There is a famous Japanese poem -a haiku by the poet Chiyo-ni– that goes:

蝶々や — Chōchō ya
何を夢見て — nani o yume mite
羽づかひ — hane tsukai

A butterfly / I wonder what you dream of / as you beat your wings

Dreams are a recurring theme, and not just in poetry. Neuroscience and psychology have long been exploring their nature and function. Although we have come to understand some of the mechanisms involved, the very essence of dreaming remains intrinsically mysterious.

We can say that dreaming helps keep the nervous system and cerebral cortex active, and that it plays a role in memory consolidation. It also supports emotional regulation and our ability to imagine scenarios that can be useful for problem-solving.

Yet we are still unable to grasp dreaming in its entirety.

We have only limited control over the dreams we experience while asleep. At most, we can decide not to eat peppers and mussels the night before. But we cannot choose -or at least, not entirely- what we dream about.

It is different when we turn our attention to the many waking dreams we consciously or unconsciously weave throughout the day. A mixture of desires, aspirations, inspirations, fantasies and plans that take shape and reshape themselves within us, projecting images and situations onto the screen of our minds.

What does a martial artist dream of? What does an aikidoka dream of?

There is no denying it. At least in the beginning, they dream of progressing quickly towards that goal: the black belt. They often dream of becoming technically and physically perfect. They may long to be like their teacher, or like that famous sensei whom their teacher holds up as a model for their school.

This happens regardless of age. Indeed, if there is one thing that children and adults often have in common, it is exam fever.

Then some time passes, and dreams begin to change. Some dream of continuing to practice with the same physical intensity they had when they were younger. Others dream of becoming the leading figure in their group, or of starting their own class. Quite a few aspire to positions within the org-chart of their associations or the bodies to which those associations belong.

Those who go on to become teachers often dream of being understood and appreciated. They hope that someone will follow in their footsteps and carry on the work in the same direction.

When we reflect on this dimension of martial arts, we may be reminded of accounts written by missionaries. One example is Friar Stefano Bordignon, who, in a short report on his experience in Uganda, pointed out that living simply and in material poverty does not necessarily mean being detached from what is superfluous.

He told how a young boy would look at his phone and dream of owning one himself. On the one hand, this is an entirely understandable feeling.

On the other, it is evidence of a small dream.

We should ask ourselves whether we are capable of dreaming big-and whether what we experience through our discipline helps us do so.

After all, we are immersed in a relentless race towards the achievement of goals that are often exclusively material, goals we value more for the display and status they afford us than for their intrinsic worth. The fashion industry knows this very well, for example. Its livelihood does not depend on selling a handful of extraordinarily expensive garments to those who can afford them, but on producing industrial quantities of underwear, T-shirts and socks bearing logos so large they could be seen from the Moon.

And when those logos appear on the waistbands of underwear deliberately displayed above the trousers, they give the wearer the reassuring feeling of being worth something. A sense of worth derived from purchasing power and belonging to a group.

Where, then, is the line that separates an experience of personal growth from an empty ritual?

When an Aikido practitioner attends an event because they are more interested in taking a picture with the sensei -or getting their signature in their budopass-than in what they might learn, we are looking at an Aikido that encourages small dreams.

Likewise, when the bond that gradually develops between student and teacher -and, in its own way, between students and their fellow practitioners- quietly turns into a form of mutual emotional dependency, the satisfaction of both parties begins and ends with reaffirming their bond of loyalty. The process of growth that should drive the relationship is relegated to the background. Here, too, we are dealing with an impoverished dream.

Of all the dreams one might pursue, imagining oneself as the loyal vassal of an Aikido shogunate is a far more common fantasy than we might think.

We cannot, and should not, tell anyone what they ought to dream of.

At the same time, a healthy group should consider it a clear responsibility to ensure that its members learn to dream big.

A martial discipline can genuinely help set a young person’s life on a path of sincere commitment to themselves and to others, enabling them to shape their lives in a responsible and positive way through relationships.

The reality revealed by a practice that demands physical, emotional, mental and, yes, spiritual contact with fellow practitioners and teachers provides the foundation for an ongoing search for the truth about ourselves. And, in doing so, for finding a path along which we can discover and put our talents to good use.

This applies equally -and perhaps above all- to teachers, who are more exposed than anyone else to the risk of their waking dream gradually turning into a nightmare of self-referentiality. How many endeavours that began with the best intentions end up becoming titanium cocoons from which no one can escape -not the sensei, nor the student?

Dreaming of remaining forever in search of something, of using a discipline as a laboratory in which to discover and improve aspects of ourselves that we cannot -or do not want to- see, restores every other aspiration to its proper perspective.

The grading test thus becomes once again a legitimate desire for growth within a shared journey. Attending an event or seminar ceases to be an act of homage to others and becomes an opportunity for personal growth with others.

Choosing to belong to an association becomes a genuine choice once again, rather than simply -or no longer solely- the result of inertia, habit, or bureaucratic and administrative shortcuts.

We must have the courage to look upwards and beyond, so that the dream and vision of an elderly Japanese visionary may become the very tool we fell in love with -and one we so often use to justify our small dreams.

Disclaimer: Picture by Ron Lach from Pexels