Stepping into Fear

For a short spell last winter I studied Aikido again. It had been some time since I’d practiced the martial art, the last time being when I was in college. Then, my teacher had been a brown-belt who had come to Aikido from a life of juvenile delinquency and street fighting. We learned how to fend off multiple attackers, disarm knife wielding thugs, and I felt pretty sure I could break just about anybody’s elbow or knee if the need arose.

My teacher last winter was a black-belt who taught us to work with our own energy, and the energy of an opponent, to ensure that nobody in a conflict got hurt. One of the most powerful lessons that I took from that experience was to step into, not away from, an attack.

To step into, not away from, fear.

While studying Tai Kwon Do, again some years ago now, I was taught many defensive moves to fend off flying hands and feet. Step back, block, step back, block, block, counter-strike. Each movement was away from the attacker, until we were in position to land a punch or kick. Now, I was being taught to get in close to the attacker. To step into the knife swinging towards my gut, or the pipe being swung at my head. Step into it, so that you can direct where it goes.

Thus it is with fear.

This morning I rise and feel the angry knot of fear in my chest. I’m disappointed in myself for feeling this: only hours ago I declared myself free from fear! Now, I’m at its mercy again.

My first instinct is to run from it. What can I do to avoid my fear? I busy myself, drink tea, shave, shower. Fold laundry. Do the dishes. Try to zero in on writing, on work. I could do push ups. Chin ups. Tidy up the boyz room.

But fear follows me, no matter how many times I step back and try to block, block, and counter strike.

Instead I step into it.

I sit. Close my eyes. Feel it. Breathe through it.

Its hard. Sometimes when I meditate and allow the emotion, the feelings, the pain or the fear to simply rise and fall, I am jarred from my silence and begin to stand. My body craves movement. To get away. To move away from what I am feeling. Where am I going to go, I ask, that I won’t have to face you?

So instead, I take a deep breath and invite my fear in. I say to myself, “Sit through this. Sit through this.”

I know this morning that I’m not able to direct it, as I would like. All I can do is acknowledge it, greet it, and allow it to cool as I give it the space it needs to teach me what it must. Whatever that might be.

It helps. Not always as much as I would like, but it always helps. Its just an emotion. A response. Its almost always about some story that I’ve made up to explain the unknown. I don’t know what is happening, so I create a story, and get attached to it. Meditation helps to unravel the story. It helps unravel all the stories that I make up about the people I love, about my own life.