Во времени нет времени; в скорости нет скорости. Каждое мгновение любого движения, каждое мгновение любой, борьбы — это неподвижность. Ваши глаза должны научиться схватывать эту неподвижность, как это делает затвор объектива. Не существует быстрого или медленного. Атака, которая вам, как новичку, кажется быстрой, с практикой и приобретением опыта становится медленнее. Ваши глаза изменяются, и вы смотрите по-другому. Если вы продолжаете тренироваться, в конце концов приходит время, когда любая атака, какой бы быстрой она ни была, будет казаться вам замедленным движением кадров на экране. В истинной гармонии не существует ни времени, ни пространства, потому что не существует разделения. Наше себялюбивое эго привычно и произвольно разделяет единое время, единое пространство и всеобщие творческие вибрации, и тогда все это начинает представляться нам разным, и тогда мы не можем понять друг друга. Гармония — это общение, связь. Ичи го ичи э.

Here is a nice Japanese proverb I found recently. It reminded me of something nice I read in recent interview with an Aikido master called Yoshimitsu Yamada Sensei who is 8th dan, and was a direct disciple of the founder of Aikido.
The proverb is: 大隠は市に隠る Tai-in wa ichi ni kakru "A great sage lives in a town" Though a hermit may lead a pious life in a cave, in a forest or a lonely mountain, a trully great person, lives in crowded streets and is not affected by his surroundings. He can have a disciplined life in spite of his surroundings. from the book: Japanese Proverbs and Sayings.
Yamada Sensei lives and teaches aikido in the very heart of Manhattan (NYC). Here are Yamada Sensei's words concerning the very same idea:
"I am not a very spiritual man. I should have followed the lectures of Nakamura sensei, I would probably be deeper. I am not a mysterious person, I try to practice and transmit something that is good for the body and the mind, but something rooted in everyday, real life. Zen meditation is good. It can be performed in the depths of the mountains, where nothing disturbs us, but the best place to meditate is in a busy street, this is where you need it. One day, I was in a temple and during a discussion, I told them that it was easy to meditate when one was alone in the world, but that it was a different story when at the heart of a busy street in New York. People got angry but it is in this type of place that relaxation and detachment are needed most (laughs). Always anchor things in reality so that it positively affects daily lives."
The full interview can be found here:

By Ze'ev Erlich

Dave Lowry, “Moving Towards Stillness: Lessons in Daily Life from the Martial Ways of Japan”, Tuttle Publishing, 2000. Chapter 9, “Excess Baggage”.

"I would like to join your karate practice, but I wear glasses, you see, so could I possibly skip some of the rougher stuff?"

"I am interested in aikido, but I have very sensitive elbow joints from playing high school football. Could I ask, if I come to train, that the techniques you do that are applied against the elbows not be done on me?"

"I want to try kendo, but I don't think I'd get enough of a workout in a coed class. Do you have any classes with just men in them?"

Ask any budo teacher if these requests are familiar and he will nod. Then he will probably add one or two others he has heard. Questions of this nature are typical from prospective members of the dojo. Sometimes the requests are phrased in very polite, even timid ways. Other times the prospective student, assuming he has entered a place of business and therefore may demand more or less whatever kind of service he wants, will be forceful and emphatic in outlining his particular wishes. Then, too, there are would-be students who are clever and manipulative and who will attempt to smooth-talk their way into what they want. No matter what form these requests take, however, all of them are what we might think of as "excess baggage."

When a newcomer appears at the dojo door, he really doesn't need very much, if you come to think about it, to get him inside. He should be in reasonable physical and mental health and be willing to accept what he will encounter with an open mind. In reality, he needs almost nothing else. But in his own mind the new student often arrives believing he has a great many more necessities, and he will come schlepping up with them, even before his training has begun, toting them along like the excess baggage tourists carry with them on a holiday at the beach. The student carries this excess baggage because he has the very human notion that he is special in some way, that he has liabilities or considerations that others do not have. He feels he must, in all fairness, bring these to the attention of his teacher so that the teacher will be able to deal with them appropriately and effectively in class. Although the beginner is almost surely unaware of it, even at the onset of his training, even before he may have set foot onto the dojo floor, he has reached a critical stage in his education, one that is entirely up to his teacher to handle. The teacher has two choices. He can either listen patiently and explain that he will do everything possible to take the student's needs into consideration — or he can listen patiently and explain that in no way can the dojo accommodate the excess baggage the student is carrying, and that, furthermore, believe it or not, the student will almost certainly be just fine without it.

If you encounter the sort of teacher who opts for the first approach, congratulations. You have found a cheap therapist who will reinforce all of your preconceptions about yourself. He will be sympathetic and understanding and accommodating. He will not challenge your sense of yourself, will never bring about a confrontation between you and your ego. If you run across a teacher who adopts the second kind of response, count your blessings. You may well have discovered a true sensei who can teach you things about yourself that you never knew.

