The Art of Falling

Humanity is inherently violent, I’ve come to realize. People act out this violence in various ways. Through domestic violence, war, emotional manipulation, doing donuts on the freeway, and poisoning themselves with addiction. There is a desperate need to address these violent impulses, to find an outlet for them that does not irrevocably harm oneself or others.
As a woman, I have had gendered violence enacted upon me since I was a child—whether this be covert or overt. I am traumatized by men, misogyny, and the patriarchy, and as trauma goes, I have taken this violence into my soul, developing violent and vengeful desires myself. There are countless songs written by women that create revenge fantasies against men who have harmed us. I often feel a deep rage that I have attempted to release through feminized means of controlling my situation and other people. This ultimately stems from a desire to protect myself from others, but has ended up harming more than helping.

I believe that the human tendency towards violence is inescapable, but that we can invest in healthy and appropriate ways to use this energy. Personally, I have found that kink, along with my burgeoning aikido practice, serve me well in this regard. In this essay I will focus on aikido and how it is transforming my life.
When I first began attending Aikido of Berkeley last November, I was coming fresh out of a turbulent situationship in which I felt used and abused. I was furious at how I had been treated by this man, along with several other men before him, all in the previous few months. My most recent former lover was a martial artist, and I decided to bite the bullet and start going to aikido, something I had considered for a long time, in order to take what I admired about him and make it my own—rather than seeking a strong man to protect me, maybe I could learn to protect myself. Although I entered from a self-defense perspective, I soon saw how much more the practice of aikido, specifically, could offer me.
The philosophy behind aikido is quite different than that of other martial arts. While other martial arts are about defending yourself by injuring your aggressor, aikido is a “nonviolent martial art.” It is about taking the energy of your aggressor and redirecting it in a way that keeps both you and your aggressor safe from harm. When doing techniques, the aggressor is termed the uke and the person practicing the technique is the nage. The uke will usually grab the nage’s wrist, and then the nage will move the uke to the ground, where the uke will usually roll to safety. I am told that “uke” means “one who receives.” I find this profound—the aggressor, the initiator of the technique, who in other martial arts and in the world at large would be seen as the active party, is actually the one who is receiving the technique. They are open to the actions of the nage; they have something to learn and integrate from the technique. When the uke falls to the ground, it is called taking ukemi. “Ukemi” roughly translates to “the art of falling.” As the person being thrown, one learns how to safely and gracefully fall.
Ukemi is a skill that must be practiced and learned, just as important to the practice of aikido as the nage’s defense. At first I had trouble with falling. Despite the floor being covered in bouncy mats, I was afraid of injuring myself. Because of my disconnect from myself and my partner in the technique, as soon as the nage would begin to move, I would abruptly let go and disconnect from them and fall straight on my back or stomach. Over time, I realized that the more scared I was of hurting myself, the more chaotic and dangerous my fall would actually be. This is because aikido is ultimately about connection—to oneself, to others, and to the Universe as a whole—and I was incredibly disconnected. With training and excellent teaching, I was soon able to begin to fall with more ease. This kept me safe.
In April, one class in particular caused a complete paradigm shift for me. The teacher was explaining the importance of connecting with your partner throughout the technique. He demonstrated and encouraged us, as the uke, to seek connection first and foremost. This is why we grab the nage’s wrist—not to harm, but to connect. As the nage does the technique, we receive—continuing to seek physical and spiritual connection to our partner throughout. We only fall—we only take ukemi—when we must. We follow the connection to its organic conclusion. We follow the connection with curiosity and vigor until the nage has brought us to a place where we are completely off-balance and have no choice but to fall.
I took this teaching as an embodied metaphor for life. Sometimes, we are the uke, initiating a connection with the intention of moving the other. Sometimes, we are the nage, our wrists being grabbed, and we must decide how we will respond. When we initiate a connection, the other can either decide to accept our advances, or to move us away from them. There is no moral hierarchy between the two roles we may play. I have found that in life, I am often the chaser. I am the uke. I grab, I attempt to connect, sometimes forcefully. Eventually, this often leads to the conclusion in which I am thrown to the ground. In the past I have fallen violently—continuing to try to hold onto the other’s wrist after losing my balance and thus pulling them down with me, or breaking off too soon and falling harshly on my face or neck. Because of aikido, I am learning more and more each day how to take ukemi in life. I have somatic skills that I can integrate. I know how to connect with curiosity and without agenda, and to follow this connection to its conclusion. I know how to let go only when I have truly lost my balance and must fall.
As life goes on, and so does my practice of aikido, I hope to continue to practice my ukemi. The more ease I bring into my falling, the more richness I can bring into my connection to myself, others, and the Universe. I can trust that I know how to care for myself when that connection ends—how to keep myself safe. And so my initial goal of self-protection comes back around. By trusting the process of life, I do not need to anticipate violence and pain and wall myself up—become stiff—in preparation for it. Instead, I can enter into situations with a receptiveness, curiosity, and self-assuredness that allows me to accept blessings as they are given, respond rather than react to conflict, and leave when necessary. Connection is beauty, and falling is an art. Anger and conflict are an integral part of life. They do not need to be feared, but welcomed with an open body, mind, and spirit. The more I do this, the more connection and love I can receive, and the more beautiful my life will become.

originally published 2024.