The serenity of the dojo

Garry Lever at the entrance of the Jundokan dojo

During my time in karatedo I have been very fortunate to have trained in purpose built dojo as opposed to hired premises such as church halls and sports centers.  I class myself as being very lucky in this regard.

Although a relatively new introduction to the Okinawan art of karatedo, and of Japanese influence, the concept of training in a dojo is something which I welcome to my practise.  Of course, I am also an advocate of training amongst nature in natural surroundings, but what I refer to is the use of a dojo as opposed to a sports center or hired hall.

I can relate to actors who often mention about the electric feel of an empty theatre.  The same is often said by sportsmen regarding their various arena.  With karatedo, the feel of an empty dojo is something quite special.

During times of training at the dojo, there is an abundance of activity and noise.  Once this action has finished and you are left alone in an empty dojo, its as though the activity continues to reverberate in the empty space.  The contrast between action and inaction is tangible almost.

I have also been lucky in my experience in that I have often had the opportunity to be alone in the empty dojo.  For many people, the dojo is already busy upon their arrival, and there are still people present upon the lesson ending.  They may not have the opportunity to soak up the atmosphere.

My first experience of training at a purpose built martial arts dojo was at my sensei Richard Barrett’s dojo in Bishop Stortford.  Here it was expected of me that I arrive 15 minutes before lessons to clean and prepare the dojo.  During these 15 minutes I had the chance to tune into the atmosphere of the dojo, and prepare myself for the lesson ahead.  Occasionally Barrett sensei would tell me to perform junbi undo alone.  Here the temptation was to take it easier now that he wasn’t looking so that I wouldn’t tire myself out for the rest of the lesson, however this fleeting idea was shot to peices as I looked up and saw the portraits of Higaonna Kanryo, Miyagi Chojun and Miyazato Eiichi drilling their stares into me, urging me to try harder. 

Likewise, at the end of the lesson, I would remain behind after to clean the dojo floor.  The air still thick with sweat, the windows steamed, and perspiration literally raining from the roof onto my head, this was a chance to reflect upon the lesson and take stock of what had been passed on. 

In contrast to the butterflies and nervousness I would feel before the lesson, the feeling after was one of acomplishment and quiet pride that I had been strong enough to push myself.  A feat no doubt made more possible through the inspiration I drew upon from my surroundings.

The first dojo I trained at in Okinawa was the jundokan dojo.  At the time, the dojo was open from 10am until 10pm and you were free to come and go as you pleased.  The evenings would invariably be quite busy with many seniors on hand to assist you, but I took as much pleasure at training in the early morning when most of the time it would be just me.  Being able to soak up the history of the dojo and train with Miyagi sensei’s personal hojo undo equipment was a great experience, and just standing in the footsteps of such great practitioners as Miyazato sensei was enough to inspire.  The dojo had almost a haze about it during the early morning, before the heat of the afternoon was able to take hold.  I can only imagine what a great experience it must have been training at this dojo when Miyazato sensei was still alive, and likely to come downstairs to correct you at any moment.

A few years later I had the chance to train as an uchi deshi at Hokama Tetsuhiro sensei’s dojo.  The great thing about this dojo is that it also houses Okinawa’s only karate museum.  There is so much history right on hand, and Hokama sensei would make a regular appearence during my own training sessions to offer advice and correction.  At night I would venture out for dinner or a coffee and return to the dojo which would be in darkness.  The spookiness of the dojo in pitch black is a happy memory of mine, and alone I would kneel at the doorway and rei toward the kamiza and the ashes of Higa Seko sensei and Fukuchi Seiko sensei before entering.  Hokama sensei’s apparent clairvoyant abilities left a further strange feel which prevaded over the dojo.

My own dojo does not yet have the same feel about it as the dojo I mentioned above, but given time to grow and mature, I hope that one day maybe my students might notice something going on during the moments of inaction.

In your own training from time to time, take the opportunity to enjoy such moments of inaction and experience the tranquility that prevades over all serious dojo.