Last solo episode, I attempted to elucidate the ways in which my strict diet informs my Aikido practice (and mood).
I also tried to clarify how the catalyst for my current quasi-monk-like state is not a quirk of my inner character, but an unfortunate superficial affliction fostered by intense distrust of the pharmaceutical industrial complex.
I realize that episode was quite personal, and I apologize if anyone got put off by its confidential nature. I know this is supposed to be an Aikido podcast, but after recently reading so many genuine, inspiring, confessional Aikidoka anecdotes - I was stirred to write my own.
As unorthodox as mine may be, I’ve taken this plunge to write from my own experience - and as Jack Kerouac said, “I wanna be sincere.”
After ruminating further about my ever-frustrating “skin issues” and the various routines they’ve inspired, I got taken back to the last time they completely vanished: when I was a raw-vegan Uchi Deshi at New York Aikikai.
It was 2008. I was 32, somehow able to withstand the rigors of five hours per day of vigorous practice with clear skin - waking up at 6 o'clock in the morning, uncaffeinated - which is something I’ve never been able to do at any other time in my life.
Not only was I able to “withstand the rigors,” I felt better than ever — vividly alive — like cosmic forces were pulsing through me. I mean, I know they are, or at least I’ve been told that cosmic forces are constantly pulsing through me, but this was a time (no stimulants) when I actually felt them.
Don’t worry, I'm not gonna tell you my whole life story again. Please permit me just a few minutes to describe how I became “raw” in the first place. I promise, I’ll be brief…
In my late 20s, I found myself living in Portland, Oregon working as a cook at a teahouse known for importing high quality tea from around the world.
A quaint, bougie little nook, they had a tiny kitchen serving up small plates (mostly Indian - the owner was Sikh) to complement the fine tea they served.
I was doing pretty good, not bad, alright. I’d just gone through a divorce relatively unscathed. Had my own little studio apartment, two cats, a vaporizer - rode my bike to work, belonged to a great dojo with a full schedule of practice. (Kanai Sensei style - pretty much my favorite. I like to fly.)
Life was buzzing along mostly harmoniously - but because I was working at a tea house, it was impossible for me to not drink tea. There was just too much temptation. The constant caffeination caused major skin issues.
Somehow, I chanced upon an article in a magazine talkin’ about how human beings’ vision evolutionarily adapted to perceiving vivid colors because we were arboreal frugivores in our early days - and being able to see fruit in the trees was a quality that helped us survive.
I'm not saying I believed that article a hundred percent (I got major problems with Darwinism, you know, due to the whole “industrial eugenics” aspect), but it got me thinking: why not try eating like an ape for a while? See if that helps.
Like I said, I was living in Portland. Virtually surrounded by health food stores, I discovered a library at 'The Peoples' Co-op' flush with raw vegan literature. Devouring these books and implementing their culinary instructions became my nightly ‘after Aikido’ ritual.
(Briefly, the raw diet posits that cooking food above 115 degrees, or thereabout,, destroys vital enzymes. While Wikipedia would call this 'pseudo-scientific,' I can personally attest I've never felt better than when I strictly adhered to it.)
So there I was, working as a cook in a tea house when I decided to stop eating cooked food, cold turkey (no pun intended). Needless to say, I was putting myself in quite a precarious situation.
But I stuck to it steadfastly, except I kept drinking tea - which was a bad combination. I became super ultra manic and burnt out quick - lost my job at the teahouse, got hired at a bamboo furniture store that paid just barely enough to where I could make my rent and feed myself and my cats. But because I was no longer tempted by tea, my skin cleared up. And I felt great.
Despite the financial hardship, my appetite and aptitude for Aikido increased. Suddenly I felt like I was able to do anything I wanted to with my body.
Like I said, I was training at a Kanai Sensei style dojo. If you’re familiar, you know that means I was flying through the air, taking breakfalls from almost every throw. And I loved it.
I felt like, for the first time, I was viscerally experiencing the much-bandied-about “mind-body connection.” It was extraordinary. I could perceive no lapse of time between thought and action.
I stuck to this diet for four years. While I was doing it, I felt such a hum of euphoria, I swore that I’d never stop, that I’d eat this way for the rest of my life.
One of the drawbacks, though, was that it made me too manic. Especially when succumbing to an espresso, or two.
I burned through situations rapidly because I felt too good. I didn’t want to be “weighed down” by anything. I often felt like a caged animal. I couldn’t quite contain the ki I was conjuring.
(Incidentally, this period was the only time in my life I was able to climb trees. All of a sudden, I just naturally knew how.)
Upon moving back to New York (and ultimately into a world famous dojo), I discovered a somewhat surprisingly thriving raw vegan scene - so, most importantly, during my stint as Uchi Deshi, I was able to maintain this diet for a few more years - before the winters ultimately broke me.
While I’m (probably) never going back to living at a dojo, I am gonna try eating “raw” again. At least for a while. See what happens.
I'm not necessarily advocating raw veganism for everyone. I’ve taken it upon myself to write about myself so I have to write this ‘cause I can't just fabricate a fictional biography. Eating raw made me feel like I had superpowers - my skin cleared up entirely. I speak from experience, not prescription.
Reflecting on my early “raw” days as a teahouse cook, I felt an unprecedented purity in my own body. As I served the very food I prepared, I harbored the unsettling feeling that I was, in a sense, poisoning the customers by feeding them cooked food. I had to get over that.
This time, I hope I'm wise enough to simply recognize this as my own journey, and not try to preach it, even to those I love and wish well.
I need to accept this gustatory path without compelling others to embrace it, despite my deep desire for their health and vibrancy.
I have to remember that the only reason I'm doing this is because I feel like I have to, because of my “chronic skin condition.” I’d be eating Pizza too, trust me.
Please don't feel bad for me (if you're still here) thinking that I must be eating really bland, boring food. I’ve honed my craft - there's a whole technique to it. (Message me if you’re curious.)
Don’t worry, I'm not gonna turn this into a blog about my diet. It’s still about Aikido.
Though I sometimes, childishly, feel cursed by my “condition,” I can view this curse as a blessing in the sense that it pushes me towards excelling in the physical realm.
I’m still working on the rest.
