The deeper meaning beneath the superficial is a recurrent theme in traditional Japanese culture. In the art of garden design, it is actually given a name, hiegakure, which means "that hidden from ordinary sight." The average shlub strolls through a Japanese garden gawking at the sights, entirely unaware of the paths beneath his feet. To the connoisseur, however, these same paths offer a lifetime of study and appreciation. Here the paths are smooth, hurrying one along. There, the stones are rough, irregular, or stepped, causing the visitor to slow down, something planned by the garden's designer, who may have wanted visitors to pause at a certain point. The concept of hiegakure can be applied to budo (the martial Ways). To the beginner for example, shomen uchi ikkyo begins with a chopping motion which is countered by an arm twist. To the expert, the same strike and counter are wonderfully complex positive energies that exemplify the essence of the universe. The dichotomy of the obvious and the subtle can be found (or missed), not only in the arts practiced in the dojo, but also in the setup of the dojo (the training hall) itself. Understandably the cultural model unconsciously adopted by contemporary Western budo practitioner in creating a dojo is that of the gym--a reasonable model, since on the surface the budo represent physical activity. On a deeper level, though, as most of us know, the martial Ways of Japan are most intimately concerned with matters of the spirit. Therefore, while the dojo may resemble a gymnasium, its historical inspiration is that of a temple or shrine. Walk into a gym-type dojo, and there will be little aside perhaps from a carelessly fashioned shomen ("ritual alcove"), to distinguish it from an aerobics classroom. I remember visiting an aikido dojo in which the toilets and dressing rooms were actually behind the shomen or "front" wall, which is supposed to be the most honored and respected part of the training area. (Was it just coincidence that this dojo was the coldest, most unfriendly place I've ever practiced at?) Arranged along the lines of a building meant for spiritual or religious exercises, the traditional dojo is divided geometrically into a complex matrix. The shomen is the dojo's front wall--the wall on which the kamiza, or dojo shrine, sits. Opposite is the shimoza wall, where the dojo entrance is located. To the right is the joseki (the "upper lateral wall"); to the left, the shimoseki or lower side wall. Traditionally, there is an elevated shinden space against the kamiza wall --a space where once the headmaster of the art being studied would sit as would any members of the Japanese imperial family who might drop by. This is, therefore, a largely symbolic elevated space reserved only for the founder of the ryu ("style") or an imperial family member. (Recently, the American planners of a dojo in a Japanese-American community center decided to make the shinden "stage" bigger in order to "go one better than traditional floor plans." A competent martial arts practitioner on a planning committee pointed out the mistake and explained what a kamiza meant to the architects before the dojo was built. When class begins, dojo members align themselves in order of seniority from joseki to shimoseki. Also, in a traditional dojo, senior practitioners will stay to the right of the dojo's centerline, nearer the joseki, when training. Juniors train on the other, shimoseki side. The receiver of a technique will most often position himself with his back to the kamiza while the nage or shidachi begins facing it. Traditional etiquette also specifies such details as the appropriate foot with which to begin approaching or leaving the kamiza and the direction to turn first in moving about the training area. Tamura Masakazu demonstrates aikido at the Hawai'i Aikikai Hombu dojo. (Photo by Wayne Muromoto.) What purpose do these formalities serve? What is to be gained by an awareness and observance of such arcane ritual? In the past, traditional dojo architecture and the associated reishiki (etiquette) had at least three functions: First, the placement of the sensei at the front, seniors on the right, and juniors on the left afforded the teacher maximum protection from an intruder. (Remember that the central weapon of the bugei ("martial arts") was the sword, which was carried on the left side and used with the right hand leading.) Second, the arrangement shielded the teacher's instruction from those who might peer through the dojo's entrance. Third, the arrangement reflected certain Buddhist worship rituals. All these functions are easily deducible. But is there hiegakure in all this? In other words, is there something to the dojo's layout and etiquette that is hidden? I suspect that there might be. Years ago, at a large banquet in Japan, all the other participants were getting so lubricated that I ended up having to drive them all home. (I had no license to drive in Japan, no experience with driving to the left, and I'd still be in jail if I had been stopped.) I was sitting next to a chado sensei , a teacher of the tea ceremony. I'd practiced tea under her instruction, but on this night I was pouring sake into her cup. Unexpectedly, she turned to me and asked, "Have you ever considered the Tao in the chashitsu?" (A chashitsu is a four-and-a-half-mat tea hut.) I assumed that her question concealed a play on words that I wasn't getting, but she took a piece of paper, sketched the dimensions of the chashitsu, and then filled the sketch with some kanji (Chinese characters) and lines. While I studied the diagram, she asked, "Have you ever considered the Tao in the dojo?'" Then she turned to someone else, talking about something entirely different, and I knew better than to pursue the subject further with her. ---Continued---