Aikido and Systemic Sculpture Work in Groups and Organizations
by David Sikora

This article outlines a synthesis of the principles and basic movement patterns of Aikido, a modern Japanese martial art, and systemic sculpture work as applied in family therapy. Both are systems for dealing with conflict, seemingly in very divergent fields.

I have been developing the following concepts and practical applications over many years in my work as an therapist in individual and group settings, a supervisor with health care professionals, and of course, as a student and teacher of Aikido. My journey to this point was anything other than a standard career as a clinical psychologist. I hope that, through the case studies and anecdotes provided, the reader finds his/her way to both an intellectual understanding of and an emotional connection to a written description of what I normally present in experiential trainings and workshops lasting from two to five days.

I started working with people in a therapeutic context over 25 years ago while I was attending a program for my master's degree in counselling psychology. At that time I was doing 24 hour shifts in a halfway-house in southern California, a few miles from the Mexican border. It was actually an outstation for the psychiatric hospital in downtown San Diego, the residents a colourful mix of older street alcoholics, younger people from middle class backgrounds who had been pushed over the edge from psychedelic-drug overdoses, and garden variety paranoid schizophrenics. Some where coherent, some not, all were heavily medicated.

One guy was a burned-out Hell's Angels type with a permanent mean and bleary-eyed glare, named Ron. He would stomp around the complex, a shabby former motel in the classic "U"-form, kicking up dust with his worn out boots. He only seemed to light up when he got a chance to provoke one of his weaker fellow residents, and his favourite victim was a squat Chicano man named Alphonse, whose paranoid hallucinations were complicated by epileptic attacks. One of my first weekend shifts, in which I was alone with about 50 residents (California in those days was considered a model in forward-thinking psychiatric health care!) I came into the day room to find the two of them going at it. Alphonse was literally foaming at the mouth, his tormentor laughing and swatting him on the back of his head, dancing lightly away when his prey would launch a flailing, stumbling attack. In my innocence I stepped between them, yelled at the bully Ron to go outside and tried to hold and soothe Alphonse, which earned me a bite on the finger and a shredded T-shirt. As I let go of him he ran out of the room into the courtyard, where his more agile opponent slugged him again, eliciting a scream of anger and pain. I was getting desperate to get this situation under control; my adrenaline level was up in the stratosphere. I knew one or both of them would have to be hospitalized, and I had already sent one of the more lucid residents to call the clinic.

My only plan was to try to keep the two of them apart until help arrived, at the same time I wasn't eager to get bitten or god knew what else. In the meantime Alphonse, becoming increasingly apoplectic, had pulled off his belt and was trying to whip Ron with the heavy buckle. I grabbed the nearest thing that seemed at all applicable in the situation, a long-handled mop, still somewhat damp, reeking of mildew and disinfectant. I poked and jabbed at Alphonse, who had shifted into the slow burn of a bull just before the charge, so he would go after me instead of Ron (who backed off to watch the fun). The scheme worked in a way, except that Alphonse got so frustrated that he used his belt buckle to slam a few holes in the hood of my car. In our circling dance we had arrived in the parking lot. Fortunately it was a beat-up old Ford, so the damage was hardly noticeable. When the police arrived we were both standing there panting, me with a bleeding finger and ripped shirt, holding the mop in front of me like a cattle prod, Alphonse with his belt dangling at his side, eyes bulging. The cops climb out of their patrol car, assess the situation, and one asks: "So, who is the patient?"

I don't remember exactly what happened next, except I do remember laughing. More than any other reason I suspect that is why I didn't end up spending the night in the locked psychiatric ward …

After that "kick-off" for my career as psychologist and psychotherapist, I was prepared for almost anything. Since then I've never had such a dramatic encounter in my therapy practice or my work as a trainer and supervisor in various clinical and organisational settings. But still an element of often intense conflict and encounter recurs, certainly not constantly, but again and again as clients and group members feel their needs are not being met or we are not properly understanding their situation (as was obviously the case with Alphonse).

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About the author:
David Sikora was born in NYC, attended the City University of New York, (BA 1973) and Goddard College in conjunction with the San Diego Institute for Transactional Analysis (M.A. Counselling Psychology 1978.) He has lived in Germany since 1984, and his postgraduate training includes Gestalt therapy, NLP, systemic family therapy, Lomi Body Work, and Ericksonian clinical hypnosis.

In addition to a private practice for psychotherapy and family counselling, he also works as a psychological supervisor and trainer in various private and public health and educational institutions.

Practicing Aikido since 1986, he is a 2nd Dan (Nidan) black belt and teaches in his own dojo in Limburg, Germany.

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