control
i had a good judo practice today. i got counter-throws on both guys i trained with today, which is tangible evidence of improvement for once. that they're both heavier and one has years of experience on me is also inspiring.
i'm still having trouble setting up my own throws and taking the offensive, but my reflexes and coordination have improved to the point where i can take advantage of incomplete setups by other people.
also i'm slowly beginning to understand the subtleties of kuzushi, or off-balancing, in my game. it's really about subtle sensitivity and timing.
anyway, i just got a judo book for christmas that says that the ultimate goal of sport judo is control. this seems absolutely true to me. the throws, the pins, the submissions: every bit of it aims to subjugate the will of another person to yours.
you want to stand up, i make you fall. you want to escape my pin, i hold you down. it is, in its very essence, an opposition of wills.
not the opposition of power or strength, not at all. a good judo player moves with, not against, his opponent. and in this way, you come out on top. very literally.
this is the element of other-control in judo. at its highest level, it's perfectly gentle. it's powerless and sensitive yet utterly dominating: against a massively more skilled opponent, a lesser player will simply defeat himself with his own mistakes.
then there is the element of self-control, which makes it all possible: the discipline, the deliberateness and efficiency of all motion, the rigorous sensitivity and awareness.
in a very literal way, you control the movement of your opponent by controlling your own movement. to use a term from aikido, you blend. you fit in or join.
despite the negative and violent connotations of the word control, what i've just described hardly seems negative, violent, or forceful.
and, you know, it's not violent. i spend four or five evenings a week learning how to control another human being against their will, control which further gives me the option to injure or kill them, and i don't see this as violent.
violence is, krishnaji says, separating yourself from the rest of mankind. when you're afraid, that's what you do. you seclude yourself and put up walls and separate yourself in fear.
a person who is not afraid (or who acts despite their fear) asserts themselves and fights against adversity, in whatever form it takes. fighting is not violence.
fighting is getting out of bed in the morning, going to work, writing long papers, saying what needs to be said, dealing with your sadness.
the ability to stand up and meet what life has to throw at you, that's what learning to fight has to offer.
that's why i train what i do, like i do. for my health.
i'm still having trouble setting up my own throws and taking the offensive, but my reflexes and coordination have improved to the point where i can take advantage of incomplete setups by other people.
also i'm slowly beginning to understand the subtleties of kuzushi, or off-balancing, in my game. it's really about subtle sensitivity and timing.
anyway, i just got a judo book for christmas that says that the ultimate goal of sport judo is control. this seems absolutely true to me. the throws, the pins, the submissions: every bit of it aims to subjugate the will of another person to yours.
you want to stand up, i make you fall. you want to escape my pin, i hold you down. it is, in its very essence, an opposition of wills.
not the opposition of power or strength, not at all. a good judo player moves with, not against, his opponent. and in this way, you come out on top. very literally.
this is the element of other-control in judo. at its highest level, it's perfectly gentle. it's powerless and sensitive yet utterly dominating: against a massively more skilled opponent, a lesser player will simply defeat himself with his own mistakes.
then there is the element of self-control, which makes it all possible: the discipline, the deliberateness and efficiency of all motion, the rigorous sensitivity and awareness.
in a very literal way, you control the movement of your opponent by controlling your own movement. to use a term from aikido, you blend. you fit in or join.
despite the negative and violent connotations of the word control, what i've just described hardly seems negative, violent, or forceful.
and, you know, it's not violent. i spend four or five evenings a week learning how to control another human being against their will, control which further gives me the option to injure or kill them, and i don't see this as violent.
violence is, krishnaji says, separating yourself from the rest of mankind. when you're afraid, that's what you do. you seclude yourself and put up walls and separate yourself in fear.
a person who is not afraid (or who acts despite their fear) asserts themselves and fights against adversity, in whatever form it takes. fighting is not violence.
fighting is getting out of bed in the morning, going to work, writing long papers, saying what needs to be said, dealing with your sadness.
the ability to stand up and meet what life has to throw at you, that's what learning to fight has to offer.
that's why i train what i do, like i do. for my health.