Iseri Sensei founded Senshin Center in the year 2000. It was for him a fertile ground in which to conduct his experiments with motion, with Aikido praxis, and with purifying the modern sense of the sensei/deshi relationship and returning it to a more traditional one. The dojo was a lab for Sensei – a lab in which he repeatedly demonstrated how great a teacher he truly was. Passing two years later, and though those founding years were humble, the greatness of Sensei’s presence still is felt and works to inspire others to such achievements. Sensei's presence is something still felt by all of his students, those in and out of Senshin Center, those in and out of Aikido training. Everyone has a strong sense of being indebted to him no matter how different our paths have become over time.

 

Iseri Sensei was a master teacher of the art because he was a great student of the art. He did not relate to the art, or to the various student/deshi relationships which he was part of, as one that jumps from solid answer to solid answer. He was never of the mind of having solved things for the last time. Yet, through that very process of always questioning and re-questioning, he came to know more than most – as most had only brushed against solutions that he had long ago discarded as superficial. That is to say, Iseri Sensei was a great student of the art because he was never satisfied. He was never satisfied with the way the art was presented to him, with the way he was presenting the art to others, nor with the way he was practicing the art, or with the way he comprehended the art.

 

Iseri Sensei, as he understood himself, fluctuated between not understanding enough and having too much to understand. Sensei was charged between these two poles, and there he often rested, gaining in vitality what can only be called Shoshin (trans. "Beginner’s Mind"). When Sensei’s physical ailments had already become somewhat debilitating, I remember when he had asked me to take over some of his classes. I had thought the fatigue of battling these ailments was catching up with Sensei. Not feeling worthy to the task, and perhaps even feeling a little sad, I hesitated more than I should have in accepting Sensei’s request. Through the course of the little conversation he set out to inspire me with, it came out that Sensei’s real reason for asking me to take his class had to do with his wish to just train – to partner up and to take some ukemi on a more regular basis. This is not the regular action of a sixth dan Shihan practitioner. Ill as he was, he spoke of his body not being as flexible and as fluid as it should be. He was like that – he was extraordinary in his pursuits to advance his understanding of Aikido.

 

Another occasion comes to mind: As he and I were discussing our decision to become independent of federation Aikido, he paused to say that he would miss having the great source of wisdom that was Chiba Sensei. We sat there in silence as the self-evident nature of that truth washed over us. It was Sensei that broke the silence when he said, “(Chiba) Sensei’s knowledge is so far advanced, he is difficult for any of us to truly understand. His beginning jo set (Sansho 1) has enough material to fill up one lifetime. How can we be unsatisfied with that when we have been taught three such sets?” This is how Sensei lived, in the depths of the art.

 

There was always a “more” on the horizon for Sensei. He bit off large portions of that more by holding it at bay through his decision to penetrate things deeper. As such, his greatest teachings focused on the elementary. They were not about “How to do Ikkyo,” or “How to cut with Kiri-otoshi.” They were about how to shift your weight, how to establish a single axis of rotation, how to use your toes, how the thumb works in the grip on the tsuka, etc. For him, Ikkyo or Kiri-otoshi, etc., was almost beside the point, or at least they would become so if one could not embody these more important details properly. In that way, Sensei’s elementary teachings became primary. This is how Sensei came to people – teachers, peers, and deshi alike. He came with a set of elementary teachings that were indeed primary.

 

For people who just wanted to do Ikkyo or just wanted to do Kiri-otoshi, etc., Sensei was a sore spot. As such, for every person that looked up to Sensei, probably two more rolled their eyes at him. While Sensei was aware of this reaction, and while that type of reaction did sadden him, it never once slowed him down in his quest to penetrate the art further in this manner. While some looked up, and others looked around, Sensei always looked forward.

 

With that forward gaze Sensei placed himself as the sharpest of contrasts – one that has affected me deeply and that continues to affect me deeply. The choice was obvious as to which type of deshi I would allow myself to be and/or become. Sensei’s path was not the “true” path – it was the only path. The elementary IS primary. No teacher can impart a greater lesson upon his or her student than how to be the eternal student. This is what Sensei put out there for all of us. In this respect, I am indebted to Sensei. He placed himself not only in the position of Shoshin, but through his own pursuits, he made it impossible for anyone to relate to him with anything less.

 

If you rolled your eyes, you would have missed everything. If you looked up, hoping to see him, he would soon move and you would miss everything again. The only way to see Sensei was to look forward like he did – never satisfied, always penetrating that which was before you. In a way, that was Sensei’s one and only point, but it is a point that can fill up several lifetimes, let alone just one.

 

                                                                                        -  David M. Valadez