The fact is, although your individual needs and shortcomings may seem very important to you, they are not really all that special. Chances are, if you can walk into a dojo under your own power, you are in good enough shape to begin training there. Of course, your asthma or your myopia or lack of flexibility may be a problem. But if you had the opportunity to ask her, you would probably discover that the woman practicing beside you is dealing with chronic arthritis. The man on the other side has a left hip that has a slight congenital deformity, and the girl behind you suffers from chronic bronchitis. And it's very likely that they all began their training by thinking their problems were as special as yours.

Another pertinent fact is that a principal attribute of the martial Ways, one of their greatest assets as paths of self-discovery and personal growth, is their breadth. Karate, judo, kendo and aikido were not meant just for the Japanese. Or just for men. Or just for finely conditioned athletes. Unlike the classical warrior arts that preceded them in old Japan and that were confined in their scope and availability to the samurai caste, the budo have a much wider aim. They were meant for everyone. And, by their nature, when they are taught, no special consideration may be given to anyone.

Got a bad right knee? then you kicks with that leg may not be as strong as mine. I've got an injury-weakened left shoulder, so my strikes on that side might not be as powerful as your. But when our sensei counts off the kicks, you must be trying your best to kick even if those kicks are not as good as mine. When punching, I have to do the same, give it my complete effort even if my best isn't going to be the same as yours. And neither you nor I can do our best when we're carrying excess baggage.

If you ever have an opportunity to attend a traditional ceremony of tea, or chado, you should take it, for many reasons. There are a number of lessons for the budoka to learn in the confines of the tea hut. Even entering the hut itself provides insight in the Way. In a properly build chashitsu, as a tea hut is called in Japanese, there is a peculiar kind of doorway, one that was designed by the great tea master Sen no Rikyu. As I have mentioned before, this door is called a nijiri guchi, which means roughly a "crawling in space." To the uninitiated, the nijiri guchi might be mistaken for a little window. It is only a few feet square. Anyone wishing to enter, to participate in the tea ceremony, must pass through this little door by lowering himself and nearly crawling throught the small passage.

The history of the nijiri guchi is informative. Sen no Rikyu's most famous pupil in the Way of tea was Toyotomi Hideyoshi, the fierce warlord who ruled much of Japan during the latter half of the sixteenth century. Hideyoshi was passionate about the tea ceremony. He saw in its sober and refined elegance a goal he desperately pursued. But with Hideyoshi, it was always an inner battle between his wish for the simple beauty that he knew marked a true connoisseur, and his fevered and ambitious ego. He knew in his heart that in the quiet simplicity of the tea hut was an aesthetic to be treasured. Yet it was difficult for him to give up the magnificent clothes and the fabulously expensive swords he wore, the trappings of his satus as a shogun. He identified his position with these things, and he did not wish to be without them. (He was no different, really from the prospective students we are talking about, those who idetify themselves so closely with their own things or ideas or preconceptions or problems.) According to the traditions of the tea ceremony, Sen no Rikyu devised the nijiri guchi so that if the haughty Hideyoshi wished to enter sincerely into the spirit of tea, he would have to humble himself and crawl through the door. This architectural feature of the tea ceremony remains to this day. The tea house door is open to all. But there is only one way to enter. No exceptions can be made, regardless of one's station or circumstances in life.

The door to the dojo is different in appearance, true, but it is very similar to the tea house's nijiri guchi. There is room only for you to come in. You must leave your excess baggage outside. Trust me. Trust your teacher. Whatever you leave behind, you will not miss it at all.

©2000 Dave Lowry

Под "Kuzushi" понимается техника разбалансирования противника (сходные понятия: rakka (ракка), sankakule (санкакуле) и т.д.), создание состояния открытости, когда вся сила может быть применена. Критическая точка Kuzushi - это доли секунды. Это нельзя объяснить, это можно только почувствовать. 

Независимо от того, насколько своевременным и эффективным был наш вход, если Вы не воспользовались Kuzushi, ваша техника будет неэффективной. 

Необходимо двигаться свободно и самому атаковать противника, не дожидаясь  атаки. «Не важно, как именно противник нападает, вы должны двигаться первым, и использовать собственные перемещения для опережения его движений. Именно поэтому вы никогда не должны дожидаться начала атаки. Чувствуя, что противник только собирается атаковать, вы должны противодействовать ему прежде, чем его атака наберёт полную силу.» Годзо Сиода "Сюге"

