Reach Out and Touch Someone – Extending Ki

What is ki? It is one of the first questions that beginners ask. The best answer I know is “Keep practicing and find out.” But that comes across as glib. What I mean is: ki–like fear, illness, joy, pain, faith, etc.–is something best understood through experience. Words point in the general direction like a pain chart at a doctor’s office, but each individual experiences it as an internal truth.

There is another difficulty with describing ki. Because ki is experiential, opinions vary from, “There’s no such thing as this woo-woo ki,” to “Ki is the universal energy that binds everything together.” While I don’t want to stir that debate, I would say that if you aren’t willing to act like ki is something possible to experience, if you think it is complete phooey, then aikido probably isn’t the art for you.

If ki is something you are willing to accept as possible in your worldview, there are a few things I’ve heard that helped me.

You can think of ki as:

  •  energy
  • focus
  • awareness
  • intention

None of these synonyms translate exactly. But they are signposts pointing toward it.

Many answers of “what is ki” didn’t appeal to me or resonate with me as a beginner. The Eastern mystical explanations also didn’t resonate with my experience of life. They were highway signs in a language I couldn’t read. I spent my first two years of practice doing my best and being open, sometimes feeling something, but not sure what it was. Then I read the following description of aiki and things began to cohere:

     The feeling of aiki, harmonizing energy, is the feeling of being “in-the-zone” like during a sports competition.

It clicked. I know that feeling. It is vivid awareness of everything happening around you, almost knowing what will happen before it happens. I remember moments during basketball games when I moved in a pre-conscious understanding of the whole court. I sensed where the opponent was thinking of passing. Where the gaps were in the defense. Where the basket was without having to look at it. I just knew all that stuff and was part of it, moving through it, shaping it toward an outcome.

Being in-the-zone in sports is like being in the rhythm.  My wife and I played in a taiko drumming group in Japan. For warm-ups, our club leader would relentlessly bang the same beat, sometimes an hour, while we either copied the rhythm or broke into quarter or 16th notes as we saw fit. We practiced in a hot, humid gym. Fifteen minutes was enough to make us tired and sweaty, but we tried to keep the beat. Our sticks blistered our hands. And then, when we became too tired to do anything but endure, something inside shifted. It wasn’t me keeping the beat; I had merged with it. We were all caught up in the rhythm which seemed to exist in and of itself. We participated in something greater than the sum of its parts.

Those two experiences–being in-the-zone and becoming the rhythm–helped me open up to what I was training on the mat. You can’t be in-the-zone at basketball if you don’t practice constantly. Just like you can’t sync band  ensemble without learning your part and practice. To experience that zone–to feel what ki is–you have to drill the fundamentals.

So when someone asks “What is ki?” I share the sign posts that help me, but the truth is, the answer ain’t free. If you want to know, keep practicing. You will feel it. More and more. Just keep an open mind to your practice and experiences.


Feature image  “Handshake”

Teaching Learning

Finally: the answer to the conundrum which has bebuggered our dojo and its instructors—maybe all dojos and instructors—since the dawn of forever!

Ours cannot be the only dojo that wonders what constitutes the best practices for teaching aikido. Should you demonstrate techniques silently and allow practitioners to repeat them ad infinitum? Should you provide minimal verbal instructions? Or should you provide descriptive details, memorizable steps, and plenty of explanation?

And what about when you’re not the instructor, but just the senpai (senior student) paired with a novice, or kohai? Should you remain mostly silent while your partner reps a technique? Should you correct the errors you see or feel—either silently/bodily like a mime or verbally/accurately like a tutor?


I am especially keen to unravel these mysteries because I am co-teaching our 4-week Monday/Thursday Intro to Aikido class (download the intro class flier) coming up on March 12th, 2018 (for questions or to register, contact Philip Riffe:!

Upending Convention 

The answers to these and other questions can be found in Make It Stick: The Science of Successful Learning. Co-authors and experts Peter Brown, Henry Roediger III, and Mark McDaniel compile recent findings from neuroscience and cognitive psychology and combine the results to reexamine what learning is how best to facilitate it.

