical exploration of the human form as world axis.” --Wikipedia
ax·is 1: a straight line about which a body or a geometric figure rotates or may be supposed to rotate 2: the second vertebra of the neck on which the head and first vertebra turn as on a pivot 3: a main line of direction, motion, growth, or extension 4: a point or continuum on which something centers - an axis of . . . power
Recently a number of experiences have reinforced my perception of my own axis. A Chi Kung class for aikidoists with Robert Tangora left me with a tangible new impression of my center as part of an energy channel. We used the image of a column of light which passed through the top of our heads, through our bodies straight down into the earth, all the while the same column of light streamed upwards. When we were able to keep the image clearly in our minds, our partners found us impossibly strong and virtually immoveable.
When I started learning to ride in earnest last autumn, I excitedly told an Alexander Technique colleague that expert riders direct energy not only up through the spine but downwards as well, and they do both at the same time. They use the spine like an integrated tool extending it in both directions from their center. He found this somewhat difficult to imagine, as did I, although my eyes were already telling me it was true.
Now my lessons with several different Centered Riding instructors all seem to have a common theme – and the theme has to do with learning to use both ends of the spine – the whole spine, and portions of the spine! It also has to do with isolating what the pelvis is doing from what the upper body is doing – even though the activity is integrated and the parts are interdependent. The tricky part is that in fact, when I "try" to accomplish any of the above directly I do not have much success. Once again I find that the whole is much greater than the sum of the parts -- so how shall I proceed from here?
A recent Alexander Technique lesson with Tommy Thompson in Cambridge, MA gave me a kind of correction to course and reminded me that attention to the "means whereby" would bring me much closer to the subtlety, integration and effectiveness of movement which is necessary in riding. The beautiful photo above of the legendary ballerina Alexandra Danilova graphically illustrates the human body organized around the vertical axis.
The words resonate deeply. They speak of the perfection within each of us which is locked away from expression – my interpretation is that it is our accumulated habits that prevent our true nature from emerging – habits of thinking, habits of moving with excess effort and tension, and habitual emotional reactions. All these we begin to develop from the moment of our birth. I am interested in how to strip away the layers of accumulation.
What types of activities work to dissolve or neutralize the ‘baffling…carnal mesh’ which obscures the truth of the ‘inmost centre’? This is a very personal journey for each of us. My approach includes the activities I explore in this space – application of the Alexander Technique, Aikido training, and most recently, my relationship with horses – all of which have an enhanced ability to return me to the present moment, again and again.
Now I leave it to the power of the poetry to share its personal meaning with you:
Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise From outward things, whate’er you may believe. There is an inmost centre in us all, Where truth abides in fullness; and around, Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in, This perfect, clear perception—which is truth. A baffling and perverting carnal mesh Binds it, and makes all error: and, to know, Rather consists in opening out a way Whence the imprisoned splendour may escape, Than in effecting entry for a light Supposed to be without.
--From Paracelsus by Robert Browning
Many hours were spent searching for an image to complement this entry. The face of a weathered stone angel shown above emanates an eerie radiance. Ironically, it was found on a science website illustrating the effects of acid rain. Photographer: Michael Drager | Agency: Dreamstime.com
The platform and the cars of the subway were eerily empty this morning – quite a contrast to yesterday’s crushing commute when New Yorkers exhibited not-their-best behavior, pushing into the packed train and tossing rude comments back and forth. This morning, before I left the house, we exchanged a few words: “you know it’s 9/11, yes, I’m running late, the subway has been a nightmare, not looking forward to that, call you later" etc. My preoccupations kept me from kissing him goodbye.
