The Aiki Society
by Oleg Gorfinkel
Over the past four years, I have often reflected on our dojo's unique combination of dedication in training and an appetite for getting together socially and having fun. More than any other club I have seen, we have achieved a balance between these two aspects of dojo life, where they don't interfere with--but rather reinforce--each other.
I have calculated that coming to a single evening class at the Bloor Valley takes at least two and a half hours out of your day. Attending both classes raises this figure to four hours--half of a full-time job. Many of us come to at least four classes a week, yet we are game to stay afterwards and hang around at Second Cup or wolf down a couple of trays of Ted's savoury nachos at the Bloor Valley lounge. Similar traditions have always flourished at the YMCA, despite the fact that work awaits most people at class-end.
This shows how much we value this time together, time that allows us to get to know each other and form human ties. To put it another way, it is a value for us to stay close and become a part of each other's lives--and values held by a group of people, though unspoken, are often felt more immediately than words.
People new to our club pick up on this right away. I have heard many people say that they felt comfortable, welcomed, right from the first class (and the first cup of coffee after class). I myself have often marveled at how quickly a new person blended into the group. He or she may have started just a few weeks ago, but is now totally familiar, like any old-timer.
Another fine tradition of ours is regular get-togethers. Not content to confine ourselves to after-class yap sessions, we must every so (very) often congregate at someone's house or cottage, or at a park, and revel in superb food and each other's company. I have to underscore the food part, since all our social events are designated as pot-luck, and even the fussiest palate must admit: culinary talent is rampant in our dojo.
The recent picnics at Bill Collins' cottage (known as
Poison Ivy Acres) and at the Riverdale Park are good
examples of such gatherings. At the former, man, woman, and beast
enjoyed a long, sunny afternoon amid rolling hills, grass, trees,
and patches of poison ivy (pointed out by the host and thence
carefully avoided by all). Apart from lots of eating and talking,
there was something to do for everyone. Some of us went hiking
around the hills and valleys, others threw a frisbee around a
circle, a few people hit (or at least tried to) golf balls down
an improvised driving range. Even our members' dogs got a chance
to meet each other and socialize.
At the Riverdale Park picnic, the most memorable moments came
during a game in which a blindfolded, bokken-toting
participant poked all around the meadow in search of a
watermelon. Guided more by his or her intuition than the
"directions" yelled out by the laughing, taunting crowd, this
unfortunate's goal was to find the striped green quarry, stand
squarely before it, and whack it apart with a single stroke of
the bokken. If you missed, it was the next person's turn.
After many a sore hand from the bokken smashing into the
ground, this feat was finally accomplished by the illustrious
Ramin--all the more impressive in the face of the crowd's
deliberate attempts to mislead him (we tried to steer him into
trees and at one point even moved the watermelon as far as forty
metres away). Note that following Ramin's fateful stroke, the
fruit was so mutilated that it could only be thrown away,
virtually uneaten.
I have always felt grateful for our tightly-knit, vibrant
community at Shugyo Dojo. I have also noticed that the ties we
form off the mat find their way into the actual aikido practice--and
make it better. When you throw or take ukemi for a
person, it somehow makes a difference if you have heard their
jokes, met their partner or spouse; if you know something about
their hopes and worries. You are just that much more attentive,
present, connected.
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