Conventionally, our culture believes that learning anything the hard way is a waste of time and effort. The student and teacher are better off when the learning is fast and easy. We also believe that practice makes perfect. Repeat something over and over AND OVER until you have it down. However, like nearly all the revelations arising from fMRI (real-time observations of living brains) evidence, the takeaways on learning are counterintuitive and quite opposite from the quick-and-easy conventions.

The Make It Stick authors reveal that when it comes to learning, easy in equals easy out. For example, whenever someone tells you a phone number, you might repeat the number over and over until you can plug it into your phone or jot it on a piece of paper. If asked to recite the number again later that day, odds are good you would succeed in the memory task. But, if asked to recall the number days or weeks later, odds are you will have forgotten the number entirely.


Because the brain stores quick and easy info in short term memory. Think of short term memory like a chalkboard. It’s as easy to mark on as it is to wipe clean. Long term memory is more like a safety deposit box. It will cost you to put anything in it, but once there, it will endure.

The cost required to store anything in long term memory is effort. Learning actually needs to be effortful if it’s going to last, expand, and enrich.

Worth the Effort

How can we make learning meaningfully effortful? The authors recommend “interleaving” or mixing the tasks and skills to be practiced. Their example comes from a study of youngsters challenged to master the art of chucking a bean bag into a bucket two feet away. One group of kiddos practices exactly that: lobbing bags at a bucket set two feet away. Over and over in the usual “practice makes perfect” style—or what learning specialists call “massed” practice. The other group interleaves their learning. Their buckets sit three feet and four feet away and they can shoot at either or both targets as mixed or as methodically as they wish.

On an immediate skills test, the first group nailed the two-foot bucket more often than the second group. However, within a few weeks without additional practice, the first group missed the target while the second group nailed it. The interleaved practice was more difficult and did not produce desired results immediately, but it built a wider range of skills thanks to mixed targets. Over time, the brain massaged all that learning into the physical finesse needed to land the shot, regardless of the bucket’s distance.

How might this apply to teaching and learning aikido? We may all benefit by mixing what we rep. Maybe, if I want to get better at that hiki-hiraki ikkyo irimi, I should rep some kote kaeshis or shiho nages from a hiki-hiraki start. Maybe I should rep some ikkyos from yoko-hiraki or dashi-hiraki starts.

Mind the Gap

Another vital point which contradicts convention concerns forgetting. We assume forgetting stems from a flaw in our ability to remember, or that the way we acquired the information was somehow flawed (otherwise, we would remember it). On the contrary, forgetting is what the brain does naturally and needs to do in order to acquire information for the long term.

How can we encourage beneficial forgetting? Build open spaces or gaps into the learning process. Following a lesson, allow for a gap in time and attention on the topic. Allow the brain to erase some or most of what you acquired. Then quiz yourself. The effort you put into reconstructing the lesson strengthens the wiring in and across your brain. To recall what you learned (and partially forgot), you must tap various regions of the brain—those governing sound, smell, touch, taste, and so on. Your prior learning and experience will also feed the reconstruction process, which in turn, bolsters the wiring (synaptic connections) around the new information. More connections equal deeper storage and longer retention.

Riddle Me This

Another way to build in gaps is to hold back “right” or “wrong” feedback. Gaps of silence. When your kohai is fiddling about with footwork or handwork, simply giving them a few unaided attempts is enough to let their bodies relay important information to the brain, like: this is weird…this feels inefficient…this doesn’t seem at all like what the sensei showed…etc. In the wake of that evidence, the mind and body work in tandem to problem solve, to imagine alternative solutions, or to re-imagine sensei’s demonstration. This attempt to solve the problem before being given the answer builds robust learning because when you do offer a correction/solution, kohai’s mind and body will padlock that information and connect it to all the wiring that arose during unaided experimentation. Again, more wiring makes the revealed solution stick better and longer.

Consider any time you were given one of those bizarre brain-teaser puzzles to solve. Like those two ten-penny nails twisted together that supposedly come apart. Or think of any time someone has challenged you to solve a riddle. You try out answers and solutions until either you solve it or you ask for the answer. How well do you remember the solution years later when you hand over the same puzzle or riddle to a new, unsuspecting victim?

Naturally, this book belongs on every educator’s shelf, but for senseis and aikidoka, this book represents an opportunity to strengthen and expand not only their practice, but also the essential senpai/kohai relationship which makes practicing so rich.


Featured image “Chalk” (CC BY 2.0).