Desire goes way back to ancient times, way before civilization existed when we

developed the neuronal synapses to spark the feelings of craving and want. It is a force, a drive
that guides our behaviors and our thoughts. Religions speak of desire in positive and negative
overtones, depending on the object of desire. The layman’s concept of Buddhism is that desire
is the cause of all suffering.
Desire walks a fine line between being ostracized and encouraged, cautioned and
nurtured. Looking at Morihei Ueshiba’s book The Art of Peace, he mostly describes desire in a
negative context, using words like “petty”, “evil”, and the such. The only exception to this is the
desire to “thirst for more and more training in the Way”. It is with this mindset that Brooklyn
Aikikai sets the tone of the Dojo. On one occasion or another, during one of Sensei’s post-class
reflections, he urges “Pick one thing to work on this week. It can be noticing how your neck is,
not just during training but also when you’re reading. When you’re on your phone. Is it like this
(flexes neck)? Or this (straightens neck)? And then you can pick something else next week.”
Admittedly, it’s not very often I go to my Aikido classes asking myself “What do I desire
in this training?” Or even the general question: “What do I desire out of my training in Aikido?” I
have been doing Aikido for 14 years and most of my focus has been to continuously work on my
technique, learn their names, work with different body types. Sensei usually talks about “big
Aikido”, learning as a means of personal development and growth, and a large reason why
Brooklyn Aikikai incorporates zazen and misogi.
As I pondered the latter question, it dawned upon me that this unusual persistence in a
single martial art stems from a desire to discover. Aikido is a dynamic martial art that is always
slightly different depending on what technique I’m doing, what side, what height, what body
type. There are so many variables, that it becomes an enriching way of having a conversation
through body art. Very subtle things like shifting my weight and the position of my fingers and
tailbone can make a world of difference. Hence, each ikkyo is always slightly different, and as
Heraticlus would philosophize, “You cannot step into the same river twice, for other waters are
continually floating on”. This continual discovery is what makes it so interesting, and when I’m
frustrated about not being able to get a technique or get the ukemi quite right, it is welcomed as
an acknowledgement that I have something to learn.
There are many paths of discovery in the practice of Aikido that vary from person to
person. If we imagine a mountain, there are many paths to climb towards the top. We can
incorporate other practices to complement our paths. Antonio Machado, a poet and a
philosopher, writes that there is no path to follow except the one that you make. Learning and
growing is a process that gives my life meaning, and it is this that fuels my desire to Aikido.