Ряд самурайских школ советовали смотреть в глаза сопернику, тем самым подавляя его дух, как бы входя своим сознанием в его мозг, что именовалось «отравленным взглядом». Другие предпочитали следить взглядом за клинком соперника или за его руками, третьи же обращали особое внимание на передвижения нападающего. Но так или иначе все сходились на универсальном принципе: взгляд должен быть «плавающим», ни на чем не останавливаться. Мусаси выдвинул принцип «естественного взгляда», когда как бы охватывают всего противника сразу, улавливая при этом периферийным зрением его мельчайшие движения.
Но существует и высшее мастерство: взгляд, который проникает в сам «дух» соперника. Это не имеет ничего общего с остротой зрения. «Надо видеть, не глядя, слышать, не слушая», – советовали мастера кэн-дзюцу. Существует внутренний взор, который «подобен остро отточенному клинку», он должен пронзать соперника раньше, чем меч коснется его тела, подавляя желание врага защищаться. Здесь возникает особое понятие «сверхчувствования», или «слышания» противника, которое «заключается в мощной концентрации внешнего и внутреннего зрения на состоянии духа противника».
\Алексей Маслов - Дзэн самурая\

כשאתה נכנס לדוג`ו, קוד לכוון הטוֹקוֹנוֹמָה. זה המקום בו שוכן האל, היכן ששוכנת הנשמה של האמנות. אתה מכיר בזה ברגע שאתה עובר בדלת. אתה צריך להיות במלוא הערנות, רגוע, לא מתוח. אתה צריך להיות ערני למה שקורה סביבך. אתה נשאר במצב הזה עד שאתה עוזב, עדיף אפילו, עד שאתה מגיע הביתה.
להכנס לחלק מהדוג`ו-אים זה כמו ליפול לתוך בור עם חמישים נחשי קוברה שרובצים בשמש. אתה לא רוצה לעשות גלים ולהחריד את הקוברות ממרבצם. רק התעסק בעניינך בשקט. אתה בטוח לא צריך להרגיש בבית. אתה נכנס לעולם שונה. העולם של איקידו הוא שחור ולבן. חיים או מוות. אתה צריך להיות ערני לחיים ולמוות ברגע שאתה עולה על המזרן. אם לא נוהגים כך, מזמינים פציעות. 

מתוך מקבץ תרגומים של קטעים קצרים מהספר:
"זה מאוד דומה לריקוד"מאת טֶרִי דוֹבְּסוֹן, ריקי מוֹס, גֶ`ן א. ווטסון.
תרגם מאנגלית: זיו קלויזנר.

אדם חושף את עצמו בדרך בה הוא קד. בדוג`ו איקידו, אתה קד כשאתה נכנס וכשאתה עולה על המזרן. הרוח בה אתה קד חשובה מאוד; אתה חושף את עצמך בדרך בה אתה קד. קידה ריקה, בעוד שהיא אמנם עדיפה מלא לקוד כלל, היא בעיקרו של דבר חסרת ערך. כשאתה מכופף את המותן ואת הצואר, אתה רוצה לחוות תחושה של פגיעות וענווה. הקידה שלך הופכת אותך לכלי קיבול ריק שלתוכו ניתן למזוג ידע. נהגתי להיות טרוריסט בעניין קידות; זרקתי תלמידים מהמזרן על קידה ריקה. גם לי זה קרה פעם.

מורה אחד תפס אותי בקידה כלאחר יד וגרר אותי לעמידה בגלל היוהרה שלי. הוא סרב לתת לי לסיים את השיעור ושלח אותי הביתה בחרפה. לקח לי שלושה שבועות להתגבר על המבוכה ולחזור חזרה לשיעור. אתם יכולים להיות בטוחים שכשחזרתי, ניסיתי לקוד בצורה העמוקה והכֵּנה ביותר שיכולתי. פעם אחת שלפתי קידה שיכלה להיות ברמה עולמית. הייתי ממש שם. כל הנשמה שלי הייתה שם. כשהתרוממתי, ראיתי אותו מחייך חיוך של שביעות רצון אותו הוא התאמץ מאוד להסתיר.

אם אתה קד כראוי לבן זוג, למישהו שלא מכיר אותך, האדם הזה יהפך להיות בין רגע מודע אליך. הקידה היא באמת הנשמה של האמנות. לעיתים קרובות מתחילים מתייחסים לזה כטירדה משפטית, איזה מין מנהג משונה שחייבים להעביר במהירות.
אתה קד כשאתה עולה על המזרן. אתה קד למורה שלך בכל פעם שהוא עובר ואומר לך משהו. אתה מודה לו. אתה מודה לבן הזוג שלך על כל הדרכה שניתנה לך. אם תגרום בלי כוונה פציעה לאדם אחר, קוד לו. אם אדם אחר יגרום לך לפציעה, קוד לו באותה מידה. תודה לו על הנסיון. כשאתה בספק, קוד.
"מתוך מקבץ תרגומים של קטעים קצרים מהספר:
"זה מאוד דומה לריקוד"מאת טֶרִי דוֹבְּסוֹן, ריקי מוֹס, גֶ`ן א. ווטסון.
תרגם מאנגלית: זיו קלויזנר." http://www.aikidojournal.com/bibliography_details?id=27